The rain and the cool refreshed him and he made sure that he would escape.
But he was too crafty by a half, for he lost his way in that storm, and after a little, with triumphant and relieved heart, he staggered straight into the place, that of all places in the world he was most anxious to avoid. And that was the place where Hate and Love stood with Despair and sought to pierce the storm.
A few feet away, through the smoking deluge of the rain, Sunrise saw the crouching figure of a man. It was outlined in a white steam, and was coming on. At first Sunrise could not realize that it was The Man. When he did he smiled peacefully and he stepped forward, and taking the man gently by the shoulder turned his face upward and looked upon it long, and quietly.
When the man felt the hand on his shoulder, and saw the face that regarded him, hope that had sustained him perished. His fingers twitched foolishly, and after a little, he sobbed once, and shivered and was still. Then he collapsed and fell.
Sunrise sat down beside him.
“We must rest for a while,” said Sunrise, “I have not now the strength to do that which I have come to do.”
The man nodded.
And after that, for a long time, no word was spoken and no sign made.
The man lay on the ground breathing hard, and Sunrise sat beside him. The rain fell drenchingly upon them. About them the storm raged, and above.
“Put your feet close together,” said Sunrise, when he was rested enough. “I am going to tie you.”