But once in her room,
with the door locked, she tottered to the bedside and flung herself down
on her knees.
"O God--O God!" she gasped, her face hidden.
Then, lifting her eyes, with a look of horror, she whispered, "No, not
God--_devil_. He's the only one I can ever pray to now."
Her eyes, glazed and staring, saw again the white figure passing from
sunshine into shadow. So it had been in Madame Vestris's crystal. How soon
would the dark cloud blot it out of sight now--and forever?
Angela had some difficulty in opening the gate that led from an orange
plantation into the disused pasture, for the fence was high and strong,
and the gate, apparently, not often used. As for the pasture, it went
billowing away mile after mile, seemingly, though at a distance she could
see a wire fence, a long vanishing line. And beyond that--safety shut away
by the wire, she was glad to think--a large number of cattle grazing. They
were so far off that their forms were all massed together, and they seemed
very quiet. Nevertheless, she was glad that a wire fence separated them
from her, for though she was not a coward and would not have stopped now
if there had been no fence, there was something rather terrifying about a
great drove of cattle in a lonely place.
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