Elizabeth unbent herself, and stood upright.
“I wonder,” she said smiling, “if my back will ever feel quite straight again.”
And then she pointed to the sky.
“Look,” said she, “the rainbow!”
CHAPTER XLIX
THE FALLEN OAK
Father Maloney came down the steps of Delancey Castle. News of the wanderers might by this time have reached the village. With a view to making inquiries, he had taken his departure.
The storm had passed; only leaves and twigs scattered on the lawn, battered rose bushes, marigolds beaten to the earth, showed what its fury had been.
He turned into the park. As he came abreast the great oak, he paused. Split from apex to base it lay upon the ground, its branches strewn for yards around,—the oldest tree in the park, the king of centuries, a devastated wreck.
A lump rose in Father Maloney’s throat. He was not given to superstitions, but I fancy he saw an omen in the fallen monarch. Considering the happenings of the last few weeks, it was hardly surprising.
He crossed the grass, picking his way among the fallen branches, till he came to the very base of the tree itself,—a jagged, deplorable stump, a pitiable remnant.