"What is the meaning of it all!" she said. "We are unhappy, do what we may, and it is out of our very unhappiness that we find something that replaces happiness—a sort of divine sorrow."
We had by this time traversed the wood and stood on a height which commanded the now deserted colony buildings. The sun was well up on the horizon; the birds hopping silently in the boughs, their spring and summer songs over; but the torrent filled the air with its noisy music as it dashed down the hillside, and beyond we saw it meandering in peaceful curves among the meadows.
"It is very beautiful," she said. "After all, there is joy enough in beauty, and it is no small thing"—she was looking absently over the meadows as she repeated—"it is no small thing that we can by art add to it."
"It is a mission of which you can well be proud," said I.
She looked at me and smiled gratefully.
As we returned I felt that she had shaken off some of the sorrow with which she had started.
CHAPTER XVII
DESIGNS ON ANNA OF ANN