It was all so utterly unlike the subdued and
cautious and sensitive atmosphere of devotion that it stirred us both,
I was aware, to a delicious kind of laughter. And then came a swift
interchange of thought, which I must try to represent by speech, though
speech was none.
"I am glad to find you, Amroth," I said. "I was just beginning to wonder
if I was not going to be lonely."
"Ah," he said, "one has what one desires here; you had too much to see
and learn at first to want my company. And yet I have been with you,
pointing out a thousand things, ever since you came here."
"Was it you," I said, "that have been showing me all this? I thought I
was alone."
At which Amroth laughed again, a laugh full of content. "Yes," he said,
"the crags and the sunset--do you not remember? I came down with you,
carrying you like a child in my arms, while you slept; and then I saw
you awake. You had to rest a long time at first; you had had much to
bear--uncertainty--that is what tires one, even more than pain. And I
have been telling you things ever since, when you could listen."
"Oh," I said, "I have a hundred things to ask you; how strange it is to
see so much and understand so little!"
"Ask away," said Amroth, putting an arm through mine.
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