Often, when I woke up,
I'd see him walking back and forth in the moonlight, humming softly to
himself. There was almost a touch of madness in it all; but I knew that
Thornton was sane.
One night--our fourteenth down--I awoke a little after midnight, and as
usual looked about for Thornton. It was glorious night. There was a full
moon over us, and with the lake at our feet, and the spruce and balsam
forest on each side of us, the whole scene struck me as one of the most
beautiful I had ever looked upon.
When I came out of our tent, Thornton was not in sight. Away across the
lake I heard a moose calling. Back of me an owl hooted softly, and from
miles away I could hear faintly the howling of a wolf. The night sounds
were broken by my own startled cry as I felt a hand fall, without
warning, upon my shoulder. It was Thornton. I had never seen his face as
it looked just then.
"Isn't it beautiful--glorious?" he cried softly.
"It's wonderful!" I said. "You won't see this down there, Thornton!"
"Nor hear those sounds," he replied, his hand tightening on my arm.
"We're pretty close to God up here, aren't we? She'll like it--I'll bring
her back!"
"She!" He looked at me, his teeth shining in that wonderful silent laugh.
"I'm going to tell you about it," he said. "I can't keep it in any
longer. Let's go down by the lake."
We walked down and seated ourselves on the edge of a big rock.
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