For a moment the beat
of the watcher's heart and the flight of his soul stopped still. A
thunderous crash came slowly to his waiting ears, another flash
came, and Hale stumbled, with a sob, back into the cabin. God's
finger was pointing the way now--the big Pine was no more.
XXXIV
The big Pine was gone. He had seen it first, one morning at
daybreak, when the valley on the other side was a sea of mist that
threw soft, clinging spray to the very mountain tops--for even
above the mists, that morning, its mighty head arose, sole visible
proof that the earth still slept beneath. He had seen it at noon--
but little less majestic, among the oaks that stood about it; had
seen it catching the last light at sunset, clean-cut against the
after-glow, and like a dark, silent, mysterious sentinel guarding
the mountain pass under the moon. He had seen it giving place with
sombre dignity to the passing burst of spring, had seen it green
among dying autumn leaves, green in the gray of winter trees and
still green in a shroud of snow--a changeless promise that the
earth must wake to life again. It had been the beacon that led him
into Lonesome Cove--the beacon that led June into the outer world.
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