CHAPTER XIV




He tried to hide his jubilation as he talked of more cartridges.
He forgot Bram, and the Eskimos waiting outside the corral, and
the apparent hopelessness of their situation. HER FATHER! He
wanted to shout, or dance around the cabin with Celie in his arms.
But the change that he had seen come over her made him understand
that he must keep hold of himself. He dreaded to see another light
come into those glorious blue eyes that had looked at him with
such a strange and questioning earnestness a few moments before--
the fire of suspicion, perhaps even of fear if he went too far. He
realized that he had betrayed his joy when she had said that the
man in the picture was her father. She could not have missed that.
And he was not sorry. For him. there was an unspeakable thrill in
the thought that to a woman, no matter under what sun she is born,
there is at least one emotion whose understanding needs no words
of speech. And as he had talked to her, sublimely confident that
she could not understand him, she had read the betrayal in his
face. He was sure of it. And so he talked about cartridges. He
talked, he told himself afterwards, like an excited imbecile.

There were no more cartridges. Celie made him understand that. All