Then the flashing changed to a long, thoughtful look, in which there was a wistful, unconscious searching of his face, a look that trembled on the verge of hope and trust.
"I'll try--to live," she said.

The broken whisper just reached his ears.
"Do what--you want--with me." "Rest then--don't worry--sleep," he replied.
Abruptly he arose, as if words had been decision for him, and with a sharp command to the dogs he strode from the camp.

Venters was conscious of an indefinite conflict of change within him.

It seemed to be a vague passing of old moods, a dim coalescing of new forces, a moment of inexplicable transition.

He was both cast down and uplifted.