“Please—don’t.”
“It’s all right. I won’t.”
They came to a trail through the woods.
“Shall we take this back?” She turned into it.
He reached up and broke a last branch of red leaves that trickled like blood from a dying tree, and handed it to her.
“Have you noticed how intensely bright this live stuff looks when everything around it is dead or dying?”
Little ’Dolph a mile or so distant, dozed by the fire with cigar still sidling from the corner of his mouth. His dreams were hazy and disjointed. But Gloria as he had seen her on the balcony the night before drifted through them. The howling night swept by, tearing at silken robe and wild hair. She seemed to sway with it. The [196] ]clouds descended. He had a vague sense of effort to reach out, to hold her, that breathless catch at the heart of nightmare. Then suddenly he lost sight of her. A distant crash and he saw the clouds sweep her up and—while he stood rooted—carry her away.
He sat up with a gasp. The cigar fell from his lips. His heart thumped madly.
“What a shame! The banging of the screen door wakened him!” It was Gloria’s voice and she was coming toward him.
He gave a great sigh of relief.