When passion, red-eyed and fierce for conquest, had driven innocence
from the throne of virtue the guardian angels wept; and all their
tears, however bitter, could not obliterate the stains which marked the
progress of destruction.
At the end of the copse, when Mysie and Peter emerged, they neither
spoke nor laughed. There was shame in their downcast faces, and their
feet dragged heavily. His arm no longer encircled her waist, he did not
now praise her eyes, her hair, her figure. Lonely each felt, afraid to
look up, as if something walked between them. And far away the whaup
wheepled in protest, the burn still grumbled, and the perfumes, and the
sounds of the glen and all its beauty were as if they had never existed,
and the thick cloud grew blacker over the face of the moon.
CHAPTER XIV
THE AWAKENING
Night after night for a week afterwards, Mysie lay awake till far on
into the morning. She seemed to be face to face with life's realities at
last. The silly, shallow love stories held no fascination for her. The
love affairs of "Jean the Mill Girl" could not rouse her interest. Often
she cried for hours, till exhaustion brought sleep, troubled and
unrefreshing.
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