med loudly, "there he is!"

Clara turned: there was a scream of joy: she was on the ground, running:
she was in Thurstane's arms. During that unearthly moment there was no
thought in those two of Coronado, or of any being but each other. It is
impossible fully to describe such a meeting; its exterior signs are beyond
language; its emotion is a lifetime. If words are feeble in presence of
the heights and depths of the Colorado, they are impotent in presence of
the altitudes and abysses of great passion. Human speech has never yet
completely expressed human intellect, and it certainly never will
completely express human sentiments. These lovers, who had been wandering
in chasms impenetrable to hope, were all of a sudden on mountain summits
dizzy with joy. What could they say for themselves, or what can another
say for them?

Clara only uttered inarticulate murmurs, while her hands crawled up
Thurstane's arms, pressing and clutching him to make sure that he was
alive. There was an indescribable pathos in this eagerness which could not
trust to sight, but must touch also, as if she were blind. Thurstane held
her firmly, kissing hair, forehead, and temples, and whispering, "Clara!
Clara!" Her face, which had turned white at the first glimpse of him, was
now roseate all over and damp with a sweet dew. It became smirched with
the dust of his face; but she would only have rejoiced, had she known it;
his very squalor was precious to her.

At last she fell back from him, held him at arm's length with ease, and
stared at him. "Oh, how sick!" she gasped. "How thin! You are starving."

She ran to her horse, drew from her saddle-bags some remnants of food, and
brought them to him. He had sunk down faint upon a stone, and he was too
weak to speak aloud; but he gave her a smile of encouragement which was at
once pathetic and sublime. It said, "I can bear all alone; you must not
suffer for me." But it said this out of such visible exhaustion, that,
instead of being comforted, she was terrified.

"Oh, you must not die," she whispered with quivering mouth. "If you die, I
will die."

Then she checked her emotion and added, "There! Don't mind me. I am silly.
Eat."

Meanwhile Coronado looked on with such a face as Iago might have worn had
he felt the jealousy of Othello. For the first time he positively knew
that the woman he loved was violently in love with another. He suffered so
horribly that we should be bound to pity him, only th