SON OF THE WIND
of it, he saw it was a mistake. The end was a flight of steps.
He looked at them carefully. There was no doubt about them. At the top of them a white door was open. His possessing spirit that had brought him here had vanished. He felt very tired, but he continued to stand looking up, expectant, without knowing what he was waiting for. It was not for this woman who came and stared at him over the railing, and fled. He did not think he knew her. But it was for this other one who appeared as he had expected, from the open door. She came like a torch carried out upon the dark. Her appearance illuminated everything to him. He knew her, and where he was and what he was here for. She stood at the top step looking down at him.
"The horse is dead," he said. Her forehead was raised in wrinkles, and her mouth held tight, but she wasn't crying. She didn't believe him, perhaps. "It's dead," he repeated, and sat down on the lowest step and put his hands over his eyes. She came, stood close to him and touched him timidly.
"Never mind, never mind! It doesn't matter!" she said in a trembling voice.
He let his hands fall. "You don't understand," he explained very distinctly. "It's the horse—it isn't I. There's nothing wrong with me. I am all right."
411
