And when I had first met her again, a child
no longer, in the churchyard, my memory had accepted her at once as
fulfilling, and more than fulfilling, all her childhood's promise.
But never had she looked so bewitching as now--a poor mad girl who
had lost her wits from terror.
For some time I could only keep murmuring: 'More lovely mad than
sane!'
'As if I didn't _know_ the Prince!' said she. 'You who, in fine
weather or cloudy, wet or dry, are there on the hills to meet me! As
if I don't know the Prince of the Mist when I see him! But how kind
of you to come down here and see poor Winnie, poor lonely Winnie, at
home!'
She fetched a chair, placed it in front of the fire, pointed to it
with the same ravishingly childlike smile, indicating that it was for
me, and then, when she saw me mechanically sit down, picked up her
chair and came and sat close beside me.
In a second she was lost in a reverie as profound as that from which
I had aroused her; and the only sound I heard was the rain on the
window and the fitful gusts of wind playing around the cottage.
Pages:
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282