School-hours were over, but Davie was seated where he had left him, still working. At sight of him Donal, feeling as if he had just come from the presence of the damned, almost burst into tears. A moment more and Arctura entered: it was as if the roof of hell gave way, and the blue sky of the eternal came pouring in heavenly deluge through the ruined vault.
“I have been to call upon Sophia,” she said.
“I am glad to hear it,” answered Donal: any news from an outer world of yet salvable humanity was welcome as summer to a land of ice.
“Yes,” she said; “I am able to go and see her now, because I am no longer afraid of her—partly, I think, because I no longer care what she thinks of me. Her power over me is gone.”
“And will never return,” said Donal, “while you keep close to the master. With him you need no human being to set you right, and will allow no human being to set you wrong; you will need neither friend nor minister nor church, though all will help you. I am very glad, for something seems to tell me I shall not be long here.”
Arctura dropped on a chair—pale as rosy before.
“Has anything fresh happened?” she asked, in a low voice that did not sound like hers. “Surely you will not leave me while—.—I thought—I thought—.—What is it?”
“It is only a feeling I have,” he answered. “I believe I am out of spirits.”
“I never saw you so before!” said Arctura. “I hope you are not going to be ill.”
“Oh, no; it is not that! I will tell you some day, but I cannot now. All is in God’s hands!”