A long while she stood in silence as in a kind of torpor, gazing at this red pyre of the Past, where memories leapt heavenwards in a golden haze of smoke. The roar of the fire was as the voice of Fate. She heard it dim and distant like the far thunder of a sea. Beyond, around, above, the gaunt trees clawed at the stars with their leafless talons. Night and the shadow of it were very apparent to the girl’s soul. Jaspar the harper stood and watched her with a dumb and distant awe. Her rigid anguish cowed him into impotent silence. The woman’s soul seemed to soar far above comfort, following the saffron smoke into the silver æther of the infinite. The man stood apart, holding aloof with the instinct of a dog, from a sorrow that he could not chasten. He was one of those dull yet happy souls, who carry eloquence in their eyes, whose tongues are clumsy, but whose hearts are warm. He stood aloof therefore from Yeoland, dead Rual’s daughter, pulling his ragged beard, and calling in prayer to the Virgin and the saints. Presently the girl turned very slowly, as one whose blood runs chill and heavy. Her eyes were still dry and crystal bright, her face like granite, or a mask of ice. The man Jaspar hid his glances from her, and stared at the sod. He was fearful in measure of gaping blankly upon so great a grief. "Jaspar," she said, and her voice was clear now as the keen sweep of a sword. He crooked the knee to her, stood shading his eyes with his wrinkled hand. "We alone are left," she said. "God’s will, madame, God’s will; He giveth, and taketh away. I, even I, am your servant." Her eyes lightened an instant as though red wrath streamed strongly from her heart. Her mouth quivered. She chilled the mood, however, and stood motionless, save for her hands twining and twisting in her hair. "Does Heaven mock me?" she asked him, with a level bitterness. "How so, madame?" he answered her; "who would mock thee at such an hour?" "Who indeed?" "Not even Death. I pray you be comforted. There is a balm in years." They stood silent again in the streaming heat and radiance of the fire. A sudden wind had risen. They heard it crying far away in the infinite vastness of the woods. It grew, rushed near, waxed with a gradual clamour till the bare wilds seemed to breathe one great gathering roar. The flames flew slanting from the blackened battlements. The trees clutched and swayed, making moan under the calm light of the moon. The sound thrilled the girl. Her lips trembled, her form dilated. "Listen," she said, thrusting up her hands into the night, "the cry of the forest, the voice of the winter wind. What say they but ’vengeance--vengeance--vengeance’?" II