Where were her wings-the wings
that in sleep had borne her to the stars; the wings that would never
lift her--waking--from the ground? Where too were Miltoun's wings? She
crouched back into her corner; a tear stole up and trickled out between
her closed lids-another and another followed. Faster and faster they
came. Then she felt Miltoun's arm round her, and heard him say: "Don't
cry, Babs!" Instinct telling her what to do, she laid her head against
his chest, and sobbed bitterly. Struggling with those sobs, she grew
less and less unhappy--knowing that he could never again feel quite
so desolate, as before he tried to give her comfort. It was all a bad
dream, and they would soon wake from it! And they would be happy;
as happy as they had been before--before these last months! And she
whispered:
"Only a little while, Eusty!"
CHAPTER XXIX
Old Lady Harbinger dying in the early February of the following year,
the marriage of Barbara with her son was postponed till June.
Much of the wild sweetness of Spring still clung to the high moor
borders of Monkland on the early morning of the wedding day.
Barbara was already up and dressed for riding when her maid came to call
her; and noting Stacey's astonished eyes fix themselves on her boots,
she said:
"Well, Stacey?"
"It'll tire you."
"Nonsense; I'm not going to be hung.
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