"Well; I have told you, I did it, here, hundreds of thousands of times. What do I say? I did it millions and billions of times. I did it so often, and through such vast expanses of time, that when it was really done, it seemed not worth the doing, it was done so soon."
"That's the journey you have been away upon?" she quietly remarks.
He glares at her as he smokes; and then, his eyes becoming filmy, answers: "That's the journey."
Silence ensues. His eyes are sometimes closed and sometimes open. The woman sits beside him, very attentive to the pipe, which is all the while at his lips.
"I'll warrant," she observes, when he has been looking fixedly at her for some consecutive moments, with a singular appearance in his eyes of seeming to see her a long way off, instead of so near him: "I'll warrant you made the journey in a many ways, when you made it so often?"
"No, always in one way."
"Always in the same way?"
"In the way in which it was really made at last?"
"And always took the same pleasure in harping on it?"
"Ay."
For the time he appears unequal to any other reply than this lazy monosyllabic assent. Probably to assure herself that it is not the assent of a mere automaton, she reverses the form of her next sentence.
"Did you never get tired of it, deary, and try to call up something else for a change?"
He struggles into a sitting posture, and retorts upon her: "What do you mean? What did I want? What did I come for?"
She gently lays him back again, and, before returning him the instrument ho has dropped, revives the fire in it with her own breath; then says to him, coaxingly:
"Sure, sure, sure! Yes, yes, yes! Now, I go along with you. You was too quick for me. I see now. You come o' purpose to take the journey. Why, I might have known it, through its standing by you so."
He answers first with a laugh, and then with a passionate setting of his teeth: "Yes, I came on purpose. When I could not bear my life, I came to get the relief, and I got it. It WAS one! It WAS one!" This repetition with extraordinary vehemence, and the snarl of a wolf.
She observes him very cautiously, as though mentally feeling her way to her next remark. It is: "There was a fellow-traveller, deary."
"Ha ha ha!" He breaks into a ringing laugh, or rather yell.
"To think," he cries, "how often fellow-traveller, and yet not know it! To think how many times he went the journey, and never saw the road!"
