A horizontal
bar of cloud which, until the radiance of the sunset fell upon it,
had been dull and dark and grey, as though a long slip from the slate
quarries had been laid across the west, became for a moment a deep
lavender colour, and then purple, and then red-gold. But what Winnie
was pointing at was a dazzling shaft of quivering fire where the sun
had now sunk behind the horizon. Shooting up from the cliffs where
the sun had disappeared, this shaft intersected the bar of clouds and
seemed to make an irregular cross of deep rose.
When Winnie turned her eyes again to mine I was astonished to see
tears in them. I asked her what they meant. She said, 'While I was
looking at that cross of rose and gold in the clouds it seemed to me
that there came on the evening breeze the sound of a sob, and that it
was Sinfi's, my sister Sinfi's; but of course by this time Snowdon
stands between us and her.'
POSTSCRIPT
In every case where I have brought into this story facts connected
with medical matters, I have been most cautious to avail myself of
the authority of medical men.
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