He was drunk--dead to the world.

How long I stood in frenzied stupor gazing at shadow-stricken Dorothy upon the hillside I do not know.
It must have been several minutes.

Blood of Christ, how vividly I remember the vision! The sunny radiance of the girl's hair was darkened and dead.
Her bending attitude was one of abject grief.

Her hands covered her face, and she was the image of woe.

Suddenly she lifted her head with the quick impulsive movement so familiar in her, and with a cry eloquent as a child's wail for its mother called, "John," and held out her arms imploringly toward the dim shadowy form of her lover standing upon the hill crest.