cast its blossom apart. There a bee sang, calling to her a little comfort among all the strange sounds that filled her ears.
As she listened, she found the noises that troubled her were the cries of many voices, and as she began to see more clearly in the great change that had come to her, she knew the shadowy clouds rushing upward were the spirits of the dead on their dangerous swift way to heaven. And as she raised her face to follow their flight the rain fell salt into her mouth, so she knew it was the repentant tears of the passing ghosts.
So crouched she in that misty world, seeing not the green earth and the purple hills, but only the whirling shapes about her on every side, flying from earth to heaven, pursued by their black sins.
And one in the valley of Baile-ata-Cliat, looking towards the mountains, said:
‘See how the clouds fly black and fearful!’ But it was the hosts of spirits flying upward. ‘See,’ quoth he, ‘how the lightning flashes!’ But it was the opening of God's High
