She timed her arrival to be exactly at ten o'clock so that she
need not wait, as this of the three outlets was the one where there
might be a less remote chance of a passer-by. They had had to choose it
because it was on the road to Bristol.
The sun was shining gorgeously again when she emerged from the secret
door, carrying her heavy bundle, and except in the renewed freshness of
all the green there seemed no trace of the storm. Yes--as she got near
the gate she saw that one huge tree beyond that old friend who had
played the part of the holder of the Golden Fleece was stricken and
cleft through by the lightning. It had fallen in helpless fashion,
blackened and yawning, its proud head in the dust.
This grieved her deeply, and she paused to pass a tender hand over the
gaping wound. Then she went on to the gate, and there waited--waited
first in calm belief, then in expectancy, and at last in a numb agony.
The sun seemed to scorch her, the light hurt her eyes, every sound made
her tremble and start forward, and at last she cried aloud:
"O God, why do I feel so troubled? I who have always had peace in my
heart!"
But no bird even answered her.
Pages:
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245