Hers was the pleasant, passive task of
obedience to one utterly trusted and passionately loved. Her fate lay
hidden in his heart, as the fate of the clay lies hid in the brain of the
potter.
And so home she went, walking in a sunshine of her own thoughts. The clouds
were gone; they massed gloomily on the horizon of the past; but looking
forward, she saw no more of them. All time to come was at the disposition
of the wisest man she had ever met. She did not know or guess at the battle
which this same wise man had fought and lost under her eyes; she gathered
nothing of the truth from his gloom, his silence, his changed voice, his
sudden farewell. She did not know passion when she saw it; and the ugly
visible signs thereof told no tale to her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
STORM
That night the change came and the wind veered first to the south, then to
the southwest. By morning, gray clouds hid the sky and hourly grew darker
and lower. As yet no rain fell, but the world had altered, and every
light-value, from an artist's standpoint, was modified.
John Barren sat by his stove in the byre, made himself a cup of black
coffee, and presently, wrapped in a big mackintosh, walked out to Gorse
Point. His picture he left, of course, at the shed, for painting was out of
the question.
Nature, who had been smiling so pleasantly in sunshine these many days, now
awoke in a grim gray mood.
Pages:
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166