The hill-sides were flowing with shallow cascades, and the woods were threaded with brooks.

The wind blew strongly as ever from the south; it had lost the warmth of the sun, but was still soft.

The earth was full of a strange commotion and stir--of disorder changing into order, as if creation had come again.
It might have been the very birthnight of the spring.

Madelon, as she hurried along, felt that memory of old, joyous anticipation which enhances melancholy when the chance of realization is over.

The spring might come, radiant as ever, with its fulfilment of love for flowers and birds and all living things, but the spring would never come in its full meaning, with its old prophecies, for her again.
Just before she reached Lot's home, Burr passed her swiftly with a muttered "good-evening." He was on his way to Dorothy Fair's.
"Good-evening," Madelon returned, quite clearly.
She found Lot sitting up, but she could see that he looked worse than usual.