A gentle wind, rising and falling, swept over them,
lifting and blowing out the cups as it passed off to the surface of the
water and printed it with plashes of ripples. A piece of wood pushed out
from the hillside, the trees that formed it struggling out into the
meadow in a broken succession of individuals like a line of men. Here,
leaning against the last tree trunk that stood quite alone in advance of
its companions, was a young woman, her arms folded above the cap--like
the Grecian cassos--that imperfectly held her hair, and dressed in a
yellow tunic and the half seen leggings of meshed chalcal thread--a
lovely picture of meditation.
"I caught Alca's arm in a sudden wave of desire and excitement. It was
the impulse of love, the first burning of its sacred fire I had known in
Mars, and it was the intense certainty of recognition that made it so
impetuous. My Son, your Mother was before me!
"The same glorious beauty I had known on earth covered her, and like a
mystic light shone from her face and person. I was myself again, young,
and she was the same. The impelling sense of a superhuman Destiny
bringing us together again in this new world, forced from me an
ejaculation of thankfulness. The cry was not loud, but audible to her
ears, and she turned toward us. Yes! it was Martha, as I knew her in
those raptured days of love on the banks of the Hudson before disease
and weakness and age had stolen the bloom from her cheeks, the light
from her eyes, and the fair presentiment of charm and perfection from
her body.
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