I would give much to know
the truth--when I am in the humour."
She sighed, and then laughed again.
"You see why it is that I find the idea of a brother so hard to
understand," she added, and then was silent.
"You have all the more need of understanding it, my dear friend," the
Wanderer answered, looking at her thoughtfully.
"Yes--perhaps so. I can see what friendship is. I can almost guess what
it would be to have a brother."
"And have you never thought of more than that?" He asked the question
in his calmest and most friendly tone, somewhat deferentially as though
fearing lest it should seem tactless and be unwelcome.
"Yes, I have thought of love also," she answered, in a low voice. But
she said nothing more, and they walked on for some time in silence.
They came out upon the open place by the river which she remembered
so well. Unorna glanced about her and her face fell. The place was the
same, but the solitude was disturbed. It was not Sunday as it had been
on that day a month ago. All about the huge blocks of stone, groups
of workmen were busy with great chisels and heavy hammers, hewing and
chipping and fashioning the material that it might be ready for use in
the early spring. Even the river was changed. Men were standing upon the
ice, cutting it into long symmetrical strips, to be hauled ashore. Some
of the great pieces were already separated from the main ice, and sturdy
fellows, clad in dark woollen, were poling them over the dark water to
the foot of the gently sloping road where heavy carts stood ready to
receive the load when cut up into blocks.
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