Then it occurred to her that, instead
of appealing to his hopeless memory, she had better trust to some
unreflective automatic instinct independent of it, and she put the
question a little forward: "When you leave us, where will you go from
here?" He stirred slightly, and turned towards her. She repeated her
query slowly and patiently, with signs and gestures recognized between
them. A faint glow of intelligence struggled into his eyes: he lifted
his arm slowly, and pointed.
"Ah! those white peaks--the Sierras?" she asked, eagerly. No reply.
"Beyond them?"
"Yes."
"The States?" No reply. "Further still?"
He remained so patiently quiet and still pointing that she leaned
forward, and, following with her eyes the direction of his hand, saw
that he was pointing to the sky!
Then a great quiet fell upon them. The whole mountain-side seemed to her
to be hushed, as if to allow her to grasp and realize for the first time
the pathos of the ruined life at her side, which IT had known so long,
but which she had never felt till now.
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