He didn't dare to tell her that the moon and stars were falling and that
the gates of Eden were blotted out. From where she lay in the blackness
of the cave she could see nothing; she was too weak even to crawl to the
entrance. As he did his best to comfort her, "If we could only again
find God----" she kept whispering.

So at last, having ordered the dog to guard her, the Man departed on his
hopeless errand. It was brave of him. He believed that in trying to find
God, he would get so lost that he would never be able to retrace his
footsteps. Before he went he kissed the Woman tenderly, begging
forgiveness for all the misery he had caused her.

"But I caused it, too," she confessed. "It wasn't your rib that was to
blame. It wasn't you at all. I wanted the fruit and we ate it together."

It was the first time she had acknowledged it; until then she had
insisted that the fault was his solely. So in the moment of farewell she
restored to him one little ray of the great, lost sun of flaming
happiness.




VI


The air was so thick with falling snow that he was well-nigh stifled.
His eyes were blinded as though they were padded with cottonwool. The
flakes brushed against his cheeks like live things. At his sixth step