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David
returned
to
the
manse
,
and
under
the
influence
of
Isobel
’
s
cheerfulness
fell
asleep
in
his
chair
and
slept
till
the
late
afternoon
.
He
awoke
freshened
in
body
,
but
with
a
new
alarm
at
his
heart
.
Isobel
had
said
there
was
no
fever
,
but
that
meant
that
she
dreaded
fever
.
.
.
.
By
this
time
it
might
have
come
.
Even
now
Katrine
might
be
delirious
.
.
.
.
He
realized
how
swiftly
during
the
pest
fever
had
succeeded
listlessness
.
Nevertheless
the
hours
of
sleep
had
given
him
a
greater
power
of
self
-
control
,
and
he
curbed
his
instinct
to
ride
forthwith
to
Calidon
.
He
wandered
through
the
house
and
out
into
the
glebe
,
striving
to
fix
his
mind
on
small
and
homely
things
.
It
was
the
third
day
of
April
,
but
there
was
no
sign
of
spring
.
The
dislocation
of
the
seasons
had
given
the
earth
an
autumnal
air
,
for
the
shoals
of
fallen
leaves
lay
as
if
it
were
November
,
and
the
frosts
had
not
bleached
the
herbage
.
He
remembered
how
a
year
ago
at
this
time
he
had
wandered
on
the
hills
and
felt
with
joy
the
stirrings
of
new
life
.
To
-
day
the
world
was
still
clamped
in
bonds
,
and
death
was
in
the
bare
trees
and
the
leaden
sky
.
What
had
become
of
his
high
hopes
?
All
gone
save
one
-
-
and
that
the
dearest
.
A
year
ago
he
had
had
no
thought
of
Katrine
and
had
been
happy
in
other
things
.
Now
these
had
been
turned
into
ashes
,
but
he
had
got
Katrine
in
their
stead
.
If
she
were
to
go
-
-
?
The
thought
so
chilled
his
heart
that
he
fled
indoors
,
as
if
in
the
house
he
could
barricade
himself
against
it
.
In
his
study
he
turned
over
his
books
.
He
tried
to
pray
,
but
set
prayer
was
idle
,
for
every
breath
he
drew
had
become
an
impassioned
supplication
.
He
had
out
his
notes
on
Isaiah
and
the
prolegomena
which
he
had
completed
,
but
his
eyes
could
scarcely
read
them
.
How
small
and
remote
these
labours
seemed
!
Every
now
and
then
a
quotation
from
the
prophet
stood
out
in
his
manuscript
,
and
these
were
as
ominous
as
a
raven
’
s
croaking
.
"
Burning
instead
of
beauty
.
.
.
.
Their
faces
shall
be
as
flames
.
.
.
.
Through
the
wrath
of
the
Lord
of
hosts
is
the
land
darkened
,
and
the
people
shall
be
as
the
fuel
of
the
fire
.
.
.
.
This
is
the
rest
wherewith
ye
may
cause
the
weary
to
rest
.
"
He
turned
from
his
notes
in
awe
and
took
up
his
secular
books
.
One
he
opened
at
random
and
saw
that
it
was
the
Æneid
,
and
the
words
which
caught
his
eyes
were
"
manibus
date
lilia
plenis
.
"
Small
wonder
that
the
book
had
opened
there
,
for
it
was
a
well
-
thumbed
passage
;
but
he
shuddered
as
if
he
had
cast
the
sortes
Virgilianæ
and
had
got
a
doleful
answer
.
In
the
evening
he
found
himself
some
food
,
and
since
the
dark
was
full
of
ghosts
for
him
,
he
lit
many
candles
and
banked
up
the
peats
on
the
fire
.
He
was
in
a
strange
mood
,
rapt
out
of
himself
,
suffering
not
so
much
pain
in
his
thoughts
as
a
fever
of
expectation
.
His
fingers
drummed
ceaselessly
on
his
knees
;
as
he
looked
into
the
glowing
peats
he
saw
forms
and
figures
that
seemed
to
mock
him
;
to
his
unquiet
ears
a
wind
was
blowing
round
the
house
-
-
a
wind
that
talked
-
-
though
the
night
was
very
still
.
And
always
there
was
in
his
head
,
like
the
refrain
of
a
ballad
,
the
words
"
Burning
instead
of
beauty
.
"
He
did
not
see
Mark
Riddel
till
the
man
was
beside
him
and
had
touched
his
shoulder
.
Then
he
started
up
with
a
cry
and
encountered
a
grave
,
perturbed
face
.
"
You
had
better
come
to
Calidon
,
"
Mark
said
.
"
Katrine
.
.
.
she
has
taken
a
turn
for
the
worse
.
She
has
been
in
a
fever
since
midday
.
"
It
was
the
news
he
had
been
expecting
,
and
David
rose
obediently
.
