ed pyrus japonicas showed in blurs of colours. The lightning
flashed, and a long roll of thunder jarred the room. "You were the
dreamer," said Unity, "and you had most of the milk of human kindness,
and now you have been caught up beyond us all!"

Her sister looked at her, but with a distant gaze. "It is because I can
dream--no, not dream, see! I follow all the time--I follow with my mind
the troops upon the march, and the ships on the sea. I do not hate the
ships--they are beautiful, with the green waves about them and the
sea-gulls with shining wings. And yet I wish that they would sink--down,
down quickly, before there was much suffering, before the men on them
had time for thought. They should go like a stone to the bottom, without
suffering, and they should lie there, peacefully, until their spirits
are called again. And our ports should be open, and less blood would be
shed. Less blood, less anger, less wretchedness, less pain, less
shedding of tears, less watching, watching, watching--"

"Look!" cried Unity. "The great oak bough is going!"

A vast spreading bough, large itself as a tree, snapped by the wind from
the trunk, came crashing down and out upon the lawn. The thunder rolled
again, and large raindrops began to splash on the gravel paths.

"Some one is coming up the drive," exclaimed Unity. "It's a soldier!
He's singing!"

The wind, blowing toward the house, brought the air and the quality of
the voice that sang it.

"Beau chevalier qui partez pour la guerre,
Qu'allez-vous faire
Si loin d'ici?
Voyez-vous pas que la nuit est profonde,
Et que le monde
N'est que souci?"

"Edward!" cried Judith. "It is Edward!"

The Greenwood ladies ran out on the front porch. Around the house
appeared the dogs, then, in the storm, two or three turbaned negresses.
Mammy, coifed and kerchiefed, came down the stairs and through the
house. "O my Lawd! Hit's my baby! O glory be! Singin' jes' lak he uster
sing, layin' in my lap--mammy singin' ter him, an' he singin' ter mammy!
O Marse Jesus! let me look at him--"

"Beau chevalier qui partez pour la guerre,
Qu'allez-vous faire
Si loin de nous?--"

Judith ran down the steps and over the grass, through the storm. Beyond
the nearer trees, by the great pyrus japonica bush, flame-red, she met a
ragged spectre, an Orpheus