In the hoary
peace of twilight,--
"What can _we_ do here?" the girl cried abruptly. "There--I never meant
to say it. But it runs in my head all the time. I work and work, to keep
it down. What can we do here?"
Heywood watched her face, set straight before them, and now more clearly
cut in the failing light. Were there only pride in those fine and
resolute lines, it might have been a face from some splendid coin, or
medal of victory.
"You work too hard," he said. "Think, instead, of all the good--"
But at that she seemed to wince.
"The good? As if there weren't dark streets and crooked children at
home! Oh, the pride and ignorance that sent me here!" She spoke quietly,
with a kind of wonder. "Just blind, ignorant feelings, I took them
for--for something too great and mysterious. It's all very strange to
look back on, and try to put into words. I remember painted glass, and
solemn music--and thinking--then!--that I knew this lovely and terrible
world--and its Maker and Master." She looked down the dusky lanes,
where glowworm lanterns began to bob and wink. "Oh, this land! where you
see the days running into years!"
"The Dragon's a wise old beast," he ventured.
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