"It turns so slowly. Now it points across the Winter Valley. Ah!"
"Yes, across the Winter Valley, where the deep woods are, and beyond to the Pascal River."
"Towards my home. How dim the light is now! I can only see It—like a long dark finger yonder."
"No, my dear, there is bright sunshine still; there is no cloud at all: but It is like a finger; it is quivering now, as though it were not sure."
"Thank God, if it be not sure! But the hill is cloudy, as I said."
"No, Marie. How droll you are! The hill is not cloudy; even at this distance one can see something glisten beside the grove of pines."
"I know. It is the White Rock, where King Ovi died."
"Marie, turn your face to me. Your eyes are full of tears. Your heart is tender. Your tears are for the prisoner who has escaped—the hunted in the chase."
She shuddered a little and added, "Wherever he is, that long dark finger on the Hill of Pains will find him out—the remorseless Semaphore."
"No, madame, I am selfish; I weep for myself. Tell me truly, as—as if I were your own child—was there no cloud, no sudden darkness, out there, as we looked towards the Hill of Pains."