For
him, he looked at the fire, wondering if the Rebel scouts could see
it,--thinking it would not be many days before Lander would dislodge
Jackson,--trying to think of anything rather than himself, and the
beautiful woman kneeling there.
Her eyes filled with tears at last, when he did not speak, and she
turned away. The blood rushed to Palmer's face: surely that was more
than pity! But he would not tempt her,--he would never vex her soul as
he had done before: if she had come to him, as a sister might, because
she thought he was dying, he would not taunt her with the old love she
had for him.
"I think I can stand up," he said, cheerfully; "lend me your arm,
Theodora."
Dode's arm was strong-nerved as well as fair; she helped him rise, and
stood beside him as he went to the door, for he walked unsteadily. He
took his hand from her shoulder instantly,--did not look at her:
followed with his eye the black line of the fretted hills, the glimmer
of the distant watch-fires. The path to the West lay through the Rebel
camps.
"It is a long trail out of danger," he said, smiling.
"You are going? I thought you needed rest."
Calm, icy enough now: he was indifferent to her. She knew how to keep
the pain down until he was gone.
"Rest? Yes. Where did you mean I should find it?"--facing her, sudden
and keen.
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