manto.

Yet, she had wanted him - of that he was certain.

In his life he had known dutifulness, remote yearnings, but never, until that afternoon, the full awakening of passion and a gratification which had left him fulfilled yet still avid. Meantime, fragments of epigram and doctrine, the splinters of the hard old morality of his youth pricked at his fevered conscience.

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Then in the fierceness of his need, there came to him from the vanished yesterdays of his youth verses instinct with an understanding softer than the sharp-lined wisdom of the Greeks. And never had he wanted so desperately to believe as in this hour when she leaned upon a faith he did not possess.

Holding her to himself he spoke of the gentle Shepherd Who leads men beside still waters causing them to walk unhurt through the valley of the shadow, Who cannot be fled, not in the grave, not even if one were to take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea.

She listened and like a child, insatiable of some marvelous tale and reluctant of slumber, asked for more.

My heart is not haughty he quoted nor mine eyes lofty. Neither do I exercise myself in things too great, too wonderful for me. Surely I have stilled and quieted my soul, like a child with his mother, like a child is my soul within me.

With that Manto's body sagged in his arms and, after a moment, muffled sobs escaped him.