As It Was in the Beginning

by Philip Verrill Mighels

"What was it?" she cried. "What has happened?"

"Why—it sounds like a couple of jungle politicians engaged in a tariff argument."

"You weren't down there?"

"I strolled to the wall, to make sure it was closed for the night."

"There was nothing—up here? I dreamed there was something—fighting with you—some terrible creature—like that."

She waved her hand towards the hideous sounds, retreating swiftly in the darkness.

"Can't understand such a dream," he said. "We've had no corned beef and cabbage. You'd better go back and try again."

He started at once for his pottery fire, in his brusque, indifferent manner.

Elaine stood there, watching his figure, retreating in the darkness, and made no move to retire. Like a dim silhouette of Vulcan, projected against the reddened glare of his furnace, he presently appeared, from the place where she eagerly kept him in her vision. She felt she could not bear to creep away until he should return.

She saw him stand for a little time observing his waning heaps of embers before he faced about to return once more to his seat. Then, slowly, as she heard his footsteps approaching, she glided silently back to her shelter, and so at length within the door. Even then she lingered eagerly, to make certain he was not far away. Until he sat down, and stirred up the flames, she did not return to her couch.