Beyond The Great Oblivion | Page 9

We're looking now at some other face of it. And if that's so it means a far bigger
disarrangement of the solar system and the earth's orbit and lots of things than you or I
suspect!
"Wait till we get back to New York for half a day, and visit the tower and gather up our
things. Wait till I get hold of my binoculars again! Perhaps some of these questions may
be resolved. We can't go on this way, surrounded by perpetual puzzles, problems,
mysteries! We must--"

"Do nothing but rest now!" she dictated with mock severity.
Stern laughed.
"Well, you're the boss," he answered, and leaned back against the oak. "Only, may I
propound one more question?"
"Well, what is it?"
"Do you see that dark patch in the sky? Sort of a roughly circular hole in the blue, as it
were--right there?" He pointed. "Where there aren't any stars?"
"Why--yes. What about it?"
"It's moving, that's all. Every night that black patch moves among the stars, and cuts their
light off; and one night it grazed the moon--passed before the eastern limb of it, you
understand. Made a partial eclipse. You were asleep; I didn't bother you about it. But if
there's a new body in the sky, it's up to us to know why, and what about it, and all. So the
quicker--"
"The quicker you get well, the better all around!"
She drew his head down and kissed him tenderly on the forehead with that strange, innate
maternal instinct which makes women love to "mother" men even ten years older than
themselves.
"Don't you worry your brains about all these problems and vexations to-night, Allan.
Your getting well is the main thing. The whole world's future hangs on just that! Do you
realize what it means? Do you?"
"Yes, as far as the human brain can realize so big a concept. Languages, arts, science, all
must be handed down to the race by us. The world can't begin again on any higher plane
than just the level of our collective intelligence. All that the world knows to-day is stored
in your brain-cells and mine! And our speech, our methods, our ideals, will shape the
whole destiny of the earth. Our ideals! We must keep them very pure!"
"Pure and unspotted," she answered simply. Then with an adorable and feminine
anticlimax:
"Dear, does your shoulder pain you now? I'm awfully heavy to be leaning on you like
this!"
"You're not hurting me a bit. On the contrary, your touch, your presence, are life to me!"
"Quite sure you're comfy, boy?"
"Positive."
"And happy?"

"To the limit."
"I'm so glad. Because I am, too. I'm awfully sleepy, Allan. Do you mind if I take just a
little, tiny nap?"
For all answer he patted her, and smoothed her hair, her cheek, her full, warm throat.
Presently by her slow, gentle breathing he knew she was asleep.
For a long time he half-lay there against the oak, softly swathed in his bear-skin, on the
odorous bed of fir, holding her in his arms, looking into the dancing firelight.
And night wore on, calm, perfumed, gentle; and the thoughts of the man were long, long
thoughts--thoughts "that do often lie too deep for tears."


CHAPTER V
DEADLY PERIL
Pages on pages would not tell the full details of the following week--the talks they had,
the snaring and shooting of small game, the fishing, the cleaning out of the bungalow,
and the beginnings of some order in the estate, the rapid healing of Stern's arm, and all
the multifarious little events of their new beginnings of life there by the river-bank.
But there are other matters of more import than such homely things; so now we come to
the time when Stern felt the pressing imperative of a return to the tower. For he lacked
tools in every way; he needed them to build furniture, doors, shutters; to clear away the
brush and make the place orderly, rational and beautiful; to start work on his projected
laboratory and power-plant; for a thousand purposes.
He wanted his binoculars, his shotgun and rifles, and much ammunition, as well as a
boat-load of canned supplies and other goods. Instruments, above all, he had to have.
So, though Beatrice still, with womanly conservatism, preferred to let well enough alone
for the present, and stay away from the scene of such ghastly deeds as had taken place on
the last day of the invasion by the Horde, Stern eventually convinced and overargued her;
and on what he calculated to be the 16th day of June, 2912--the tenth day since the
fight--they set sail for Manhattan. A favoring northerly breeze, joined with a clear sky
and sunshine of unusual brilliancy, made the excursion a gala time