In the silence, the bird’s note sounded clear and tender. The dance of the dust-motes, like the great dance of Life itself, went on without ceasing.
The robin seemed to insist on a brighter view of things. He urged his companion to take comfort. Had the spring not come?
“But you do not understand, you do not understand, little soul that sings—the spring is torturing me and taunting me. If only it would kill me!”
The robin fluffed out his feathers, and began again to impart his sweet philosophy. Hadria was shedding the first unchecked tears that she had shed since her earliest childhood. And then, for the second time to-day, that strange unexplained peace stole into her heart. Reason came quickly and drove it away with a sneer, and the horror and the darkness closed round again.
“If I might only die, if I might only die!”
But the little bird sang on.
CHAPTER LI.
“QUITE hopeless!”
Joseph Fleming repeated the words incredulously.