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 upon these last remarks, that Mrs. Bittacy, rising with a violent abruptness from her chair, drew the attention of the others to something moving towards them across the lawn. It came silently. In outline it was large and curiously spread. It rose high, too, for the sky above the shrubberies, still pale gold from the sunset, was dimmed by its passage. She declared afterwards that it move in looping circles, but what she perhaps meant to convey was spirals.

She screamed faintly. It's come at last! And it's you that brought it!

She turned excitedly, half afraid, half angry, to Sanderson. With a breathless sort of gasp she said it, politeness all forgotten. I knew it &hellip; if you went on. I knew it. Oh! Oh! And she cried again, Your talking has brought it out! The terror that shook her voice was rather dreadful.

But the confusion of her vehement words passed unnoticed in the first surprise they caused. For a moment nothing happened.

What is it you think you see, my dear? asked her husband, startled. Sanderson said nothing. All three leaned forward, the men still sitting, but Mrs. Bittacy had rushed hurriedly to the window, placing herself of a purpose, as it seemed, between her husband and the lawn. She pointed. Her little hand made a silhouette against the sky, the yellow shawl hanging from the arm like a cloud.

Beyond the cedar—between it and the lilacs. The voice had lost its shrillness; it was thin and hushed. There &hellip; now you see it going round upon itself again—going back, thank God! &hellip; going back to the Forest. It sank to a whisper, shaking. She repeated, with a great dropping sigh of relief—Thank God! I thought &hellip; at first