“Might as well sit down,” he said; and he sank back on the bed. “How soft! Feathers! And the pillow—how cool! Cheeks burn so,” he muttered, as he subsided on the restful couch to gaze sidewise at the window with its little sill and flowers growing in a box, all fresh, bright and fragrant.
“I like flowers,” he said softly, and then—“Hah!”
He was breathing softly.
The bow strained tightly for so many hours was now unstrung. Every nerve and muscle were relaxed, and the soft, pure air which came through the open window played upon his scorched cheeks.
The horse was swinging along in that easy canter out of the burning sunshine into the shade—a soft, cool, delicious, restful shade—on and on and on toward the Bluff; and Nic felt that there was no more care and trouble in the world. There was nothing to trouble him. He had felt his mother’s kisses on his cheeks and lips, and the horse was not rushing, only swinging along in that glorious canter, for the shade had grown darker, into a soft, sweet obscurity, and everything was so still.
Chapter Fifteen.
After Nature’s Remedy.
Nic opened his eyes slowly, to gaze at a bright patch shining upon the floor, and he lay for some minutes gazing at it, thinking it very beautiful.