of the day was forgotten; his
loved dependent animals in the wind-swept barn forgotten; the evening
with his father and mother, the unalterable emptiness of it, the
unkindness, the threatening tragedy, forgotten. Not that desolate room
with firelight and candle; not the poor farmhouse; not the meagre farm,
nor the whole broad Kentucky plateau of fields and woods, heavy with
winter wealth, heavy with comfortable homesteads--any longer held him
as domicile, or native region: he was gone far away into the company of
his high-minded masters, the writers of those books. Choosing one, he
closed the lid of the trunk reluctantly over the rest, and with the
book in one hand and the chair in the other, went back to the fire.

An hour passed, during which, one elbow on the table, the shaded side
of his face supported in the palm of his hand, he read, scarce moving
except to snuff the wick or to lay on a fresh fagot. At the end of this
time other laws than those which the writer was tracing began to assert
their supremacy over David--the laws of strength and health, warmth and
weariness. Sleep was descending on him, relaxing his limbs, spreading a
quiet mist through his brain, caressing his eyelids. He closed the
pages and turned to his dying fire. The book caused him to wrestle; he
wanted rest.

And now, floating to him through that mist in his brain, as softly as a
nearing melody, as radiantly as dawning light, came the image of
Gabriella: after David had pursued Knowledge awhile he was ready for
Love. But knowledge, truth, wisdom before every other earthly
passion--that was the very soul of him. His heart yearned for her now
in this closing hour, when everything else out of his way, field-work,
stable-work, wood-cutting, filial duties, study, he was alone with the
thought of her, the newest influence in his life, taking heed of her
solely, hearkening only to his heart's need of her. In all his rude
existence she was the only being he had ever known who seemed to him
worthy of a place in the company of his great books. Had the summons
come to pack his effects to-morrow and, saying good-by to everything
else, start on a journey to the congenial places where his mighty
masters lived and wrought, he would have wished her alone to go with
him, sharer of life's loftiness. Her companionship wherever he might
be--to have just that; to feel that she was always with him, and always
one with him; to be able to turn his eyes to hers before