Page:The Gates of Morning - Henry De Vere Stacpoole.pdf/202

 could say, “He is mine, beside me all things are nothing—I want only time.”

Katafa had ruined her imaginary world only to create from the ruins this giant whose heart was determination.

Amidst the trees Kanoa, resting on his elbow, could see Le Moan as she sat, her head just outlined in the starlight.

The mind of Kanoa formed a strange contrast to that of the girl. In his mind there was no surety, no calm. Though he had rescued Le Moan, his heart told him that her heart was far from him, she had no eyes for him and though she did not avoid him, he might have been a tree or a rock, so little did his presence move her—and yet, if only she would look at him once, give him recognition by even the lifting of a finger, all his weakness would be turned to strength, his longing to fire.

Presently as the moon rose high, Le Moan's head sank from sight. She had lain herself down and the lovesick one, turning on his side, closed his eyes.

Dick, rising and straightening himself and stretching his arms, turned to where Katafa was waiting for him; he made a step towards her and then stood, his eyes fixed across the northern sea.

Cutting the sky from east to west, bright in the light of the moon lay a cloud, a long thready cloud.

No, it was not a cloud, it was too low. It was different; it swelled and contracted, rose and sank.

He called to Katafa and his voice roused Kanoa,