They were on the beach opposite the present lifesaving station, and were coming back to the cave. With swift, swinging strides Yermah turned toward Tlamco, and was soon headed for the western gate of its walled enclosure.
“I am not to make my love self-identifying,” he muttered savagely. “Am I, then, to love my ideal without desire for possession? He asks what I can not do. I should be no part of a man if I could submit like this! No! A thousand times—no!—I have tasted the wine of life on her sweet lips!—She shall claim a king’s ransom in return!—And this, he says, will imperil my soul!—So be it!—This is what love means to me!”
There was that in Yermah which would brook no interference. Docility and obedience, both his habit and inclination, were routed completely by the whirlwind of resentment having control of him. Self made a strong rally, and, for a time, he was intoxicated with the idea of defying Akaza. He gloried in his ability to think and to act for himself. It was his happiness, his love, and in the future he would do as he pleased. This was instinct deeper than reason; not conscious lust nor sensuality—for he mentally idealized Kerœcia.
This quality was the same which arouses an animal similarly thwarted to the highest pitch of ferocity. Passion, heretofore a latent force strengthening and sweetening his whole nature, now suddenly flared into tempestuous activity on its own account. Opposition at this juncture would have rendered Yermah capable of murder.
The line of demarcation between the virgin mind and partial realization was forever obliterated. Yermah knew desire. And its demands were all the more urgent because of long-delayed expression.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE VIRGIN EARTH WILL NOT SUBMIT TO MAN’S DEFILEMENT
Akaza tottered along the shore, shaken and agonized by Yermah’s anger. The wind tangled his thin locks, and played sad pranks with the mantle enveloping his body. Sometimes it seemed bent on snapping him in two, and then it almost whipped the life out of him—that life tenure which was feeble and old even when Yermah’s generation began.
The tears streamed down his withered cheeks and dripped unheeded from the snow-white beard. His breathing was labored and hard when he arrived at the entrance to the cave, and his slight frame shook with emotion as he turned toward the broad Pacific, seeking to calm his agitation.
He stretched out his hands imploringly to the vast deep spread out before him, as the waves, with a sullen roar, dashed their spray over the rocks at his feet.
“Great God!” he cried in a stricken voice, “My heart bleeds for Yermah. The rays of the sun should make a halo around his dear head.—How hard that there is no real strength except that born of suffering—no enduring experience except it be seared into the heart’s core!—I have tried not to attach myself to results; but how can I help it?—Oh, Amrah! I shall not fail thee! Amenti, thou canst trust me! My oath binds me for all time. This body may succumb in the trial, but I will deliver this trust back to thee as thou art expecting to receive it!—Give me strength to stand by helplessly while Yermah suffers! Oh, Brotherhood, give me the strength to endure!”