Like Dinah, he had caught a glimpse in that brief conversation of the
soul that inhabited that weak and puny form.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE WAY BACK
It was three days later that Dinah began at last the long and weary
pilgrimage back again. Almost against her will she turned her faltering
steps up the steep ascent; for she was too tired for any sustained
effort. Only that something seemed to be perpetually drawing her she
would not have been moved to make the effort at all. For she was so
piteously weak that the bare exertion of opening her eyes was almost more
than she could accomplish. But ever the unknown influence urged her, very
gently but very persistently, never passive, never dormant, but always
drawing her as by an invisible cord back to the world of sunshine and
tears that seemed so very far away from the land of shadows in which she
wandered.
All active suffering had left her, and she would fain have been at peace;
but the hand that clasped hers would not be denied. The motherly voice
that had calmed the wildest fantasies of her fevered brain spoke now to
her with tenderest encouragement; the love that surrounded her drew her,
uplifted her, sustained her. And gradually, as she crept back from the
shadows, she came to lean upon this love as upon a sure support, to count
upon it as her own exclusive possession--a wonderful new gift that had
come to her out of the darkness.
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