"The wild briar," Evelyn said to herself, "preparing its roses for
some weeks later, and in the low-lying lands, where there is a dip in
the fields, wild irises are coming into flower, and under the larches
on the banks women and children spend the long day chattering. Here
we talk of Nicodemus and spiritual loves."
Angela, an alert young woman, whose walk still retained a dancing
movement, whose face, white like white flowers and lit with laughing
eyes, set Evelyn wondering what strange turn of mind should have
induced her to enter a convent. Locks of soft golden hair escaped
from her hood, intended to grow into long tresses, but she had
allowed her hair to be cut. An ideal young mother, she seemed to
Evelyn to be; and the thought of motherhood was put into Evelyn's
mind by the story Angela was telling, for her counterpart had been
drowned in Noah's deluge when he was four years old.
"But he is a dear little fellow, and he creeps into my bed, and lies
in my arms; his hair is all curls, and he told me the story of his
drowning, how it happened five thousand years ago. He was carried
away in his cot by the flood, and had floated away, seeing the tops
of trees, until a great brown bear, weary of swimming, laid hold of
the cot and overturned it.
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