46
THE MYSTERY OF CHOICE.
winter lightning lashed the stark heights of Groix.
Then the fear of death was stilled in my soul, and I raised her from the ground, holding her close.
And I saw the sexton, just beyond us, hurry across the ground and seek shelter under a little dead skylark, stiff-winged, muddy, lying alone in the rain.
In the storm, above us, a bird hovered singing through the rain. It passed us twice, still singing, and as it passed again we saw the shadow it cast upon the world was whiter than snow.
