In
some strange manner that little, long-forgotten act of righteousness
brought a glow of comfort to his tormented spirit. Perhaps God would
deal so by him.
In its way the evening was very beautiful. The cold November day was
dying into night. Clear, clear was the sky save for some black and heavy
snow clouds that floated on it driven before the easterly wind that
piped through the sere grasses and blew the plovers over him as though
they were dead leaves. Where the sun had vanished long bars of purple
lay above the horizon; to his excited fancy they looked like the gateway
of another and a better world, set, as the old Egyptians dreamed, above
the uttermost pylons of the West. What lay there beyond the sun? Oh!
what lay beyond the sun? Perhaps, even now, Barbara knew!
A figure appeared standing upon a sand dune between the pathway and the
sea. Septimus was short-sighted and could not tell who it was, but in
this place at this hour doubtless it must be a parishioner, perhaps
one waiting to see him upon some important matter. He must forget his
private griefs. He must strive to steady his shaken mind and attend to
his duties. He drew himself together and walked on briskly.
"I wish I had not been obliged to give away Jack," he said.
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