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Updated: May 4, 2025
He sat in the arm-chair and took tea, and consumed several of the extra cakes which she had sent out for and talked to her and expressed himself, looking very earnestly at her with his deep-set eyes, and carefully avoiding any crumbs on his mustache the while. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess.
But this was not the glance so characteristic of her. In the firelit room her eyes looked puzzled, almost wide, with a sort of startled astonishment. "You had a lot of the boy in you still when you went away. At least, I used to think so." "Haven't I any left?" "I can't see any. No, I think you've come back all man. And how tremendously burnt you are." "Almost black, I suppose.
Preceded by bags and satchels and rugs, there came two women out of the drenched night into the glow of the firelit room. Two of the girls in the circle stared for a moment, and then, with sharp cries of surprise, rushed over to the desk where the newcomers stood, having been conducted by the porters: two pretty girls from Baltimore.
And the sad shepherd, looking with fixed eyes at the firelit mountain far away, continued his story: "The king lay on his ivory couch, and the sweat of his disease was heavy upon him, for he was old, and his flesh was corrupted. But his hair and his beard were dyed and perfumed and there was a wreath of roses on his head.
'Don't leave me; take me with you, Marjory dear, dear Marjory, don't go! But there was only firelit space where she had stood, though the sound of her pleading, pathetic voice was still in the air. Ormsby remained for a few minutes leaning against a desk, with his face buried in his arms, and I heard him struggling with his sobs. At last he rose, and left the room without a word.
But Roscoe Cummins was of a different type. He was a man of ideals, and in Oachi's love he saw his ideal of love set apart from him by illimitable voids. This night, in the firelit tepee, there came to him like a painful stab the truth of Ransom's words. He had been born some thousands of years too late.
"Where did you drop from?" he said. "You come with me! Let's talk it over." In a warm, firelit cottage room a young woman ran to meet the man then for the first time she saw the dog. "Why, John!" she cried. "Where did you get him?" "He got me," laughed the man, "on the way home from the station. He's starving. Get him something to eat. Then I'll tell you about it."
She had passed beyond it and out into the warm firelit room before she realised that there was another occupant. Someone stood up from the couch by the fireplace as she came towards it. Fate had been on her side for once. The person was Captain Langrishe. "My sister will not be very long, Miss Drummond," he began, in a tone he tried in vain to make indifferent.
Who was to say that some night the position might not be reversed that it would not be he who stood naked save for his own pelt among the undergrowth watching some happy firelit puma licking the grease of a good meal from its paws? That was the primitive doubt.
In two minutes the firelit circle was quiet and deserted, save for those who had fallen; and my comrade and I stared in each other's faces in the firelight. "Comrade," I cried in gladness, "I thought you were slain." "The good helm saved me," he answered; "but I came round in time. What are these whom we have fought?"
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