“And you will wander down the trails until you meet some one—some woman or child or man—sick or miserable or lost—and then you will stop.”
Adam had no answer.
“The Indians called you Eagle,” she went on, and her tone startled him with its hint of remembered mockery. “You have the desert eye—you see so far.... But you don’t see here!... Why should you waste your splendid strength, your magnificent manhood, wandering over the desert if it’s only for unhappy people? Desert man, you are great. But you could do more good here—you could find more misery here.... I know one whose heart is breaking. And you’ve never seen, for all your eagle eye!”
“Listen, you morbid girl,” he returned, stung as with fire. “I am not great. I am lost. I go to the desert because it is home.... Don’t think of me! But look to yourself. Look into your heart. Fear it, Ruth Virey. You are a spoiled, dreamful, passionate child. But you have a mind and you have a will. You can conquer your unrest, your discontent. Revere the memory of your mother, but grieve no more. The past is dead. Learn to fight. You are no fighter. You are weak. You give in to loneliness, sadness, longing. Resolve to be a woman! You must live your life. Make it worth while. Every man, every woman, has a burden. Lift yours cheerfully and begin to climb.... Work for your grandfather. He needs your help. Love those with whom fate has placed you. And fight—fight the dark moods, the selfish thoughts, the hateful memories! Fight like a desert beast for your life. Work—work till you bruise those beautiful hands. Work with a hoe, if you can find nothing else. Love to see things grow green and flower and give fruit. Love the animals, the birds, and learn from them; love all nature, so that when you meet a man some day, the man, you can love him. That is what it means to be a woman. You are a beautiful, sweet, useless, and petulant girl. But be so no more. Be a woman!”
Pale and shocked, with brimming eyes and tremulous lips, she replied:
“Stay—stay, desert man, and make me a woman!”
And those sad dark eyes and those sweet murmured words had made him flee—flee like a craven in the night. Yes, for Ruth’s sake he had fled. Not a farewell to Genie—not a wave of his hand, but gone in the night—gone forever out of their lives!
* * * * *
“The foxes have holes—the birds of the air have nests!” cried Adam, to the listening silence.
Was it he who lay there with broken heart and magnified sight? Yes, wanderer of the wasteland again! Back to the lonely land! That limitless expanse of rock and sand was home. Was not that Ruth’s face limned on the clouds? Did not her sad, reproachful eyes haunt him in the dim, purple distances?