The grimy
mainsail rose slowly, the jib was set, and they deliberately gathered
way, slipping silently between the timbered banks, emerging from the
thin pungent influence of the smoking ruins.
Behind them the sun transfused the veiled city into a coppery blur that
gradually sank into a tender-blue dusk. Indy had arranged a place with
the most obtainable comfort for Rosemary Roselle; she sat with her back
against the mast, gazing toward the bank, stealing backward, at the
darkening trees moving in solemn procession.
After the convulsed and burning city, the uproar of guns and clash of
conflict, the quiet progress of the sloop was incredibly peaceful and
withdrawn. Elim felt as if they had been detached from the familiar
material existence and had been set afloat in a stream of silken
shadows. The wind was behind them, the boom had been let far but, the
old steersman drowsed at his post, and the youth had fallen instantly
asleep in a strange cramped attitude.
Elim was standing at the stern--he had conceived it his duty to stay as
far away from Rosemary Roselle as her wish plainly indicated; but, in
this irrelated phase of living, he gradually lost his sense of
responsibility and restrained conduct. He wanted extravagantly to be
near Rosemary, to be where he could see her clearly. Perhaps, but this
was unlikely, she would speak to him. His desire gradually flooded him;
it induced a species of careless heroism, and he made his way
resolutely forward and sat on a heap of rope at a point where he could
study her with moderate propriety and success.
Pages:
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252