Still she plodded on, and another squall of rain and hail followed,
giving place soon to the glory of the cold moon, and again obscuring it
in a quick succession of showers and calm moonshine. But there was home
in front, and she was always drawing nearer. Just a little while now, a
few hundred yards or so, and she would be there.
Weak and exhausted, stumbling and rising again, driven by that
unrelenting, irresistible desire, this poor waif of humanity, impelled
by sheer force of will, staggered and crawled towards its hope, forward
to its dream, and at last stood by the window of the home it had sought.
Panting and utterly worn out, she stood holding on to the window ledge,
her will now weakened, her strength of mind gone, and her desire
forsaking her now that she was there.
The wind fell to a mere whisper, and she stooped to look in at a chink
in the shutter, the tears running in hot, scalding streams from her eyes
and blinding her vision. The soft stirring of little limbs beneath her
heart brought back the old desire to hide herself from everyone she had
known.
Oh, God! It was terrible thus to be torn; for she had sung the song of
all motherhood in her own simple way--the song of the love that
recreates the world.
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