By our love

           Thesuntouchedthetreetopsontheslopeofthehill,andtheylookedabluish-silver,catchingthecolorofthesky.Dagnystoodatthedoorofthecabin,withthefirstsunraysonherforeheadandmilesofforestspreadunderherfeet.Theleaveswentdownfromsilvertogreentothesmokyblueoftheshadowsontheroadbelow.Thelighttrickleddownthroughthebranchesandshotupwardinsuddenspurtswhenithitaclumpoffernsthatbecameafountainofgreenrays.Itgaveherpleasuretowatchthemotionofthelightoverastillnesswherenothingelsecouldmove.

           Shehadmarkedthedate,asshedideachmorning,onthesheetofpapershehadtackedtothewallofherroom.Theprogressionofthedatesonthatpaperwastheonlymovementinthestillnessofherdays,liketherecordkeptbyaprisoneronadesertisland.Thismorning’sdatewasMay28.

           Shehadintendedthedatestoleadtoapurpose,butshecouldnotsaywhethershehadreacheditornot.Shehadcomeherewiththreeassignmentsgiven,asorders,toherself:rest—learntolivewithouttherailroad—getthepainoutoftheway.Getitoutoftheway,werethewordssheused.Shefeltasifsheweretiedtosomewoundedstrangerwhocouldbestrickenatanymomentbyanattackthatwoulddrownherinhisscreams.Shefeltnopityforthestranger,onlyacontemptuousimpatience;shehadtofighthimanddestroyhim,thenherwaywouldbecleartodecidewhatshewishedtodo;butthestrangerwasnoteasytofight.