God's Little Mountain lay shrugged in slumber; the woods crouched like beaten creatures under the night; the small soft leaves hung limply in the frost.
Still Reddin stood there, chilled through and through, brooding upon the house.
Not until dawn, like a knife, gashed the east with blood did he stir.
He sighed. 'Too late!' he said.
Then he laughed. 'Beaten by the parson!'
A demoniac rage surged in him. He picked up a piece of rock, and lifting it in both arms, flung it at the house. It smashed the kitchen window. But before Edward came to his window Reddin was out of sight in the batch.
'My dear,' said Mrs. Marston tremulously, 'I always feared disaster from this strange match.'
'How can Hazel have anything to do with it, mother?'
'I think, dear, it is a sign from God. On your wedding-morning! Broken glass! Yes, it is a sign from God. I wish it need not have been quite so violent. But, of course, He knows best.'