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The
car
stopped
under
the
arch
of
branches
.
She
did
not
recognize
it
—
it
was
not
the
black
Hammond
,
but
a
long
,
gray
convertible
.
She
saw
the
driver
step
out
:
it
was
a
man
whose
presence
here
could
not
be
possible
.
It
was
Francisco
d
’
Anconia
.
The
shock
she
felt
was
not
disappointment
,
it
was
more
like
the
sensation
that
disappointment
would
now
be
irrelevant
.
It
was
eagerness
and
an
odd
,
solemn
stillness
,
the
sudden
certainty
that
she
was
facing
the
approach
of
something
unknown
and
of
the
gravest
importance
.
The
swiftness
of
Francisco
’
s
movements
was
carrying
him
toward
the
hill
while
he
was
raising
his
head
to
glance
up
.
He
saw
her
above
,
at
the
door
of
the
cabin
,
and
stopped
.
She
could
not
distinguish
the
expression
on
his
face
.
He
stood
still
for
a
long
moment
,
his
face
raised
to
her
.
Then
he
started
up
the
hill
.
She
felt
—
almost
as
if
she
had
expected
it
—
that
this
was
a
scene
from
their
childhood
.
He
was
coming
toward
her
,
not
running
,
but
moving
upward
with
a
kind
of
triumphant
,
confident
eagerness
.
No
,
she
thought
,
this
was
not
their
childhood
—
it
was
the
future
as
she
would
have
seen
it
then
,
in
the
days
when
she
waited
for
him
as
for
her
release
from
prison
.
It
was
a
moment
’
s
view
of
a
morning
they
would
have
reached
,
if
her
vision
of
life
had
been
fulfilled
,
if
they
had
both
gone
the
way
she
had
then
been
so
certain
of
going
.
Held
motionless
by
wonder
,
she
stood
looking
at
him
,
taking
this
moment
,
not
in
the
name
of
the
present
,
but
as
a
salute
to
their
past
.
When
he
was
close
enough
and
she
could
distinguish
his
face
,
she
saw
the
look
of
that
luminous
gaiety
which
transcends
the
solemn
by
proclaiming
the
great
innocence
of
a
man
who
has
earned
the
right
to
be
light
-
hearted
.
He
was
smiling
and
whistling
some
piece
of
music
that
seemed
to
flow
like
the
long
,
smooth
,
rising
flight
of
his
steps
.
The
melody
seemed
distantly
familiar
to
her
,
she
felt
that
it
belonged
with
this
moment
,
yet
she
felt
also
that
there
was
something
odd
about
it
,
something
important
to
grasp
,
only
she
could
not
think
of
it
now
.
"
Hi
,
Slug
!
"
"
Hi
,
Frisco
!
"
She
knew
—
by
the
way
he
looked
at
her
,
by
an
instant
’
s
drop
of
his
eyelids
closing
his
eyes
,
by
the
brief
pull
of
his
head
striving
to
lean
back
and
resist
,
by
the
faint
,
half
-
smiling
,
half
-
helpless
relaxation
of
his
lips
,
then
by
the
sudden
harshness
of
his
arms
as
he
seized
her
—
that
it
was
involuntary
,
that
he
had
not
intended
it
,
and
that
it
was
irresistibly
right
for
both
of
them
.
The
desperate
violence
of
the
way
he
held
her
,
the
hurting
pressure
of
his
mouth
on
hers
,
the
exultant
surrender
of
his
body
to
the
touch
of
hers
,
were
not
the
form
of
a
moment
’
s
pleasure
—
she
knew
that
no
physical
hunger
could
bring
a
man
to
this
—
she
knew
that
it
was
the
statement
she
had
never
heard
from
him
,
the
greatest
confession
of
love
a
man
could
make
.
No
matter
what
he
had
done
to
wreck
his
life
,
this
was
still
the
Francisco
d
’
Anconia
in
whose
bed
she
had
been
so
proud
of
belonging
—
no
matter
what
betrayals
she
had
met
from
the
world
,
her
vision
of
life
had
been
true
and
some
indestructible
part
of
it
had
remained
within
him
—
and
in
answer
to
it
,
her
body
responded
to
his
,
her
arms
and
mouth
held
him
,
confessing
her
desire
,
confessing
an
acknowledgment
she
had
always
given
him
and
always
would
.
