This particular morning was the most perfect of them all. With a sigh of enjoyment Alexis stretched his limbs in a perfection of relaxation which he had not known for years.
“It is strange,” he said, “how rested and peaceful I feel. All the terrible irritability seems to have left me entirely.”
“It went away with the fever-devil,” laughed Anne, who was sketching a stunted pine beside the roadway. “A most suitable match, don’t you think?”
Alexis laughed uncertainly.
“I only hope it never returns,” he said, somewhat uneasily. “Nerves have as many lives as a cat, you know, and an unerring instinct for home. One never can tell when they will spring upon one again from the dark.”
“I suppose the moral of that is to always keep a light handy,” said Anne gaily, but with a quick glance of pity for the worn boyish face.
“That’s all very well, but what if your stock of matches has run out and you’re groping about in the dark?” he exclaimed whimsically, but with a significant tightening of the lips.
Anne leaned over and laid her hand on his shoulder.
“Then you must ask someone else to give you a light,” she said softly. He caught her fingers in his and pressed them.
“Some good Samaritan like you,” he cried. His eyes filled with nervous tears.