She stood bare-haired and hesitating in the pale green light of the darkened morning. It seemed fit that a deep groan of pain should gather itself from the mysterious depths of the swamp, and drop like a pall on the black portal of the cabin. But it brought Mary Taylor back to a sense of things, and under a sudden impulse she spoke.
‚ÄúIs‚ÅÝ‚Äîis anything the matter?‚Äù she asked nervously.
“Elspeth is sick,” replied Zora.
“Is she very sick?”
‚ÄúYes‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe has been called,‚Äù solemnly returned the dark young woman.
Mary was puzzled. “Called?” she repeated vaguely.
“We heard the great cry in the night, and Elspeth says it is the End.”
It did not occur to Mary Taylor to question this mysticism; she all at once understood‚ÅÝ‚Äîperhaps read the riddle in the dark, melancholy eyes that so steadily regarded her.
“Then you can leave the place, Zora?” she exclaimed gladly.
“Yes, I could leave.”
“And you will.”
“I don’t know.”
‚ÄúBut the place looks‚ÅÝ‚Äîevil.‚Äù
“It is evil.”
“And yet you will stay?”