So I grew miserable; a kind of fever seemed to eat me; I could not
rest, or read, or think; so I came back here. I knew you were not here but
it seemed as though I should be nearer you; and it is you I want--you that
the other people suggest to me, but cannot give."
He had filled all the sheets he had taken, and now lifted down the last
from the mantelpiece. Em had dropped asleep, and lay slumbering peacefully
on the skin before the fire. Out of doors the storm still raged; but in a
fitful manner, as though growing half weary of itself. He bent over his
paper again, with eager flushed cheek, and wrote on.
"It has been a delightful journey, this journey home. I have walked on
foot. The evening before last, when it was just sunset, I was a little
footsore and thirsty, and went out of the road to look for water. I went
down into a deep little kloof. Some trees ran along the bottom, and I
thought I should find water there. The sun had quite set when I got to the
bottom of it. It was very still--not a leaf was stirring anywhere. In the
bed of the mountain torrent I thought I might find water. I came to the
bank, and leaped down into the dry bed. The floor on which I stood was of
fine white sand, and the banks rose on every side like the walls of a room.
"Above there was a precipice of rocks, and a tiny stream of water oozed
from them and fell slowly on to the flat stone below.
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