“I have come for an explanation,” she said. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. A faint, delightfully humorous smile parted her lips. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly.
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