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Updated: June 10, 2025
Quietly they walked out into the warm, sunshiny day. Streaks of snow were vanishing in visible steam. The sky was a soft blue, bulbous with little puffs of cloud. Myra felt an ineffable peace. Rhona's heroism had filled her with a new sense of human power.
He stepped in front of the girls, who stopped still and awaited him. Myra felt the blood rush to her head, and a feeling of dizziness made her tremble. Then the man spoke sharply: "Say, you you can't go by here." Myra gazed at him as if she were hypnotized, but Rhona's eyes flashed. "Why not?" "Don't jaw me," said the man. "But clear out!" Rhona tried to speak naturally.
I want you to go at the same time that we started when we tried that mornin' to find Winnie. 'Then Rhona's story is true, I thought. 'Her delusion is that she is going to Knockers' Llyn to be married.
"Yer know as yer has it! Oh, it's in good time you come!" Her last words were addressed to some one behind her. The cell door was quickly opened; Rhona's arm was seized by John, the policeman, and without words she was marched to the curb and pushed into the patrol wagon with half a dozen others.
The officer cleared his throat and looked away. "Oh," he muttered carelessly, "it's all right. You people are always kicking, anyway." Rhona's voice rose. "I ask you to arrest him." Several in the crowd backed this with mutterings. The policeman twirled his stick. "Oh, all right!" he called. "Come along, Blondy!" Blondy, the thug, came up grinning. "Pinching me, John?" he asked. "Sure."
While I was breakfasting, however, this incident came fully back to me. Either Rhona's chatter about Sinfi's reason for wanting to see me was the nonsense that had floated into Rhona's own brain, the brain of a love-sick girl to whom everything spelt marriage or else poor Sinfi's mind had become unhinged.
She took Rhona's arm and they stepped out into the bleak street. Wind whipped their faces like quick-flicked knives. They walked close together. "Is it far?" asked Myra. "Quite far. It's over on Great Jones Street!" And so Myra went, quite lost in the cyclone of life. They gained the corner of Great Jones Street one of those dim byways of trade that branch off from the radiant avenues.
But those who were sucked into the vortex of the rough world, what of these? Were they not right in their attempts to organize, to rebel, to fight in the open, to secure a larger share of freedom and power? But if these were Myra's feelings and thoughts a sense of outrage, of being trampled on they were little things compared with the agony in Rhona's breast.
The vividness of the vision of Fairy Glen drove out for a time all other thoughts. The livelong night my brain seemed filled with it. 'My eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, Or else worth all the rest, I said to myself as I lay awake. So full, indeed, was my mind of this one subject that even Rhona's strange message from Sinfi was only recalled at intervals.
And no man who ever heard Rhona's laugh professed to wonder at Percy's infatuation. As a Griengro her father, Jericho Boswell, who had no son, was said to have owed his prosperity to Rhona's instinctive knowledge of horseflesh.
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