" She had seen them embrace; it made him uncomfortable,
but the storm was passing away, already the thunder was more distant.
The old woman made no reply, only her eyes glared at them. Peter put his
hand in Clare's--"It's all right; I think the old thing's deaf and dumb and
blind--look, the storm's passing--there's a bit of blue sky. Isn't it odd
an old thing like that..."
Clare, shuddered a little. "I don't like it--she's horrid--this place is so
dirty. I believe the rain's stopped."
They opened the door and the earth met them, good and sweet, after the
shower. The sky was breaking, the mists were leaving the sea and as the
storm vanished, the sun, dipping towards the horizon flung upon the blue a
fleet of tiny golden clouds.
Peter bent down to the old woman.
"Thank you," he said, "for giving us shelter." He placed a shilling on her
lap.
"She's quite deaf and blind," he said. "Poor old thing!"
They closed the door behind them and passed down a little path to the
seashore. Here wonders met them. The sand, wet with the recent storm
catching all the colours of the sky shone with mother of pearl--here a pool
of blue, there the fleet of golden clouds.
It stretched on every side of them, blazing with colour. Behind them the
common, sinking now into the dull light of evening.
They stood, little pigmies, on that vast painted floor.
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