Charity walked across the field to the
ground. As she approached it she heard a bird's note in the still air,
and looking up she saw a brown song-sparrow perched in an upper branch
of the thorn above the grave. She stood a minute listening to his small
solitary song; then she rejoined the trail and began to mount the hill
to the pine-wood.
Thus far she had been impelled by the blind instinct of flight; but each
step seemed to bring her nearer to the realities of which her feverish
vigil had given only a shadowy image. Now that she walked again in a
daylight world, on the way back to familiar things, her imagination
moved more soberly. On one point she was still decided: she could not
remain at North Dormer, and the sooner she got away from it the better.
But everything beyond was darkness.
As she continued to climb the air grew keener, and when she passed from
the shelter of the pines to the open grassy roof of the Mountain the
cold wind of the night before sprang out on her. She bent her shoulders
and struggled on against it for a while; but presently her breath
failed, and she sat down under a ledge of rock overhung by shivering
birches.
Pages:
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274