It was still possible the child might be in safety. "Does your father doubt it? Speak! tell me!" Winifred made no answer. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. Even as she watched, the sweat of weakness began to form on his forehead and under the nether lip. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands.
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