She trudged down the rough country lane, the high Spring wind ruffling her hair and finally blowing back the hood of her cloak. The way was muddy and full of little rippling pools, where she could see reflected the blue sky and sailing white clouds. The hedges were budding and the grass on the sunny banks growing green, and a meadow lark, perched upon a gate post swelled his yellow breast and sang a song that was all for her. In spite of herself, she began to be a little comforted and to feel some of the gladness of the growing world, although heavy trouble still lay like lead upon her heart.
Leaving the lane, where it skirted the wood, she plunged into the forest itself. The dead leaves and old, withered brambles were almost knee deep and were soaking wet, sharp twigs reached out and caught her hair and hood with crooked fingers. But the wind still blew gaily among the treetops and swaying anemones and blue-eyed hepaticas smiled up cheerfully at her as she passed along.
Only by chance was it that her eye caught a distant glimpse of flaunting yellow, so bright that it drew her attention even from those absorbing thoughts of Stephen, General Washington and Miles. The little clearing that she was about to pass showed, there at her right, such a gleam of brilliant colour as no wild Spring flowers ever could display. In spite of her preoccupation, she was obliged to turn aside and see what it could be. Bending back the bushes, she peeped into a little glade, and caught her breath with delight and wonder at what she saw.
At the foot of a high, dark, granite boulder, and all down the slope of woodland grass that dipped toward her, grew a mass of yellow daffodils. How could they have come there, by what means had they escaped from civilisation and bloomed here in such joyous, reckless profusion? Their yellow heads rocked and curtseyed in the wind, their eager faces were turned to the sunshine that, at the very moment of her coming, looked out from behind a cloud and transformed the yellow petals into gleaming gold. Suddenly Clotilde dropped upon her knees and flung her arms about the nearest clump.
“You darlings,” she cried, “you darlings, you are from Master Simon’s garden!”