... Who comes out but just that Person?"
They sat and watched the orb that itself, with its members the
planets, went a great journey. Gilian began to talk about Elspeth. She
talked with quietness, with depth, insight, and love, sitting there on
the golden moor. Elspeth--childhood and girlhood and womanhood. The
sister of Elspeth spoke simply, but the sifted words came from a
poet's granary. She made pictures, she made melodies for Alexander.
Glints of vision, fugitive strains of music, echoes of a quaint and
subtle mirth, something elemental, faylike--that was Elspeth. And
lightning in the south in summer, just shown, swiftly withdrawn--power
and passion--sudden similitudes with great love-women of old
story--that also was Elspeth. And a crying and calling for the Star
that gathers all stars--that likewise was Elspeth. Such and such did
Elspeth show herself to Gilian. And that half-year that they knew
about of grief and madness--it was not scanted nor its misery denied!
It, too, was, or had been, of Elspeth. Deep through ages, again and
again, something like that might have worked forth. But it was not all
nor most of that nature--had not been and would not be--would not
be--would not be. The sister of Elspeth spoke with pure, convinced
passion as to that. Who denied the dark? There were the dark and the
light, and the million million tones of each! And there was the
eternal space where differences trembled into harmony.
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