He watched the stars come out
until they were thick set in the black vault above him, flung in
sprays, flashing and scintillating down to the low horizons about him.
His brooding eyes ran out across the floor of the plain toward
Rattlesnake Valley.
He remembered that he had promised to call to see Argyl to-morrow
night, to tell her then what he had decided. What was he going to
decide? The obvious thing was not clear to him yet. He would work over
it half the night. Out of the confusion into which he had been hurled
two things alone stood out to him now as he tried to review them; two
things gathered the light which abandoned all other considerations to
darkness. The first thing, the clearest thing, the most important
thing in all of the new world which was being built up about him was
that he loved Argyl Crawford.
Loved her, not as Greek Conniston would have loved yesterday, could
have loved then, but with the love which was a part of the Greek
Conniston who was being born to-night. Loved her, not with the shallow
affection which would have been the tribute of a Greek Conniston of
yesterday, but with that deeper, eternal urge of soul to soul which is
true love. Loved her gravely, almost sternly, as a strong man loves.
Upon only two days had it been given him to speak with her. He thought
of that, but he knew that made no iota of difference.
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