The Call of the Cumberlands

Then, with a sudden glad little cry, she came running with her old

fleet grace down to the road.

Samson had vaulted the stile, and stood in the full moonlight. As he

saw her coming he stretched out his arms and his voice broke from his

throat in a half-hoarse, passionate cry: "Sally!"

It was the only word he could have spoken just then, but it was all

that was necessary. It told her everything. It was an outburst from a

heart too full of emotion to grope after speech, the cry of a man for

the One Woman who alone can call forth an inflection more eloquent than

phrases and poetry. And, as she came into his outstretched arms as

straight and direct as a homing pigeon, they closed about her in a

convulsive grip that held her straining to him, almost crushing her in

the tempest of his emotion.

For a time, there was no speech, but to each of them it seemed that

their tumultuous heart-beating must sound above the night music, and

the telegraphy of heart-beats tells enough. Later, they would talk, but

now, with a gloriously wild sense of being together, with a mutual

intoxication of joy because all that they had dreamed was true, and all

that they had feared was untrue, they stood there under the skies

clasping each other--with the rifle between their breasts. Then as he

held her close, he wondered that a shadow of doubt could ever have

existed. He wondered if, except in some nightmare of hallucination, it

had ever existed.

The flutter of her heart was like that of a rapturous bird, and the

play of her breath on his face like the fragrance of the elder blossoms.

These were their stars twinkling overhead. These were their hills, and

their moon was smiling on their tryst.

He had gone and seen the world that lured him: he had met its

difficulties, and faced its puzzles. He had even felt his feet

wandering at the last from the path that led back to her, and now, with

her lithe figure close held in his embrace, and her red-brown hair

brushing his temples, he marveled how such an instant of doubt could

have existed. He knew only that the silver of the moon and the kiss of

the breeze and the clasp of her soft arms about his neck were all parts

of one great miracle. And she, who had waited and almost despaired, not

taking count of what she had suffered, felt her knees grow weak, and

her head grow dizzy with sheer happiness, and wondered if it were not

too marvelous to be true. And, looking very steadfastly into his eyes,

she saw there the gleam that once had frightened her; the gleam that

spoke of something stronger and more compelling than his love. It no

longer frightened her, but made her soul sing, though it was more

intense than it had ever been before, for now she knew that it was She

herself who brought it to his pupils--and that nothing would ever be

stronger.