But by full sunrise she was on her way again, bathing her face in a brook
and buying a sou's worth of bread and flet-milk at the first cottage that
she passed in bright, leaf-bowered Hoey-laert.
The forest was still all around her, with its exquisite life of bough and
blossom, and murmur of insect and of bird. She told her beads, praying as
she went, and was almost happy.
God would not let him die. Oh, no, not till she had kissed him once more,
and could die with him.
The hares ran across the path, and the blue butterflies flew above-head.
There was purple gloom of pine wood, and sparkling verdure of aspen and
elm. There were distant church carillons ringing, and straight golden
shafts of sunshine streaming.
She was quite sure God would not let him die.
She hoped that he might be very poor. At times he had talked as if he
were, and then she might be of so much use. She knew how to deal with
fever and suffering. She had sat up many a night with the children of the
village. The gray sisters had taught her many of their ways of battling
with disease; and she could make fresh cool drinks, and she could brew
beautiful remedies from simple herbs.
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