Behind them, in the closed wagon,
she lay with the dog at her feet, very quiet, with folded hands. He,
Gregory, dared not be in there. Like Hagar, when she laid her treasure
down in the wilderness, he sat afar off:--"For Hagar said, Let me not see
the death of the child."
Evening came, and yet the blue mountain was not reached, and all the next
day they rode on slowly, but still it was far off. Only at evening they
reached it; not blue now, but low and brown, covered with long waving
grasses and rough stones. They drew the wagon up close to its foot for the
night. It was a sheltered, warm spot.
When the dark night had come, when the tired oxen were tied to the wheels,
and the driver and leader had rolled themselves in their blankets before
the fire, and gone to sleep, then Gregory fastened down the sails of the
wagon securely. He fixed a long candle near the head of the bed, and lay
down himself on the floor of the wagon near the back. He leaned his head
against the kartel, and listened to the chewing of the tired oxen, and to
the crackling of the fire, till, overpowered by weariness, he fell into a
heavy sleep. Then all was very still in the wagon. The dog slept on his
mistress' feet, and only two mosquitoes, creeping in through a gap in the
front sail, buzzed drearily round.
The night was grown very old when from a long, peaceful sleep Lyndall
awoke.
Pages:
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384