It grew very dark about them, and the pleasant patter, almost
musical in its rhythm, kept up. Not much wind was blowing, and
it, too, was melodious. Henry lay with his head on a little heap
of ashes, which was covered by his under blanket, and, for the
first time since he had brought the warning to Wyoming, he was
free from all feeling of danger. The picture itself of the
battle, the defeat, the massacre, the torture, and of the savage
Queen Esther cleaving the heads of the captives, was at times as
vivid as ever, and perhaps would always return now and then in
its original true colors, but the periods between, when youth,
hope, and strength had their way, grew longer and longer.
Now Henry's eyelids sank lower and lower. Physical comfort and
the presence of his comrades caused a deep satisfaction that
permeated his whole being. The light wind mingled pleasantly
with the soft summer rain. The sound of the two grew strangely
melodious, almost piercingly sweet, and then it seemed to be
human. They sang together, the wind and rain, among the leaves,
and the note that reached his heart, rather than his ear,
thrilled him with courage and hope. Once more the invisible
voice that had upborne him in the great valley of the Ohio told
him, even here in the ruined valley of Wyoming, that what was
lost would be regained.
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