She lay weak and shivering in the uncomfortable little bed. Her heart was thudding in her throat and in her hands ... beloved ... beloved ... a voice, singing—
“So ear-ly in the mor-ning,
My beloved—my beloved.”
Silence, darkness and silence.
13
Waking in the darkness, she heard the fluttering of leafage in the garden and lay still and cool listening and smiling. That went on ... flutter, flutter, in the breeze. It was enough ... and things happened, as well, in the far far off things called “days.”
14
A fearful clamour—bright sunlight; something sticking sideways through the partly opened door—a tin trumpet. It disappeared with a flash as she leapt out of bed. The idea of Harriett being up first!
Harriett stood on the landing in petticoat and embroidered camisole, her hair neatly pinned, her face glowing and fresh.
“Gerrup,” she said at once.