The Bible lay open on the table, and her eye fell upon the words: "They that wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up on wings like eagles; they shall walk and not be weary; they shall run and not faint." I do not think that Griselda had ever known up to this moment what it was to wait on the Lord. Perhaps faithful Graves's words had struck deeper than she knew! "I want strength now," she said. "Give it to me, Lord! Direct me--help me--for I must go on this quest alone." Then she made ready for her departure, wrapping herself in the long cloak she had worn when she went to her father's dying bed, and covering her face with a thick veil under her hood. The few hours' sleep had refreshed her, and she felt strong to perform her mission. "Only not to be too late," she said; "not too late!" The courage of many a woman would have failed in prospect of a walk in the dark through the suburbs of Bath. There were watchmen here and there, and she might ask the way of one, perhaps; but no one must know her errand, or she might be stopped from performing it. The clock struck five, in deep sonorous tones just as Griselda crept noiselessly downstairs, and with trembling hands drew back the bolts of the door, turned the key in the lock, and, closing it behind her, went out into the winter's morning. The sky had cleared, and the rain of the past two days had ceased. There were breaks in the clouds, and in a rift Venus, in full beauty, seemed to smile on Griselda with the smile of a friend. Widcombe Hill had to be climbed, and then beyond, at some distance, Claverton Down stretched away in gentle undulations. In 1790, it was a desolate and unfrequented tract of moorland, with here and there a few trees, but no sign of habitation except a lonely cottage or hut, at long distances apart. Griselda's figure, in its black garments, did not attract attention from a boisterous party who had just turned out from a night's revel. Their coarse songs and laughter jarred on her ear, and she shrank under the shadow of a church portico till they had passed. Presently the watchman's voice broke the stillness as he ascended Widcombe Hill. "It's just six o'clock, and a fine star-lit morning." * * * * * Yes, it was a fine morning. The rift in the clouds had widened, and above, the sky was clear, and the host of heaven was shining in full glory. After two or three nights, when dull lowering skies had made astronomical observations impossible, the change in the weather was welcome to those who "swept the heavens," and found in them the grand interest and beauty of their lives.