"That is what made the sacrifice of the Christ," Bedient declared.
"Every day—he died from the sights on the world's highway——"
They looked back.
"It was not the Cross and the Spear, but the haggard agony of His Face that night on Gethsemane that brings to me the realization of the greatness of His suffering," he added.
"And the disciples were too sleepy to watch and pray with him——"
"How gladly would the women have answered His need for human companionship that night!" he exclaimed. "But it was not so ordained. It was His hour alone, the most pregnant hour in the world's history."
They reached the crest of a fine hill at noon, and dismounted in the shade of three big elms. They could see small towns in the valley distances, and the profile of hilltop groves against the sky. The slopes of the hill wore the fresh green of June pasture lands; and three colts trotted up to the fence, nickering as they came…. Beth was staring away Westward through the glorious light. Bedient came close to her; she felt his eyes upon her face, turned and looked steadily into them. She was the first to look down. Beth had never seen his eyes in such strong light, nor such power of control, such serenity, such a look of inflexible integrity…. She did not like that control. It was not designed in the least to take away the hate and burning which for three days had warred against the best resistance of her mind.
That cool lofty gaze was her portion. Another—on the shore—ignited the fires. A devil within—for days and nights—had goaded her: "Yes, Beth Truba, red haired and all that, but old and cold, just the same, and strange to men."
"I've wanted this day," he said. "It was some need deeper than impulse. I wanted it just this way: A hill like this, shade of great trees that whispered, distant towns and woods, horses neighing to ours. Something more ancient and authoritative than the thing we call Memory, demanded it this way. Why, I believe we have stood together before."
Beth smiled, for the goading devil had just whispered to her, "You were a vestal virgin doubtless—oh, severely chaste!"… She said, "You believe then we have come up through 'a cycle of Cathay'?"
"If I had heard your name, just your name, over there in India," he replied thoughtfully, "it would have had some deep meaning for me."