e can
be no touch of hands between us."

And Pierre, looking up, added: "C'est vrai. That is the truth. You
go--home. I got to hide. So--so." And he turned and went into the hut.

The others set their faces northward, and Father Corraine walked beside
Mary Callen's horse, talking quietly of their future life, and speaking,
as he would never speak again, of days in that green land of their
birth. At length, upon a dividing swell of the prairie, he paused to say
farewell.

Many times the two turned to see, and he was there, looking after them;
his forehead bared to the clear inspiring wind, his grey hair blown
back, his hands clasped. Before descending the trough of a great
landwave, they turned for the last time, and saw him standing
motionless, the one solitary being in all their wide horizon.

But outside the line of vision there sat a man in a prairie hut, whose
eyes travelled over the valley of blue sky stretching away beyond the
morning, whose face was pale and cold. For hours he sat unmoving, and
when, at last, someone gently touched him on the shoulder, he only shook
his head, and went on thinking. He was busy with the grim ledger of his
life.

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

An inner sorrow is a consuming fire
At first--and at the last--he was kind
Awkward for your friends and gratifying to your enemies
Carrying with him the warm atmosphere of a good woman's love
Courage; without which, men are as the standing straw
Delicate revenge which hath its hour with every man
Evil is half-accidental, half-natural
Fascinating colour which makes evil appear to be good
Freedom is the first essential of the artistic mind
Good is often an occasion more than a condition
Had the luck together, all kinds and all weathers
He does not love Pierre; but he does not pretend to love him
Hunger for happiness is robbery
I was born insolent
If one remembers, why should the other forget
Instinct for detecting veracity, having practised on both sides
Irishmen have gifts for only two things--words and women
It is not Justice that fills the gaols, but Law
It is not much to kill or to die--that is in the game
Knowing that his face would never be turned from me
Likenesses between the perfectly human and the perfectly animal
Longed to touch, oftener than they did, the hands of children
Meditation is the enemy of action