Drooping and lessening; half expectant still That he would turn and greet him; but no sound Came, save the lonely water's whip-poor-will And the going horse hoofs dying on the ground. "Michael," he cried, "Michael!" A lonely mound Beyond the water gave him back the cry. "That's at an end," he said, "and I have failed her--I."
Soon the far hoof-beats died, save for a stir Half heard, then lost, then still, then heard again. A quickening rhythm showed he plied the spur. Then a vast breathing silence took the plain. The moon was like a soul within the brain Of the great sleeping world; silent she rode The water talked, talked, talked; it trembled as it flowed.
A moment Lion thought to ride in chase. He turned, then turned again, knowing his friend. He forded through with death upon his face, And rode the plain that seemed never to end. Clumps of pale cattle nosed the thing unkenned, Riding the night; out of the night they rose, Snuffing with outstretched heads, stamping with surly lows,
Till he was threading through a crowd, a sea Of curious shorthorns backing as he came, Barring his path, but shifting warily; He slapped the hairy flanks of the more tame. Unreal the ghostly cattle lumbered lame. His horse kept at an even pace; the cows Broke right and left like waves before advancing bows.
Lonely the pampas seemed amid that herd. The thought of Mary's sorrow pricked him sore; He brought no comfort for her, not a word; He would not ease her pain, but bring her more. The long miles dropped behind; lights rose before, Lights and the seaport and the briny air; And so he sailed for home to comfort Mary there.
When Mary knew the worst she only sighed, Looked hard at Lion's face, and sat quite still, White to the lips, but stern and stony-eyed, Beaten by life in all things but the will. Though the blow struck her hard it did not kill. She rallied on herself, a new life bloomed Out of the ashy heart where Michael lay entombed.
And more than this: for Lion touched a sense That he, the honest humdrum man, was more Than he by whom the glory and the offence Came to her life three bitter years before. This was a treason in her being's core; It smouldered there; meanwhile as two good friends They met at autumn dusks and winter daylight-ends.