Without awakening his comrade, Keith walked
to the lake. He watched the golden illumination as it fell swiftly
lower over the face of the mountain. He could see it move like a great
flood. And then, suddenly, his shadow shot out ahead of him, and he
turned to find the moon itself glowing like a monstrous ball between
the low shoulders of a mountain to the east. The world about him became
all at once vividly and wildly beautiful. It was as if a curtain had
lifted so swiftly the eye could not follow it. Every tree and shrub and
rock stood out in a mellow spotlight; the lake was transformed to a
pool of molten silver, and as far as he could see, where shoulders and
ridges did not cut him out, the moonlight was playing on the mountains.
In the air was a soft droning like low music, and from a distant crag
came the rattle of loosened rocks. He fancied, for a moment, that Mary
Josephine was standing at his side, and that together they were
drinking in the wonder of this dream at last come true. Then a cry came
to his lips, a broken, gasping man-cry which he could not keep back,
and his heart was filled with anguish.
With all its beauty, all its splendor of quiet and peace, the night was
a bitter one for Keith, the bitterest of his life.
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