The
door stood open as though we were certainly expected. It was the
simplest little place, just a pair of rooms very roughly and plainly
furnished. And there we embraced with tears of joy.
XXIX
The time that I spent in the valley home with Cynthia is the most
difficult to describe of all my wanderings; because, indeed, there is
nothing to describe. We were always together. Sometimes we wandered high
up among the woods, and came out on the bleak mountain-heads. Sometimes
we sat within and talked; and by a curious provision there were
phenomena there that were more like changes of weather, and interchange
of day and night, than at any other place in the heavenly country.
Sometimes the whole valley would be shrouded with mists, sometimes it
would be grey and overcast, sometimes the light was clear and radiant,
but through it all there beat a pulse of light and darkness; and I do
not know which was the more desirable--the hours when we walked in the
forests, with the wind moving softly in the leaves overhead like a
falling sea, or those calm and silent nights when we seemed to sleep and
dream, or when, if I waked, I could hear Cynthia's breath coming and
going evenly as the breath of a tired child.
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