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They plunged like divers into the dark eddying crowd and emerging in the cool fifties sauntered indolently homeward, infinitely romantic to each other ... both were walking alone in a dispassionate garden with a ghost found in a dream.
Having finished their observations on this quarter, the missionaries resolved to return, as, from the account given by their able and faithful conductor, Uttakiyok, whose information they had hitherto found correct, the western coast on the opposite side of the bay was bare and without any proper landing place, and at this season of the year uninhabited, the Esquimaux being generally employed in the interior in hunting the rein-deer; they, therefore, Sept. 1., left the river and shaped their course homeward.
He paused to light another cigarette before he followed her across the turf. But she had the incomprehensible feminine satisfaction of knowing, as they walked homeward, that the usual serenity of his disposition was slightly ruffled. A sudden caprice impelled her, in the privacy of her bedroom that evening, to draw his portrait for Peter Erwin.
He looked behind, and saw the Laird of Dumbiedikes making after him with what speed he might, for it happened, fortunately for the Laird's purpose of conversing with Butler, that his own road homeward was for about two hundred yards the same with that which led by the nearest way to the city.
His kindly purpose had been forestalled and with intense relief he turned back on his heart- sick way homeward. With Marjorie, too, it had been a sudden thought to go to Jason's mother, but as she drew near the gate she grew apprehensive. She had not been within the house often and then only for a moment to wait for Mavis.
The storm for which the city had been crying was hurling itself along from the sea, and its full fury was almost ready to break. The few pedestrians were scurrying homeward, the tram cars were loaded and many cabs whirled by in the effort to land their fares at home before the rain fell in torrents.
It was in a somewhat sobered frame of mind that we presently turned away and started homeward by way of Great Ormond Street. My companion was deeply thoughtful, relapsing for a while into that sombreness of manner that had so impressed me when I first met her.
As usual, he had gone in with bitterness and, as usual, he had set his face homeward with but half a heart for the old fight against fate and himself that seemed destined always to end in defeat. At dusk, he heard the word of the outer world from the lips of an old mountaineer at the foot of the Cumberland the first heard, except from his mother, for full thirty days and the word was war.
While on board his caravel, on his homeward voyage, he wrote a letter to his friend, Don Rafael Sanchez, "Treasurer of their most Serene Highnesses," in which the experience is described. The original letter is lost, but it was translated into Latin and published in Barcelona in the following year, 1493.
Then Martin touched my arm and said with a gentleness that nearly broke my heart: "Don't cry, Mary. I give in. I find I have no will but yours, dear. If you can bear the present condition of things, I ought to be able to. Let us go back to the house." He raised me to my feet and we turned our faces homeward. All the brightness of the day had gone for both of us by this time.
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