It was Wanza who was coming through the pines toward me!
When she was comparatively near I spoke from my couch beneath the tree.
“Hist! Hist! Wanza!”
The song ceased. I knew she was standing stock still.
“Who—who—where are you?” her voice sounded frightened.
“I’m David Dale. And I’m not ten feet from you—follow my voice. Don’t trip on the tree roots.”
She came towards me slowly. I stood up and went to meet her. As I advanced a strange glee took possession of me. I was elated at this unexpected encounter, this beautiful rendezvous between darkness and dawn in the pine forest. And at the thought of a companion to watch with me the coming in of day.
I took her hand silently. We went forward to the pine tree and sat down together beneath it. Wanza did not speak. I was enchanted because she did not. I could just dimly see her face. Her head was thrown back, and I knew her eyes were lifted.
The light began to spread over the east. Soon the mountain tops were touched with orange fire. A cool breeze sprang up, and the young hemlocks on the hillsides swayed and tossed their fringes. But the pines in our grove stood immovable and black, and the wood vistas were unlit. I heard the river, and the babble of a rillet in a draw hard by. The dulcet sounds were the only sounds we heard. The whole world seemed waiting. We sat thus for perhaps ten minutes, while the light spread over the east and the purple darkness of our grove gradually gave way to a cool gray aspect. And then the sun came up, a spurt of liquid amber in the urn of the sky, and its light trickled far out over the hills, and the stars grew pale and disappeared. The day had come.
I was exhilarated. I was filled with full measure of good will and gratification. And I glanced at my companion, to read in her face her appreciation of the miracle. She was smiling ineffably, and as I turned fully towards her, she closed her eyes. I became conscious then that I was holding out my hand to her. I looked down at it curiously, and I looked at her face, bent forward and peered at it again. Who was this companion who had shared my solitude, and by her understanding made it perfect?—who had given me quiet fellowship, sat near me in the starlight, watched the day come in with me, and now rested within reach of my hand? Who should it be, I answered myself wonderingly, but my old friend and companion, Wanza?