She halted and turned her back upon the blows, as if she would fall; but
there were light and warmth, and love and cheerfulness over there, if
only she could hold out till she reached them.
She turned again, and a sheep scampered across the moorland path just in
front, and the soft bleat of an early lamb soothed the quick excited
leap in her heart. The rain ceased, and a pale glitter of the rim of a
moon, like the paring of a giant's nail in the sky, glinted from behind
the dark cloud, and flung a silver radiance over the bog-pools around,
which glittered like patches of fairy silver upon a land of romance.
She was wet, but not cold. The fever in her blood raged and she
staggered forward again, slowly and tottering. A smile was playing about
her lips and eyes. Her lips were parted, and her breast rose and fell
like the heaving beat of an engine. But home beckoned and lured her
onward, and the hope of a long dream filled her soul. Again a sharp
scurry in front drove her heart to her mouth, as two hares battled and
tore at each other for the love of the female which sat close by,
watching the contest.
The sharp swish of the wings of lapwings, as they dived towards her,
filling the moors with their hard rasping double note, and also battling
for possession of a mate, stirred her frightened blood; and at every
step some new terror thrilled her, and kept her continually in a state
of fear.
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