Then he set down the jar,
loosened the sack from his shoulders which were cut raw with the
chafing of the thongs, and bathed her face with a little of that other
water which, though bad, still might keep life in them.
"This may be an insane waste," he was thinking, "but it will help
revive her. And--maybe--we shall find another, better oasis."
Out across the plain he peered, over the sun-dried earth, out into the
distances shrouded with purple mists. His blurred eyes narrowed.
"Why, my God! There's one, now!" he muttered. "A green
one--cool--fresh--"
The Master laid the woman down again in the shadow, got up and
staggered out into the blinding sun. He tottered forward, laughing
hoarsely.
"Cool--_fresh_--" The words came from between parched lips.
All at once the oasis faded to a blur in the brilliant tapestry of the
desert that beckoned: "Come to me--and die!"
The Master recoiled, hands over eyes, mouthing unintelligible words.
Back beside the woman he crouched, fighting his own soul to keep it
from madness. Then he heard her voice, weak, strange:
"Have you drunk, too?"
"Of course!"
"You are not--telling me the truth."
"So help me God!" His fevered lips could hardly form the words.
Pages:
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512