Clara Hopgood

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.