e. She
went nearer to him, stepping softly, hardly breathing. He was stretched
at ease, his sleeves rolled high on his tanned arms, his tanned throat
bare, his crisp hair rolling back from his brow in the old stubborn
wave, his thick lashes on his cheek. His skin was as clean and clear as
a little boy's; he looked a little boy, sleeping there. She leaned over
him and he stirred and sighed happily, as if dimly aware of her
nearness. She tried to speak to him, to say--"Jimsy!" but she found she
could not manage it, even in a whisper. So she sat down beside him and
gathered him into her arms.

CHAPTER XII

They had a whole hour entirely to themselves and it went far toward
restoring the years that the locusts had eaten. It was characteristic of
them both that they talked little, even after the long ache of silence.
For Jimsy, it was enough to have her there, in his arms, utterly his--to
know that she had come to him alone and unafraid across land and sea;
and for Honor the journey's end was to find him clear-eyed and
clean-skinned and steady. Stephen Lorimer was right when he applied
Gelett Burgess' "caste of the articulate" against them; they were very
nearly of the "gagged and wordless folk." Yet their silence was a rather
fine thing in its way; it expressed them--their simplicity, their large
faith. It was not in them to make reproaches. It did not occur to Jimsy
to say--"But why didn't you let me know you were coming?--At least you
might have let me have the comfort of knowing you were on this side of
the ocean!" And Honor never dreamed of saying "But Jimsy,--to rush from
Stanford down here without sending me a line!"

Therefore it was somewhat remarkable that it came out, in the brief
speeches between the long stillnesses, that Honor knew that Carter had
telephoned to his mother as they passed through Los Angeles, and that
Mrs. Van Meter had spoken of Honor's return, and she had naturally
supposed he would tell Jimsy; and that Jimsy had written her a ten page
letter, telling with merciless detail of the one wild party of protest
in which he had taken part, of his horror and remorse, of his
determination to go to his people in Mexico and stay until he was
certain he had himself absolutely in hand and had made up his mind about
his future.

"Well, it will be sent back to me from Florence," said Honor,
contentedly.

"Funny it wasn't there almost as soon as you were--I sent it so long
ago!--The night after