But she could not plait it, her hands trembled so, and he was obliged to help her. He got her a hat to roll it up under.
"The light is uncertain," he said, "and it is raining now. Even if we do meet anyone, I don't think they would notice—especially if I can find an umbrella for you."
He hunted one up from somewhere, and then he hurried her away, ferried her across the river, and left her at the lodge gate safely, his last words being:—"You will do some good in the world—you will be a good woman yet, I know—I know you will."
END OF BOOK IV
BOOK V.
MRS. KILROY OF ILVERTHORPE.
Face to face in my chamber, my silent chamber, I saw her:
God and she and I only, there I sat down to draw her Soul through
The clefts of confession—"Speak, I am holding thee fast,
As the angel of recollection shall do it at last!"
"My cup is blood-red
With my sin," she said,
"And I pour it out to the bitter lees.
As if the angel of judgment stood over me strong at last
Or as thou wert as these,"
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
Howbeit all is not lost
The warm noon ends in frost
And worldly tongues of promise,
Like sheep-bells die from us
On the desert hills cloud-crossed:
Yet through the silence shall
Pierce the death-angel's call,
And "Come up hither," recover all.
Heart, wilt thou go?
I go!
Broken hearts triumph so.
—Ibid.