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Thitherward
,
like
homing
pigeons
,
Vanamee
’
s
thoughts
turned
irresistibly
.
Near
to
that
tower
,
just
beyond
,
in
the
little
hollow
,
hidden
now
from
his
sight
,
was
the
Seed
ranch
where
Angele
Varian
had
lived
.
Straining
his
eyes
,
peering
across
the
intervening
levels
,
Vanamee
fancied
he
could
almost
see
the
line
of
venerable
pear
trees
in
whose
shadow
she
had
been
accustomed
to
wait
for
him
.
On
many
such
a
night
as
this
he
had
crossed
the
ranches
to
find
her
there
.
His
mind
went
back
to
that
wonderful
time
of
his
life
sixteen
years
before
this
,
when
Angele
was
alive
,
when
they
two
were
involved
in
the
sweet
intricacies
of
a
love
so
fine
,
so
pure
,
so
marvellous
that
it
seemed
to
them
a
miracle
,
a
manifestation
,
a
thing
veritably
divine
,
put
into
the
life
of
them
and
the
hearts
of
them
by
God
Himself
.
To
that
they
had
been
born
.
For
this
love
’
s
sake
they
had
come
into
the
world
,
and
the
mingling
of
their
lives
was
to
be
the
Perfect
Life
,
the
intended
,
ordained
union
of
the
soul
of
man
with
the
soul
of
woman
,
indissoluble
,
harmonious
as
music
,
beautiful
beyond
all
thought
,
a
foretaste
of
Heaven
,
a
hostage
of
immortality
.
No
,
he
,
Vanamee
,
could
never
,
never
forget
,
never
was
the
edge
of
his
grief
to
lose
its
sharpness
,
never
would
the
lapse
of
time
blunt
the
tooth
of
his
pain
.
Once
more
,
as
he
sat
there
,
looking
off
across
the
ranches
,
his
eyes
fixed
on
the
ancient
campanile
of
the
Mission
church
,
the
anguish
that
would
not
die
leaped
at
his
throat
,
tearing
at
his
heart
,
shaking
him
and
rending
him
with
a
violence
as
fierce
and
as
profound
as
if
it
all
had
been
but
yesterday
.
The
ache
returned
to
his
heart
a
physical
keen
pain
;
his
hands
gripped
tight
together
,
twisting
,
interlocked
,
his
eyes
filled
with
tears
,
his
whole
body
shaken
and
riven
from
head
to
heel
.
He
had
lost
her
.
God
had
not
meant
it
,
after
all
.
The
whole
matter
had
been
a
mistake
.
That
vast
,
wonderful
love
that
had
come
upon
them
had
been
only
the
flimsiest
mockery
.
Abruptly
Vanamee
rose
.
He
knew
the
night
that
was
before
him
.
At
intervals
throughout
the
course
of
his
prolonged
wanderings
,
in
the
desert
,
on
the
mesa
,
deep
in
the
canon
,
lost
and
forgotten
on
the
flanks
of
unnamed
mountains
,
alone
under
the
stars
and
under
the
moon
’
s
white
eye
,
these
hours
came
to
him
,
his
grief
recoiling
upon
him
like
the
recoil
of
a
vast
and
terrible
engine
.
Then
he
must
fight
out
the
night
,
wrestling
with
his
sorrow
,
praying
sometimes
,
incoherent
,
hardly
conscious
,
asking
“
Why
”
of
the
night
and
of
the
stars
.
Such
another
night
had
come
to
him
now
.
Until
dawn
he
knew
he
must
struggle
with
his
grief
,
torn
with
memories
,
his
imagination
assaulted
with
visions
of
a
vanished
happiness
.
If
this
paroxysm
of
sorrow
was
to
assail
him
again
that
night
,
there
was
but
one
place
for
him
to
be
.
He
would
go
to
the
Mission
—
he
would
see
Father
Sarria
;
he
would
pass
the
night
in
the
deep
shadow
of
the
aged
pear
trees
in
the
Mission
garden
.
He
struck
out
across
Quien
Sabe
,
his
face
,
the
face
of
an
ascetic
,
lean
,
brown
,
infinitely
sad
,
set
toward
the
Mission
church
.
In
about
an
hour
he
reached
and
crossed
the
road
that
led
northward
from
Guadalajara
toward
the
Seed
ranch
,
and
,
a
little
farther
on
,
forded
Broderson
Creek
where
it
ran
through
one
corner
of
the
Mission
land
.
He
climbed
the
hill
and
halted
,
out
of
breath
from
his
brisk
wall
,
at
the
end
of
the
colonnade
of
the
Mission
itself
.
Until
this
moment
Vanamee
had
not
trusted
himself
to
see
the
Mission
at
night
.
On
the
occasion
of
his
first
daytime
visit
with
Presley
,
he
had
hurried
away
even
before
the
twilight
had
set
in
,
not
daring
for
the
moment
to
face
the
crowding
phantoms
that
in
his
imagination
filled
the
Mission
garden
after
dark
.
In
the
daylight
,
the
place
had
seemed
strange
to
him
.
None
of
his
associations
with
the
old
building
and
its
surroundings
were
those
of
sunlight
and
brightness
.
Whenever
,
during
his
long
sojourns
in
the
wilderness
of
the
Southwest
,
he
had
called
up
the
picture
in
the
eye
of
his
mind
,
it
had
always
appeared
to
him
in
the
dim
mystery
of
moonless
nights
,
the
venerable
pear
trees
black
with
shadow
,
the
fountain
a
thing
to
be
heard
rather
than
seen
.
But
as
yet
he
had
not
entered
the
garden
.
That
lay
on
the
other
side
of
the
Mission
.
Vanamee
passed
down
the
colonnade
,
with
its
uneven
pavement
of
worn
red
bricks
,
to
the
last
door
by
the
belfry
tower
,
and
rang
the
little
bell
by
pulling
the
leather
thong
that
hung
from
a
hole
in
the
door
above
the
knob
.
