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Hough, Emerson, 1857-1923

"The Way of a Man"


Yet not destroying us. Still, somewhere under the huddle and draggle of
it all burned on the human soul. The steel in my belt was cold, but it
had held its fire. The ice in the flints about us held fire also in its
depths. Fire was in our bodies, the fire of life--indomitable,
yearning--in our two bodies. So that which made the storm test us and
try us and seek to slay us, must perhaps have smiled grimly as it howled
on and at length disappeared, baffled by the final success of the
immutable and imperishable scheme. The fire in our two bodies still was
there.
As the rain lessened, and the cold increased, I knew that rigors would
soon come upon us. "We must walk," I said. "You shiver, you freeze."
"You tremble," she said. "You are cold. You are very cold."
"Walk, or we die," I gasped; and so I led her at last lower down the
side of the ravine, where the wind was not so strong.
"We must run," I said, "or we shall die." I staggered as I ran. With all
my soul I challenged my weakness, summoning to my aid that reserve of
strength I had always known each hour in my life. Strangely I felt--how
I cannot explain--that she must be saved, that she was I. Strange
phrases ran through my brain.


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