Free The Man of the Desert by Grace Livingston Hill Page B

applied to her. Then she recalled her city life and friends and how alien this man and his work would be to them. She thought of the day when she’d probably reach her friends again and lose sight of this new friend. At that thought she felt a sharp twinge of pain. She wondered if she’d meet Milton Hamar and what they’d say to one other, if any comfortable relations could ever be established between them again; and she knew they couldn’t.
    Once again horror at the thought of his kiss rolled over her. Then came the startling awareness that he’d used almost the same words to her that this man of the desert had used about her, yet in what an infinitely different way! How tender and pure his face stood in contrast to that handsome, evil face bent over her! She shuddered again and entertained a fleeting wish she might stay here forever and never return to his hated presence.
    Then the thought of the missionary and his love for her would flood her with sunshine, erasing everything else in the rapture it brought.
    And thus the morning dawned, a clean, straight sunrise.
    Hazel could hear the man stepping softly here and there making breakfast and knew he felt it was time to move on. She must stir and speak, but her cheeks turned pink at the thought of it. She kept waiting and trying to think how to say good morning without looking guilty in her knowledge. Presently she heard him call to Billy and move away in the direction of the horse. Snatching her opportunity, she slipped from under the canvas into her green dressing room.
    But even here she found evidences of her wise guide’s care, for standing in front of the largest cedar were two tin cups of clear water and beside them a small soap case and a clean, white folded handkerchief. He’d done his best to supply her with grooming articles.
    Her heart leaped up again at his thoughtfulness. She dashed the water into her glowing face and buried it in the handkerchief’s clean folds—his handkerchief. How wonderful for it to be that way! How did an ordinary bit of linen become so invested with life currents that it gave such joyous refreshment with a touch? The wonder of it was like a miracle. She hadn’t realized anything in life could be like that.
    The red cliff across the valley was touched with the morning sun when she emerged from her green shelter, shyly conscious of the secret that lay unrevealed between them.
    Their little camp was still in shadow. The last star disappeared as if a hand turned the lights low with a flash and revealed the morning.
    She stood for an instant in the parting of the cedars, a hand on each side holding back the boughs, looking out from her retreat. The man saw her and waited with bared head. His eyes shone with a light of love he didn’t know was visible.
    The very air about them seemed charged with an electrical current. The little commonplaces they spoke sank deep into each one’s heart and lingered to bless the future. Their eyes met many times and lingered shyly on more intimate ground than the day before, yet each had grown more silent.
    He seated her on the canvas he’d arranged beside a patch of green grass and prepared to serve her like a queen. Indeed she wore a regal bearing, small and slender though she was, with her golden hair shining in the morning and her eyes bright.
    Fried rabbits were cooking in the tiny saucepan, and corn bread was toasting before the fire on two sharp sticks. She found to her surprise she was hungry and the breakfast seemed delicious.
    She was certain he didn’t know she’d guessed his secret. Her laugh rang out musically over the plain, and he watched her with delight, enjoying the companionship even more because of the barren days he was sure would come.
    Finally he broke away from the pleasant lingering with an exclamation, for the sun was hastening upward and it was time for them to go. He packed away the things quickly, and she tried to help, but in her unfamiliarity only gave hindrance, with