A strange white light-ghost of Spring passing
in this last violent outburst-painted the leaves of every tree; and a
hundred savage hues had come down like a motley of bright birds on moor
and fields.
The moment of desperate beauty caught Barbara by the throat. Its spirit
of galloping wildness flew straight into her heart. She clasped her
hands across her breast to try and keep that moment. Far out, a cuckoo
hooted-and the immortal call passed on the wind. In that call all the
beauty, and colour, and rapture of life seemed to be flying by. If she
could only seize and evermore have it in her heart, as the buttercups
out there imprisoned the sun, or the fallen raindrops on the sweetbriars
round the windows enclosed all changing light! If only there were no
chains, no walls, and finality were dead!
Her clock struck ten. At this time to-morrow! Her cheeks turned hot;
in a mirror she could see them burning, her lips scornfully curved, her
eyes strange. Standing there, she looked long at herself, till, little
by little, her face lost every vestige of that disturbance, became solid
and resolute again. She ceased to have the galloping wild feeling in her
heart, and instead felt cold. Detached from herself she watched, with
contentment, her own calm and radiant beauty resume the armour it had
for that moment put off.
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