Chapter 8 IN
THE DARK.There is not one upon life’s weariest way,
Who is weary as I am weary of all but death.
Swinburne.
The grim sentinels by the pathway, who had been so reluctant to
let Cecil pass the day before, were still more reluctant this
evening. One of them planted himself in the trail directly in front
of Cecil, and did not offer to let him go on, but stood sullenly
blocking the way. Cecil touched the warrior’s arm and bade him
stand aside. For an instant it seemed that he would refuse, but his
superstitious respect for the white tomanowos overcame his
obstinacy,—and he stepped unwillingly back.
But as Cecil went on he felt, and felt rightly, that they would
not let him pass again,—that the last act, be it what it might, in
his love drama, was drawing to a close.
