"Don't be
anxious, it will be all right." It was the first time he had kissed his
wife for many days.
The doctor's was some three miles away across the moor. It was a bright
starlit night, and Antony, who knew the moor well, had no difficulty in
making his way at a good pace along the mossy tracks. Presently he gave
a little cry of pain and stood still.
"O God," he cried, "it cannot be that. Oh, it cannot."
At that moment for the first time a dreadful thought had crossed his
mind. Suddenly a memory of that afternoon when he had bade Wonder kiss
Silencieux flashed upon him; and once more he heard himself saying:
"Silencieux, I bring you my little child."
But he had never meant it so. It had all been a mad fancy. What was
Silencieux herself but a wilful, selfish dream? He saw it all now. How
could a lifeless image have power over the life of his child?
And yet again, was Silencieux a lifeless image? And still again, if she
were an image, was it not always to an image that humanity from the
beginning had been sacrificed? Yes; perhaps if Silencieux were only an
image there was all the more reason to fear her.
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