And she called on the Night for a sign, and a Sign was allowed,
And she builded an Altar and served by the light of her Vision—
Alone, without hope of regard or reward, but uncowed,
Resolute, selfless, divine.
These things she did in Love’s honour ...
What is a God beside Woman? Dust and derision!
THE WISH HOUSE
The new Church Visitor had just left after a twenty-minutes’ call. During that time, Mrs. Ashcroft had used such English as an elderly, experienced, and pensioned cook should, who had seen life in London. She was the readier, therefore, to slip back into easy, ancient Sussex (“t”s softening to “d”s as one warmed) when the ’bus brought Mrs. Fettley from thirty miles away for a visit, that pleasant March Saturday. The two had been friends since childhood; but, of late, destiny had separated their meetings by long intervals.
Much was to be said, and many ends, loose since last time, to be ravelled up on both sides, before Mrs. Fettley, with her bag of quilt-patches, took the couch beneath the window commanding the garden, and the football-ground in the valley below.
“Most folk got out at Bush Tye for the match there,” she explained, “so there weren’t no one for me to cushion agin, the last five mile. An’ she do just-about bounce ye.”