He wasn't complaining. That isn't Master's way."
Then she thought of her own complaining, and was silent.
After breakfast she went through the house and found every room
impossible. She flooded them with fresh air and sunshine, but she could
not empty them of phantoms and memories and with a little half-uttered
cry she put on her hat and went out. Surely in the oak wood she would
find the complete solitude she must have. She passed rapidly through the
band of ash-trees that shielded the house on the north and was directly
in the soft, deep shadow of umbrageous oaks a century old. They
whispered among themselves at her coming, they fanned her with a little
cool wind from the encircling mountains, and she threw herself
gratefully down upon the soft, warm turf at their feet.
Then all the sorrow of the past months overwhelmed her. She wept as if
her heart would break and there was a great silence all around which the
tinkle of a little brook over its pebbly bed only seemed to intensify.
Presently she had no more tears left and she dried her eyes and sat
upright and was suddenly aware of a great interior light, pitiless and
clear beyond all dayshine.
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