He sat for a long, long time up there on the cliff while the
shadows lengthened and the day slowly died, turning the matter over
and over while the flame of sacrifice gradually kindled in the
darkness of his soul.
It was probably the growth of many hours of not too coherent
meditation--the solution of that problem; but it came upon him very
suddenly at the last, almost like the swift wheeling of a flashlight over
the calm night sea.
He had heard the church clock strike in the distance, and was turning to
leave when that first vision of Juliet swooped back upon him--Juliet in
her light linen dress springing up the path towards him. He saw her as
she had stood there, leaving the path behind her, poised like a young
goddess against the dazzling blue of the spring sky. Her face had been
stern at first, but all the sternness had gone into an amazing kindness
of compassion when her look had lighted upon him. She had not shrunk from
him as shrank so many. And then--and then--he remembered the sudden fear,
the sharp anxiety, that had succeeded that first look of pity.
He had been standing on the brink of the cliff as he had stood many a
time before--as he stood now.
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