It was more than Laura could bear, for she, and she alone of that little company, knew the sound; she had heard it before.
In his excitement Arthur's hold on her hand relaxed. With a sudden cry she wrenched herself free, and before the two men could seize her again her white dress and scarlet cloak made a blot on the moonlit snow far on in advance. What could they do but follow in her track? and when they had come up with her, when she had allowed herself once more to be caught, the light from the open door of the chalet gleamed far away in the distance. The wilful little maiden was perched once more on the shoulder of the stolid Swiss guide. She arrogated to herself the right of directing her companions, and it was well. Once, at least, from her tower of observation she scented danger and warned them away from the brink of a ravine. But the men had a surer guide than the dreams of a child. In a part of the meadow that was sheltered from the wind Arthur had found the traces of footsteps in the snow.
Strange to say, the discovery was made in the very direction which Laura had taken when she started on her wild flight. Had her loving instincts guided her, or was there really something supernatural in her knowledge?
Arthur asked himself this question repeatedly as he followed his guide in silence. He never found an answer. The events of that night were always wrapped in a partial mystery.
Was it so very unnatural? Who that has looked into the far-seeing eyes of some children, who that has carefully noted their strange ways, will be able to answer unhesitatingly that it was? They are nearer to heaven, nearer to the invisible, than those who have weathered a hundred storms, who have lost their faith in humanity, who have travelled for long years along the dusty highways of the world, tarnishing much of their soul's beauty, and forgetting too often the grandeur of their high destiny.
What wonder that the little ones sometimes see farther than we? for the invisible chord which binds their soul to heaven is, at their tender age, free for the passage to and fro of the angels, and it may be that they whisper to the children of the things that no eye can see. And the child is ready for these beautiful intuitions. It does not question—it believes.
[CHAPTER VII.]
FOR THE SECOND TIME SAVED FROM HIMSELF.
Oh, unsay
What thou hast said of man; nor deem me wrong.
Mind cannot mind despise—it is itself.
Mind must love mind.