For the
hard clear skies of mid autumn had begun, with ten thousand stars
looking down unobstructed. There seemed little likelihood of change by
the following night. Perhaps the fog would be a factor, though the
high promontory on which the Castle was set.....
It was no use worrying, he told himself, with less conviction than he
wished he felt. Again he fought off the familiar sense of dread which
had never fully left him since the morning of the Battle, but only
varied in theme and intensity. Familiar too was the dull, oppressive
ache of his affliction. How much longer he could deceive his body with
the promise of future rest, he did not know. He was worn, both
physically and emotionally, to the last thread of resilience. And yet
he could not rest. Still one more journey must be undertaken, before
he slept that night.
Perhaps an hour later he came at last into sight of the lonely
homestead. When he circled at a distance, to interpose the chimney
between himself and the moon, a faint trail of smoke could be seen
rising from it, and this encouraged him.
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