E-text prepared by Michael Gray (Lost_Gamer@comcast.net)
The Meeting at the Spring |
The Green Confessional |
The Absolving Dream |
The Victorious Penance |
LONG the oldRoman road that crosses the rolling hills from theupper waters of the Marne to the Meuse, a soldier ofFrance was passing in the night.
In the broader pools of summer moonlight he showedas a hale and husky fellow of about thirty years, withdark hair and eyes and a handsome, downcast face. Hisuniform was faded and dusty; not a trace of thehorizon-blue was left; only a gray shadow. He had noknapsack on his back, no gun on his shoulder. Wearilyand doggedly he plodded his way, without eyes for theveiled beauty of the sleeping country. The quick, firmmilitary step was gone. He trudged like a tramp,choosing always the darker side of the road.
He was a figure of flight, a broken soldier.
Presently the road led him into a thick forest ofoaks and beeches, and so to the crest of a hilloverlooking a long open valley with wooded heightsbeyond. Below him was the pointed spire of some templeor shrine, lying at the edge of the wood, with nohouses near it. Farther down he could see a cluster ofwhite houses with the tower of a church in the center.Other villages were dimly visible up and down thevalley on either slope. The cattle were lowing fromthe barnyards. The cocks crowed for the dawn. Alreadythe moon had sunk behind the western trees. But thevalle