The
shock brought him back to realities, and a few moments later he
stood upon the narrow boulder-strewn beach, rubbing his knee and
calling himself a fool for allowing the old thoughts to stir him
up. Out there, somewhere, Brokaw and his daughter were coming.
That Miss Brokaw was with her father was a circumstance which was
of no importance to him. At least he told himself so, and set his
face toward Churchill.
To-night the stars and the moon seemed to be more than usually
brilliant. About him the great masses of rock, the tumbling surf,
the edge of the forest, and the Bay itself were illumined as if by
the light of a softly radiant day. He looked at his watch and
found that it was past midnight. He had been up since dawn, and
yet he felt no touch of fatigue, no need of sleep. He took off his
cap and walked bareheaded in the mellow light, his moccasined feet
falling lightly, his eyes alert to all that this wonderful night
world might hold for him. Ahead of him rose a giant mass of rock,
worn smooth and slippery by the water dashed against it in the
crashing storms of countless centuries, and this he climbed,
panting when he reached the top. His eyes turned to where he saw
Fort Churchill sleeping along the edge of the Bay.
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