Now my Constance had begun to
ask me questions, and it made me very happy. We had thus come a long way
nearer to each other; for however near the affection of human animals may
bring them, there are abysses between soul and soul--the souls even of
father and daughter--over which they must pass to meet. And I do not
believe that any two human beings alive know yet what it is to love as love
is in the glorious will of the Father of lights.
I linger on with my talk, for I shrink from what I must relate.
We were going at a gentle trot, silent, along a woodland path--a brown,
soft, shady road, nearly five miles from home, our horses scattering about
the withered leaves that lay thick upon it. A good deal of underwood and
a few large trees had been lately cleared from the place. There were many
piles of fagots about, and a great log lying here and there along the side
of the path. One of these, when a tree, had been struck by lightning, and
had stood till the frosts and rains had bared it of its bark. Now it lay
white as a skeleton by the side of the path, and was, I think, the cause of
what followed. All at once my daughter's pony sprang to the other side of
the road, shying sideways; unsettled her so, I presume; then rearing and
plunging, threw her from the saddle across one of the logs of which I have
spoken.
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