Then one at a time he drew up his hind feet and crouched as he had on the gravel.

The man lay watching the bright bridge.

The moonlight entered the window and flooded the room.

The strong lines on the weather-beaten face of the Harvester were mellowed in the light, and he appeared young and good to see.

His lithe figure stretched the length of the bed, his hair appeared almost white, and his face, touched by the glorifying light of the moon, was a study.
One instant his countenance was swept with ultimate scorn; then gradually that would fade and the lines soften, until his lips curved in child-like appeal and his eyes were filled with pleading.