afraid of death, but a part of his philosophy was gone. It was,
after all, a difficult thing to die alone. He felt that the
pressure in his chest was perceptible greater than it had been an
hour or two before, and the thought grew upon him that it would be
a terrible thing for the "explosion" to come when the sun was not
shining. He wanted O'Connor back again. He had the desire to call
out for Cardigan. He would have welcomed Father Layonne with a
glad cry. Yet more than all else would he have had at his side in
these moments of distress a woman. For the storm, as it massed
heavier and nearer, filling the earth with its desolation, bridged
vast spaces for him, and he found himself suddenly face to face
with the might-have-beens of yesterday.

He saw, as he had never guessed before, the immeasurable gulf
between helplessness and the wild, brute freedom of man, and his
soul cried out--not for adventure, not for the savage strength of
life--but for the presence of a creature frailer than himself, yet
in the gentle touch of whose hand lay the might of all humanity.

He struggled with himself. He remembered that Dr. Cardigan had
told him there would be moments of deep depression, and he tried
to fight himself out of the grip of this that was on him. There
was a bell at hand, but he refused to use it, for he sensed his
own cowardice. His cigar had gone out, and he relighted it. He
made an effort to bring his mind back to O'Connor, and the mystery
girl, and Kedsty. He tried to visualize McTrigger, the man he had
saved from the hangman, waiting for Kedsty in the office at
barracks. He pictured the girl, as O'Connor had described her,
with her black hair and blue eyes--and then the storm broke.