brightened slowly till it flamed like a sunrise over him and left him in
burning wonder. He panted to know if she, too, knew, or knew and cared
not, or cared and knew not. She was so strange and human a creature. To
her all things meant something--nothing was aimless, nothing merely
happened. Was this rain beating down and back her love for him, or had
she never loved? He walked his room, gripping his hands, peering through
the misty windows toward the swamp--rain, rain, rain, nothing but rain.
The world was water veiled in mists.

Then of a sudden, at midday, the sun shot out, hot and still; no breath
of air stirred; the sky was like blue steel; the earth steamed. Bles
rushed to the edge of the swamp and stood there irresolute. Perhaps--if
the water had but drained from the cotton!--it was so strong and tall!
But, pshaw! Where was the use of imagining? The lagoon had been level
with the dykes a week ago; and now? He could almost see the beautiful
Silver Fleece, bedraggled, drowned, and rolling beneath the black lake
of slime. He went back to his work, but early in the morning the thought
of it lured him again. He must at least see the grave of his hope and
Zora's, and out of it resurrect new love and strength.

Perhaps she, too, might be there, waiting, weeping. He started at the
thought. He hurried forth sadly. The rain-drops were still dripping and
gleaming from the trees, flashing back the heavy yellow sunlight. He
splashed and stamped along, farther and farther onward until he neared
the rampart of the clearing, and put foot upon the tree-bridge. Then he
looked down. The lagoon was dry. He stood a moment bewildered, then
turned and rushed upon the island. A great sheet of dazzling sunlight
swept the place, and beneath lay a mighty mass of olive green, thick,
tall, wet, and willowy. The squares of cotton, sharp-edged, heavy, were
just about to burst to bolls! And underneath, the land lay carefully