Chapter VII

The Key of the Garden

Two days after this, when Mary opened her
eyes she sat upright in bed immediately, and
called to Martha.

"Look at the moor! Look at the moor!"

The rain-storm had ended and the gray mist and
clouds had been swept away in the night by the
wind. The wind itself had ceased and a brilliant,
deep blue sky arched high over the moorland.
Never, never had Mary dreamed of a sky so blue.
In India skies were hot and blazing; this was of
a deep cool blue which almost seemed to sparkle
like the waters of some lovely bottomless lake,
and here and there, high, high in the arched blueness
floated small clouds of snow-white fleece.
The far-reaching world of the moor itself looked
softly blue instead of gloomy purple-black or awful
dreary gray.

"Aye," said Martha with a cheerful grin.
"Th' storm's over for a bit. It does like this at
this time o' th' year. It goes off in a night like
it was pretendin' it had never been here an' never

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