It comes over the mountains, Anna, pink darkening into orange red, everywhere a wonderful cloud sea, scintillating with colour. You are yet a child; and though you have strayed from the right path, a stronger hand than your own has led you thence. ” Ann Veronica had three things very definitely settled by the time when, a little after mid-day, she found herself perched up on a gate between a bridle-path and a field that commanded the whole wide stretch of country between Chalking and Waldersham. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone.
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