"Beth! Beth!" he cried in an agony of fear.
She looked up at him, her expression that of earnest pleading.
"Yes, yes, I will go," she said, the words trembling; "but--but let me
pray first."
He stood motionless above her, his heart throbbing, his own eyes
lowered upon the ground. He was conscious of the movement of her lips,
yet could never afterward recall even a broken sentence of that prayer.
Possibly it was too sacred even for his ears, only to be measured by
the infinite love of God. She ceased to speak at last, the low voice
sinking into an inarticulate whisper, yet she remained kneeling there
motionless, no sound audible excepting her repressed sobbing. Driven
by the requirements of haste, Winston touched her gently upon the
shoulder.
"Come, my girl," he said, the sight of her suffering almost more than
he could bear. "You have done all you can here now."
She arose to her feet slowly, never looking toward him, never appearing
to heed his presence. He noticed the swelling of her throat as though
the effort to breathe choked her, the quick spasmodic heaving of her
bosom, and set his teeth, struggling against the strain upon his own
nerves.
"You will go with me now?"
She glanced about at him, her eyes dull, unseeing.
"Oh, yes--now," she answered, as if the words were spoken
automatically. He led her away, ignoring the constant efforts she
made, as they climbed the bank, to gaze back across his shoulder.
Finally the intervening branches completely hid that white, dead face
below, and, as if with it had vanished all remaining strength of will,
or power of body, the girl drooped her head against him, swaying
blindly as she walked. Without a word he drew her close within his
arm, her hair blowing across his face, her hand gripping his shoulder.
It was thus they came forth amid the clearer starlight upon the ridge
summit. Again and again as they moved slowly he strove to speak, to
utter some word of comfort, of sympathy. But he could not--the very
expression of her partially revealed face, as he caught glimpses of it,
held him speechless. Deep within his heart he knew her trouble was
beyond the ministration of words. Some one was standing out in front
of the cabin. His eyes perceived the figure as they approached, and he
could not bring himself to speak of this thing of horror in her
presence.
"Beth," he said gently, but had to touch her to attract attention, "I
want you to sit here and wait while I arrange for our journey. You are
not afraid?"
"No," her voice utterly devoid of emotion, "I am not afraid."
"You will remain here?"
She looked at him, her face expressionless, as though she failed to
understand. Yet when he pointed to the stone she sat down.