So it was settled, and on the Friday Clara and Mrs Caffyn journeyed
to Great Oakhurst. They were both tired, and went to bed very early,
in order that they might enjoy the next day. Clara, always a light
sleeper, woke between three and four, rose and went to the little
casement window which had been open all night. Below her, on the
left, the church was just discernible, and on the right, the broad
chalk uplands leaned to the south, and were waving with green barley
and wheat. Underneath her lay the cottage garden, with its row of
beehives in the north-east corner, sheltered from the cold winds by
the thick hedge. It had evidently been raining a little, for the
drops hung on the currant bushes, but the clouds had been driven by
the south-westerly wind into the eastern sky, where they lay in a
long, low, grey band. Not a sound was to be heard, save every now
and then the crow of a cock or the short cry of a just-awakened
thrush. High up on the zenith, the approach of the sun to the
horizon was proclaimed by the most delicate tints of rose-colour, but
the cloud-bank above him was dark and untouched, although the blue
which was over it, was every moment becoming paler. Clara watched;
she was moved even to tears by the beauty of the scene, but she was
stirred by something more than beauty, just as he who was in the
Spirit and beheld a throne and One sitting thereon, saw something
more than loveliness, although He was radiant with the colour of
jasper and there was a rainbow round about Him like an emerald to
look upon. In a few moments the highest top of the cloud-rampart was
kindled, and the whole wavy outline became a fringe of flame. In a
few moments more the fire just at one point became blinding, and in
another second the sun emerged, the first arrowy shaft passed into
her chamber, the first shadow was cast, and it was day. She put her
hands to her face; the tears fell faster, but she wiped them away and
her great purpose was fixed. She crept back into bed, her agitation
ceased, a strange and almost supernatural peace overshadowed her and
she fell asleep not to wake till the sound of the scythe had ceased
in the meadow just beyond the rick-yard that came up to one side of
the cottage, and the mowers were at their breakfast.
Neither Mrs Caffyn nor Clara thought of seeing the Letherhead party
on Saturday. They could not arrive before the afternoon, and it was
considered hardly worth while to walk from Great Oakhurst to
Letherhead merely for the sake of an hour or two. In the morning Mrs
Caffyn was so busy with her old friends that she rather tired
herself, and in the evening Clara went for a stroll. She did not
know the country, but she wandered on until she came to a lane which
led down to the river. At the bottom of the lane she found herself
at a narrow, steep, stone bridge. She had not been there more than
three or four minutes before she descried two persons coming down the
lane from Letherhead. When they were about a couple of hundred yards
from her they turned into the meadow over the stile, and struck the
river-bank some distance below the point where she was. It was
impossible to mistake them; they were Madge and Baruch. They
sauntered leisurely; presently Baruch knelt down over the water,
apparently to gather something which he gave to Madge. They then
crossed another stile and were lost behind the tall hedge which
stopped further view of the footpath in that direction.