SON OF THE WIND
Deep hidden she kept it and hugged the secret. To her it had been given to see a wonder, rarely seen, even by night-walking foresters or leafy dwellers outside the law. Had she been abroad at moonset, that such a chance had befallen her, or at that bright Greek interval before the sunrise? What way had she followed? What way could a woman follow where he had found none? From what place had she looked—the cap of a mountain, an eyrie of trees, or up, from a hollow in the earth? Her eyes, fixed now on the flashing needle, had looked upon Son of the Wind; had seen him, not in the terrors of flight, but in the splendor of his trampling, unafraid approach. Yes, and they would see him again. That was the thought that spurred. Could one but take her, and break her knowledge out of her, as one would break the wine out of a glass.
He saw her hands were moving faster, with a nervous intensity; her breast was rising and falling with quick, short breaths. There was a quiver of her underlip and she took it between her teeth. The idea came to him that she was aware of his presence. She knew that he was there, sitting and staring at her. She must have known from the very first. The failing light added to the mystery between them. Why hadn't she spoken? Why not speak now? Her fingers shook, but they flew for a
194
