s flower-beds blazing in the
sun, she found the tears again streaming from her eyes.

She tried to wipe them away, but they continued to rain down on her
cheeks. Her tongue knew their saltness. She was profoundly alarmed and
cowed by this irresistible weakness, and stood helplessly at bay among
the languid roses. The sensation of her own utter weakness, prostrate
before her dire need for strength, was as bitter as the taste of her
tears.

She stood there, among the sun-warmed flowers, looking like a symbolic
figure of youth triumphant ... and she felt herself to be in a black
and windowless prison, where the very earth under her feet was
treacherous, where everything betrayed her.

Then, out of her need, her very great need, out of the wide and empty
spaces of her inculcated unbelief, something rose up and overwhelmed
her. The force stronger than herself which she had longed to feel,
blew upon her like a wind out of eternity.

She found herself on her knees, her face hidden in her hands, sending
out a passionate cry which transcended words. The child of the
twentieth century, who had been taught not to pray, was praying.

She did not know how long she knelt there before the world emerged
from the white glory which had whirled down upon it, and hidden it
from her. But when she came to herself, her eyes were dry, and the
weakening impulse to tears had gone. She stretched out her hands
before her, and they did not tremble. The force stronger than herself
was now in her own heart. From her mother's garden there rose a
strong, fragrant exhalation, as sweet as honey.

* * * * *

For more than an hour Sylvia worked steadily among the flowers,
consciously wrought upon by the healing emanations from the crushed,
spicy leaves, the warm earth, and the hot, pure breath of the summer
wind on her face.

Once she had a passing fancy that her mother stood near her ...
smiling.

CHAPTER XLIII

"_Call now; is there any that will answer thee?_"--JOB.

When she went back to the silent, echoing house, she felt calmer than
at any time since she had read the telegram in Naples. She did not
stop to wash her earth-stained hands, but went directly up the stairs
to the locked door at the top. She did not knock this time. She stood
outside and said authoritatively in a clear, strong voice, the sound
of which surprised her, "Father dear, please open the door and let me
in."

There was a pause,