near the cabin, Ambrose sat down on the
selfsame stump where he had waited so long for Emily on the afternoon of
their first meeting, and since he would not go inside the house Miner
went in without him, promising to bring back news. However, several
hours passed and Miner did not return; Ambrose saw Doctor Webb leave the
house, stay away half an hour and then go back into it and remain there.
Then afterward Brother Bibbs followed him in, and Mrs. Webb and a dozen
or more Pennyroyal townsfolk appeared clustering in a hushed group near
the little schoolhouse door.

Nevertheless the waiting time did not seem long to Ambrose Thompson,
since he was living over every moment he had ever spent with Emily,
hearing the sound of her laughter, feeling the touch of her hand over
his, and then remembering how he had wondered in the days since his
surrender whether it would not have been easier for him to have given
her up through death.

It was dusk when Miner laid his hand on Ambrose's arm; he had not seen
the little man's approach.

"It's past, the crisis," Miner said huskily; "she's better and has been
askin' for you."

Then Ambrose rose, but he didn't move in the direction of the cabin;
instead, he began running toward home, Miner having difficulty in
keeping up with him. And it was hearing Miner's hard breathing behind
that finally made him slow up.

"I couldn't 'a' gone to her, Miner," he explained. "Can't you see, ef I
should 'a' seen her lyin' there so white and helpless I couldn't 'a'
helped takin' her in my arms and tellin' her I loved her. No man kin
bear it when it looks like the woman he loves is needin' him."

CHAPTER XII

A LIGHT IN DARKNESS

AFTERWARD, when the two men had parted for the night, Miner went
directly to his home, and there in his usual methodical fashion
undressed and got himself into bed, although all the time his dark face
was twisting and working, his mouth dry, while the mind of the man had
no knowledge of what his hands were doing. For Miner, without
understanding it, was alone on his high mountain where every man must
stand who knows what it is to desire and to surrender. So what does it
matter that his mountain was the attic bedroom of a cottage and that the
little man who wrestled with the devil stood but five feet two in his
stocking feet and weighed only a hundred and five pounds, or even that
his "Get thee behind me, Satan," was so differently put?

Because when Miner's f