ater spread smooth in burnished, yellow
light, she said, "It is here". And when, at evening, the sunset
came in a red glare through the big opening in the clouds, she
said again, "It is beyond".

Dawn and sunset were the feet of the rainbow that spanned the
day, and she saw the hope, the promise. Why should she travel
any further?

Yet she always asked the question. As the sun went down in
his fiery winter haste, she faced the blazing close of the
affair, in which she had not played her fullest part, and she
made her demand still: "What are you doing, making this big
shining commotion? What is it that you keep so busy about, that
you will not let us alone?"

She did not turn to her husband, for him to lead her. He was
apart from her, with her, according to her different conceptions
of him. The child she might hold up, she might toss the child
forward into the furnace, the child might walk there, amid the
burning coals and the incandescent roar of heat, as the three
witnesses walked with the angel in the fire.

Soon, she felt sure of her husband. She knew his dark face
and the extent of its passion. She knew his slim, vigorous body,
she said it was hers. Then there was no denying her. She was a
rich woman enjoying her riches.

And soon again she was with child. Which made her satisfied
and took away her discontent. She forgot that she had watched
the sun climb up and pass his way, a magnificent traveller
surging forward. She forgot that the moon had looked through a
window of the high, dark night, and nodded like a magic
recognition, signalled to her to follow. Sun and moon travelled
on, and left her, passed her by, a rich woman enjoying her
riches. She should go also. But she could not go, when they
called, because she must stay at home now. With satisfaction she
relinquished the adventure to the unknown. She was bearing her
children.

There was another child coming, and Anna lapsed into vague
content. If she were not the wayfarer to the unknown, if she
were arrived now, settled in her builded house, a rich woman,
still her doors opened under the arch of the rainbow, her
threshold reflected the passing of the sun and moon, the great
travellers, her house was full of the echo of journeying.

She was a door and a threshold, she herself. Through her
another soul was coming, to stand upon her as upon the
threshold, looking out, shading its eyes for the direction to
take.

CHAPTER VII

THE CATHEDRAL

D