26 WITH CARL OF THE HILL 



Story of Little Sunlight that follows hereupon. There 

 are sorrows that are too sacred for words. There 

 are sorrows which a man must carry in his own con- 

 sciousness and none else may know them in this 

 life. But there are also times when men are thrown 

 together under the compelling influence of a great 

 danger, or the divine touch of a beautiful solitude — 

 when, for league upon league of distance, and between 

 them and the circling horizon, there is no other 

 human life, only they two of all the world — and then 

 the heart will speak. 



Very simply and beautifully Carl told his story and 

 in far fewer words than L But I must tell it as I may 

 be able, since I cannot tell it in Carl's way. 



Carl did not seem to be telling a story, he seemed 

 only as a man remembering aloud. And often his 

 voice would sink to accents so quiet and contem- 

 plative I had much ado to gather what he said. And 

 sometimes he paused for long together, and in those 

 silences I could glance up at his face. And upon it 

 was the wistfulness I have spoken of before. And 

 he ended very gently, but with a face so rapt and so 

 illuminated he was as one who was conscious of no 

 earthly thing that lies within his range of vision, but 

 sees beyond the golden doors of the sunset, beyond 



