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THE FUGITIVE 135
Even his poverty and pain would grow great, released from the shallow insult of the present, and the paltry things in his basket would acquire pathetic dignity.
18
With the morning he came out to walk a road shaded by a file of deodars, that coiled the hill round like importunate love.
He held the first letter from his newly wedded wife in their village home, begging him to come to her, and come soon.
The touch of an absent hand haunted him as he walked, and the air seemed to take up the cry of the letter: " Love,
my love, my sky is brimming with tears!"
He asked himself in wonder, "How do I deserve this?"
