He started up and moved on. The staghorn moss trailed clinging to the soil beneath his feet, a hawk hovering in the air was held to its place also by the same force which sent the world on which he stood, spinning on its way. But still that love, that grief of his, would not be made one with Nature.
"Aura! Aura! Aura!"
He stood on the summit of Llydd-y-Bryd once more. Even the "gingerbeer" had gone from the shieling now; but it would not be long before humanity returned once more with placard and paste-pot to appropriate the spot to base uses.
Down in the blue hollow yonder lay Cwmfaernog, and in Cwmfaernog lay--no! not Aura! Aura was of the woods and hills. He could feel her in them separate, distinct from himself. He would not give her up; he could not. He would give one more look at the peaceful little valley from the crag yonder, and then take her with him; something he would not yield, not even to the Force which held the round world sure.
The round world perhaps--but--ye Gods!
His foot slipped, he caught at a root to save himself, it gave way--he fell.
The hot noon-tide sun was beating down on him when he woke to consciousness again. He tried to move, and could not. After a time his mind returned clearly; he pinched himself upon the thigh and felt nothing. That, then, was the reason why he felt no pain, for one of his legs was evidently broken. He had injured his spine, and it was paralysed below the waist. This, then, was the end.
"Aura! Aura!"
His heart leapt up in him. It could not be long now.
He was lying in the corrie into which he and Ted had vainly tried to get that first night of the storm, and as he lay he could watch the sun tilt from its high glory in the heavens, to touch the world in the west then disappear. It would be a beautiful sunset. How many more would he see, he wondered. How long would it last? Some days perhaps.