So that under the rainbow light of the brilliant winter sun the
world was once more radiant with peace and joy and beauty unspeakable.
And Cedar House, too, was now just as it had been before. From its open
door nothing could be seen of the marks left by Nature's passionate
fury; marks which must remain forever unless some more furious passion
should come to erase them. It was hard to tell just how and wherein the
whole face of the country had been so greatly changed. The people of
Cedar House knew that a great lake nearly seventy miles in length and
deeper in places than the height of the tallest trees whose tops barely
showed above the water, had taken the place of a range of high hills
covered with primeval forest. But this was too far away to be seen from
Cedar House, and no one there had the heart to approach it. One sad
pilgrimage had been made, and that was to the ruins of Philip Alston's
house. It was now a mere heap of fallen logs, and although these were
lifted and laid in orderly rows, and the ground searched over inch by
inch, there was nothing but his fine clothes and some simple furniture
to show that it had ever been occupied.
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