She might suggest something I should do; she might ask me what she ought to do; but she never seemed to suppose that I, any more than she, would like to do, or could care about anything except what must be done.

Her love overflowed upon me--not in caresses, but in a closeness of recognition which I can compare to nothing but the devotion of a divine animal.
I never told her anything about her mother.
The wood was full of birds, the splendour of whose plumage, while it took nothing from their song, seemed almost to make up for the lack of flowers--which, apparently, could not grow without water.

Their glorious feathers being everywhere about in the forest, it came into my heart to make from them a garment for Lona.

While I gathered, and bound them in overlapping rows, she watched me with evident appreciation of my choice and arrangement, never asking what I was fashioning, but evidently waiting expectant the result of my work.

In a week or two it was finished--a long loose mantle, to fasten at the throat and waist, with openings for the arms.
I rose and put it on her.