idge. Now the wind
swept it and now the wind was still. The sunlight touched the treetops,
or fell through in shafts upon the early flowers. From the mould of a
million generations stalk and leaf arose for their brief hour of light
and life. When it was spent, they would rest for aeon, then stir again.
In the silence was heard the fall of the pine cone.

Rand lay, face down, upon the rock. In his mind there was now no thought
of Cary, no thought of Jacqueline, nor of Fairfax Cary, nor of any other
of the dead and living. It was the valley of the shadow of death, and
his soul was at grips with Apollyon.

He lay there until all the sunlight was withdrawn from the gorge, and
until Young Isham, frightened into disobedience, came and touched him
upon the shoulder. He lifted a grey and twisted face. "Yes, yes, Young
Isham, it is late! Go back, and I will come in a moment."

The negro went, and Rand arose from the rock, crossed the road, and
stood looking down toward the hidden water. From somewhere out of the
green gloom sounded the bird's throbbing note, then all again was quiet,
dank, and still. He raised his arms, resting them and his face upon them
against the red bark of a giant pine. The thought of death in the pool
below came to him, but he shook his head. The door was open, truly, but
it led nowhere. His soul looked at the chasm it must cross, shuddered,
and crossed it. His arms dropped from the tree and he raised his eyes to
the blue above. He was yet in a land of effort and anguish, but the god
within him saw the light.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

M. DE PINCORNET

Malplaquet was a Cary place, leagued in friendship as in blood with
Greenwood. For seven months it had esteemed itself in mourning for the
kinsman who had ridden from its gates to a violent death. But there were
young girls in the house, and now, in the bright May weather, it was
hard not to put forth leaf and bud and be gay once more. Actual gayety
would not do, the place felt that, and very heartily; but pleasure that
was also education, pleasure well within bounds, and education insisted
upon, this might now be temperately indulged in. There seemed no good
reason why, in mid-spring, the dancing class should not be held at
Malplaquet, since it was the most convenient house to a large
neighbourhood, and there were in the family three young girls.

The age esteemed dancing a highly necessary accomplishment, and its
acquisition meant work, and hard wo