CHAPTER XXI.
THE DAMSEL WHICH FELL SICK.
From within the great fortress, like the rough husk whence the green lobe of a living tree was about to break forth, a lovely child-soul, that knew neither of war nor ambition, knew indeed almost nothing save love and pain, was gently rising as from the tomb.

The bonds of the earthly life that had for ever conferred upon it the rights and privileges of humanity were giving way, and little, white-faced, big-eyed Molly was leaving father and mother and grandfather and spouting horse and all, to find--what ?--To find what she wanted, and wait a little for what she loved.
One sultry evening in the second week of June, the weather had again got inside the inhabitants of the castle, forming different combinations according to the local atmosphere it found in each.

Clouds had been slowly steaming up all day from several sides of the horizon, and as the sun went down, they met in the zenith.

Not a wing seemed to be abroad under heaven, so still was the region of storms.

The air was hot and heavy and hard to breathe--whether from lack of life, or too much of it, oppressing the narrow and weak recipients thereof, as the sun oppresses and extinguishes earthly fires, I at least cannot say.