‘She saw standing out in the semi-darkness a great Tolmên.’
‘Yes,’ panted the child; ‘and the sun isn’t up. I am awful glad—aren’t you?’
‘More glad than I dare say, dear little maid. But I am not out of prison yet. Is there any hint of the sunrise?’
‘There is a pinky light over one of the Tors,’ answered Gerna.
‘Ah! then you must pass me through the Tolmên’s hole at once. Three times, remember,’ as Gerna put her hand in the bosom of her frock and drew out the tiny bag.
The brambles had grown up around the gray stone’s hole, and almost blocked the way to it, and it was minutes before she could tear them aside and get into the opening; but she did so at last, and passed the prison-bag three times through the hole as she was bidden. As she did so, the sky in the east grew brighter and brighter, and she knew from that sign that the sun was about to rise.
‘Now place the prison and me, its prisoner, on the top of the Tolmên,’ cried the little voice—‘longways to the east it must lie; and when you have done that, stand by the Holed Stone very quietly, then wait and see what will happen.’
Gerna did as she was told, and stood on a high bank of fragrant thyme at the head of the hoary old granite stone, with its great hole, her face towards the sunrising.
She herself was very quiet, as was also the little prisoner, but all the great wild moor was now full of music. The linnets were already twittering in the bushes, and many larks were high in the sky, singing to greet another dawn. As they sang, the east grew more and more beautiful, and behind the great Tors the sky was a wonderful rose on a background of delicate gold.