CHAPTER XII
JOURNEY'S END
Over the hills went Johnny Byrd and down the trail and into a grove of pines.
Up to the left went Barry Elder, out of sight among the larches. He walked briskly at first, his face clouded but set. Then he walked slower, his face still clouded but unsettled.
Decidedly his pace lagged. Then it stopped. He looked back. . . . He went a little way back and stopped again. . . . Then he went on going back without stopping.
His face was much clearer now.
Maria Angelina had climbed a mountain and descended a mountain; she had wandered and struggled and scrambled for hours till she was faint with exhaustion; she had been through the extremes of hope and despair and shame and anger and heart-breaking indignation till it seemed as if her spirit must break with her body.
For recovery she had had some scant hours of sleep and a portion of food.
And now, instead of succumbing to the mortal weariness that should have been upon her, instead of closing the big eyes that burned in her head, she stood at the cabin door with uplifted face listening to the song of a bird that she did not know.