“I will meet you at the orange-farm,” the man answered quietly.
The voice was clear and low, the enunciation perfect.
He looked at Tacita with a reassuring kindness. “Elena knows all that is necessary,” he said. “Trust to her, and have no fear.”
She felt herself in the presence of a superior. “I have no fear now,” she replied; and thought, “How did he know that I was afraid!”
He drew back, and they went on their way, neither speaking of what had occurred.
CHAPTER VI.
Tacita resumed her journey in a dream, and pursued it in a dream. She asked no questions, and observed but little, though at times it seemed to her that the line of their progress was a zigzag. Did they cross the water a second time? Why did they travel so much by night, and sleep by day? She did not care. Her mind became dimly aware of these questions rather than asked them. Had she taken hashish? No matter. All that she wanted was rest. Her very eyelashes and fingernails were weary. Oh, for the mountains, for a place to call home, and rest!
She received the impression that a part of the country through which they passed was like a burnt-out world, all sand and black rocks, so that the limpid rivulet that met them somewhere was a surprise. She wondered languidly that it was not dried up. Was it a week, or a month, since Dylar had said, “Have no fear”? No matter. She had no fear; but she was, oh, so weary! Fortunately, nothing was required of her but passive endurance of fatigue. She was borne along, and tenderly cared for.
One day she roused herself a little, or something was done to rouse her. They were in an easy old carriage drawn by mules. It had met them at a solitary little station of which she had not seen nor asked the name; and they had been driving through a dry plain, and were now in pine woods.
Elena gave her some little cakes of chocolate and slices of lemon. “We are almost out of provisions,” she said; “but in an hour you shall have a good dinner; and then to bed with her, like a sleepy child.”