So she went on and on. She was naturally almost as good a climber as she was a horsewoman, and step by step, slowly but surely, she attained her object. Half-way up she felt very hot and very thirsty. She opened her bottle of milk and took a draught. This refreshed her. She went on her way again. At last—at long last—towards evening she had reached the eminence of this great peak of Desolation. She sat down on the jagged ridge of rock and gazed around her. Mountains everywhere—Great Tork with his nightcap on; Mangerton, and many others. Mountains, nothing but mountains. Her little peak, which looked so mighty from below, seemed small and insignificant now that she had reached it, but the sight that met her view was not only that of mountains—it was also that of lakes. One lake mingling with another and yet again with another, and from some of the mountains tumbled and roared great waterfalls sounding as loud as avalanches in Switzerland. In the far, far distance Maureen could just catch a glimpse of a mighty gorge, which is well known as the Gap of Dunlow.
Maureen sat very still. She was unhappy, but not quite so unhappy as she had been at Templemore. She had a queer sensation over her as though the Wicked Angels, those horrors of the Pit, who had entered into her breast were waiting for her at the bottom of the peak. But she knew also that they could not get up here, for God and His Holy Angels dwelt here. She began to wonder that God should allow one like her—so terribly full of wickedness—to sit on the top of the solitary peak.
She stretched out her arms with a strong and exceeding bitter cry. "Forgive me! Forgive me! Take the hatred out of me. Dear Lord God, merciful Saviour, take the hatred out of Maureen. Oh, I cannot—I cannot live long with hatred in my heart!"
Then it seemed to her that as she prayed and flung herself in her despair on the hard bosom of the rock, a Voice said to her—a Voice exceedingly strong and gentle—"Arise and live!"
She started to her feet in sudden alarm. Was there anyone near? Was it possible that one of God's angels had come close to her. "Arise and live!" said the Voice again. "Know well that those who sin and repent are forgiven. Their sins are blotted out for evermore. Be of good comfort. Live your life."
Then all of a sudden it seemed to Maureen that a spell of most wonderful peace visited her, that the agony of the last few days died away, never to return. Hers was indeed no ordinary nature. It was full of depths of passion, of undying love. To find that Hate had taken up his abode in such a heart as hers was indeed agony. But now the child knew that the awful thing called Hatred had left her for ever.
She wiped two or three scalding drops from her eyes and fell sound asleep on the summit of the rock. She slept for a long time, for she had not slept at all the night before, and when she came to herself she was startled and amazed at her position; also at what had taken place, and at the complete change within her. She no longer hated those poor Mostyns; she pitied them. She felt that in the greatness of her love, it could even encompass them, and take them in. She was very stiff and tired, however, and she perceived to her perplexity that the day had completely gone, and that she was alone on the peak, in the night, with the stars shining down on her and the great black guardian forms of the other mountains surrounding her. She felt strangely, wonderfully at peace.
She must get back to Grace Connor. She looked in vain for her little basket, but it had rolled away long ago into a chasm beneath her feet. It would be extremely difficult for Maureen to find her way back from this dangerous peak even in the day-time, but at night it was impossible. She did not know a step of the road; she was also exceedingly weak and giddy for want of food. She stooped down suddenly and pressed her lips on the hard rock. "The Place where God Himself delivered me," she murmured to herself, and then she smiled, her old bright happy smile, and the old lovely light returned to her eyes.
