There were lines of suffering
that yet lingered about the mouth, lines of weariness and of sorrow, but
the old piteous look of craving had faded quite away. The bitter despair
that had so haunted Dinah had passed into the stillness of a great
patience. There was about her at that time the sacred hush that falls
before the dawn.
After a little she became aware of his quiet regard, and turned her head
with a smile. "Well, Stumpy? What is it?"
"I was just wondering what had happened to you," he made answer.
Her smile deepened. "I will tell you, dear," she said. "I have come
within sight of the mountain-top at last."
"And you are satisfied?" he said, in a low voice.
Her eyes shone with a soft brightness that seemed to illumine her whole
face. "Satisfied that my beloved is waiting for me and that I shall meet
him in the dawning?" she said. "Oh yes, I have known that in my heart for
a long time. It troubled me terribly when I lost his letters. They had
been such a link, and for a while I was in outer darkness. And then--by
degrees, after little Dinah came back to me--I began to find that after
all there were other links. Helping her in her trouble helped me to bear
my own. And I came to see that ministering to a need outside one's own is
the surest means of finding comfort in sorrow for oneself. I have been
very selfish Stumpy. I have been gradually waking to that fact for a long
while.
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