So intense had been that flash and strain of soul out through the flesh, it might be said that the cry she had uttered was not more on earth than in heaven, as she sank and rose upon its threshold, having earned her palm!
CHAPTER XXX.
The whole town, gathered below, waited in an awful silence. The shock of this danger had come upon them like a day of judgment.
Dylar stood apart, gazing alternately at the signals and at Iona’s form, the blue flutter of her garments like a puff of smoke on the mountain side.
No one ventured to approach him.
There was a struggle in his mind. What should he do with these men? A fierce rage was boiling in his heart toward them. It was of their own seeking—the meddlers!
A hand was laid on his arm. Professor Pearlstein stood beside him. They were in the Square near the pulpit, on the front of which were letters of gold. His hand still pressing Dylar’s arm, the old man stretched his staff out and drew it along the words: Thou shalt not kill.
Dylar turned away, and began to walk to and fro. He became aware of his people all about him, and of Tacita, her child in her arms, crouched on a mat at his feet. She gave the infant to a woman near her, and went to link her arm in his.
“My Love,” she said, “the torrent is turned. It was turned before the door was open.”
He stopped to look at the signals. He had not looked for half an hour. The door was open; but the road had first been closed.