Throughout the whole sick tangle there went a twisting thread of
wonder, of striving for understanding. What was this thing which had
come clutching sweetly at her heart, which had stilled the very life in
her with holy mystery, and whose swift passing had left her benumbed
within as some old woman numbling in the sun on a door-sill? Where was
the glory of the spring? What had come upon the face of the waters,
that the light had gone from them? What was this thing that the good
God wished her to learn, where was the lesson?
Given to reason and plain judgment of all things, the girl tried to
think out her problem, to fathom the meaning of this which had befallen
her, and to find if there was any good in it. But everywhere she looked
there was the laughing face of the factor with his sunburnt hair and
his blue eyes. The spring days were heavy as those steel-grey stretches
that pass for the days in winter.
Too dull for sharp pain, she went about in a sort of apathy.
For several days McElroy watched uneasily for her, hoping for a chance
meeting. He was anxious to speak about his boyish jealousy, to beg
forgiveness for that abrupt leaving at the gate.
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