It is all set on high ground abutting on the water almost at the
point where I am, and I have the river in my sight all day. Now,
think yourself in the new building. You come out of a dining-hall,
hung all about with horns and weapons and shields and such bravery,
go through a dark, narrow passage, and then down a step or two.
You open a door, bright light breaks on your eyes, then two steps
lower, and you are here with me. You might have gone outside the
dining-hall upon a stone terrace, and so have come along to the
deep window where I sit so often. You may think of me hiding in the
curtains, watching you, though you knew it not till you touched the
window and I came out quietly, startling you, so that your heart
would beat beyond counting.
As I look up towards the window, the thing first in sight is the
cage, with the little bird which came to me in the cathedral the
morning my brother got lease of life again: you DO remember--is it
not so? It never goes from my room, and though I have come here
but for a week I muffled the cage well and brought it over; and
there the bird swings and sings the long day through. I have heaped
the window-seats with soft furs, and one of these I prize most
rarely.
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