A pale grey light on the skirts of the flying tempest displayed the dawn.  Richard was walking hurriedly.  The green drenched weeds lay all about in his path, bent thick, and the forest drooped glimmeringly.  Impelled as a man who feels a revelation mounting obscurely to his brain, Richard was passing one of those little forest-chapels, hung with votive wreaths, where the peasant halts to kneel and pray.  Cold, still, in the twilight it stood, rain-drops pattering round it.  He looked within, and saw the Virgin holding her Child.  He moved by.  But not many steps had he gone ere his strength went out of him, and he shuddered.  What was it?  He asked not.  He was in other hands.  Vivid as lightning the Spirit of Life illumined him.  He felt in his heart the cry of his child, his darling’s touch.  With shut eyes he saw them both.  They drew him from the depths; they led him a blind and tottering man.  And as they led him he had a sense of purification so sweet he shuddered again and again.

When he looked out from his trance on the breathing world, the small birds hopped and chirped:  warm fresh sunlight was over all the hills.  He was on the edge of the forest, entering a plain clothed with ripe corn under a spacious morning sky.

CHAPTER XLIII

They heard at Raynham that Richard was coming.  Lucy had the news first in a letter from Ripton Thompson, who met him at Bonn.  Ripton did not say that he had employed his vacation holiday on purpose to use his efforts to induce his dear friend to return to his wife; and finding Richard already on his way, of course Ripton said nothing to him, but affected to be travelling for his pleasure like any cockney.  Richard also wrote to her.  In case she should have gone to the sea he directed her to send word to his hotel that he might not lose an hour.  His letter was sedate in tone, very sweet to her.  Assisted by the faithful female Berry, she was conquering an Aphorist.

“Woman’s reason is in the milk of her breasts,” was one of his rough notes, due to an observation of Lucy’s maternal cares.  Let us remember, therefore, we men who have drunk of it largely there, that she has it.

Mrs. Berry zealously apprised him how early Master Richard’s education had commenced, and the great future historian he must consequently be.  This trait in Lucy was of itself sufficient to win Sir Austin.

“Here my plan with Richard was false,” he reflected:  “in presuming that anything save blind fortuity would bring him such a mate as he should have.”  He came to add:  “And has got!”

He could admit now that instinct had so far beaten science; for as Richard was coming, as all were to be happy, his wisdom embraced them all paternally as the author of their happiness.  Between him and Lucy a tender intimacy grew.

“I told you she could talk, sir,” said Adrian.

“She thinks!” said the baronet.