And love was a birth from the depths of her, like a rushing spring of pure water, long underground, and at last propelled to the surface by a convulsion.
Ellen gradually lost her tense rigidity and relaxed.

Her body softened.

She rolled over until her face caught the lacy, golden shadows cast by sun and bough.

Scattered drops of rain pattered around her.

The air was hot, and its odor was that of dry pine and spruce fragrance penetrated by brimstone from the lightning.