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Guy continued to climb higher and higher, keeping a cool head in spite of his excitement, and testing well each crevice or projecting ledge before trusting his weight to it, and at last, with a throb of joy that nearly took his strength away, he pulled himself out upon the flat summit of the rock. Seventy feet below him was the raft and its occupants, glowing in the torchlight.
Life had suddenly quickened its tempo. She was passing through one of those eras when events, long crouched, seem to spring simultaneously. In April, 1917, the United States declared war against Germany. Daily life, even to the indirectly touched, took on a new throb. Fourteen men employees of the Amusement Enterprise Company enlisted the first week. A service flag went up.
Used so long to the life of the wilderness and its countless dangers, the sudden throb of his heart told not of fear, but rather of exultation. It was the spirit rising to meet what lay before it. The same strength of soul animated his comrades, but everyone took his resolution in silence.
In the wintry afternoon sunlight Beauchamp and Alice were playing a match of shuffleboard against Jeff and the daughter of a Honolulu missionary. The game had reached an exciting and critical stage when they noticed that the ship was no longer quivering from the throb of the engines. "A steam yacht, probably from Verden," the ship purser remarked to the first mate as they passed.
He had halted and turned, going in the midst of his fellows, hearing, he thought, the thrill of harping and the throb of heavenly drums; and, across the space, moved now the six flames, steady as if cut of steel in that stupendous poise of heaven and earth; and in their centre the silver-rayed glory and the Whiteness of God made Man....
She looked at Safti's ring on her finger, and flushed scarlet in the darkness. Yet she was joyful, triumphant, as she heard the beating of the ship's heart, and saw the lights of Tunis growing fainter in the distance, and felt the onward movement of the Stella d'Italia through the night. She felt herself nearer to Russia with each throb of the machinery. And from Russia she would expiate her sin.
Save for the muffled throb of the rare all-night cars passing the front of the house, our vigil had been a silent one. The full moon had painted about the floor weird shadows of the clustering ivy, spreading the design gradually from the door, across the room, past the little table where the envelope lay, and finally to the foot of the bed. The distant clock struck a quarter-past two.
Mark's image stood still in clean empty space. When she thought of her mother and Mark she hated Bertha. And there was Jimmy. That was why they wouldn't talk about him. Jimmy. The big water-jump into the plantation. Jimmy's arms, the throb of the hard muscles as he held you. Jimmy's hand, your own hand lying in it, light and small.
As the prospective passenger paid for and received his ticket. "A pleasant voyage! The Dauphin is a new ship and should cross in three weeks barring bad weather! Don't forget the tableaux. Everybody will be there." The soldier did not reply; his heart had given a sudden throb at the clerk's last words.
"Follow instructions." He turned to Rip. "Remember, lad, the Sagittarius is on the other side of the Connie, about to do the same thing." Rip waited in silence, wondering. Then the voice horn called. "Valve closed!" A second voice yelled, "Blast!" A tremor jarred its way through the entire ship, making the deck throb under Rip's feet. He saw that the ship's nose had swung away from the Connie.
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