She had known their fangs once.

Were they to rend her again?
She sat motionless and saw them pass, as behind bars, pass quite away.
They could not reach her.

They could not touch her.
She looked at the lover of her youth, standing as she had so often seen him stand at that window in years gone by, with his hands behind his back, looking out to the sea.
She went softly to him, and stood beside him.
"I am more grieved that I can say about these," she said, touching the letters.

"I did not know the poor dears had written.

It was good of you to come back at the call of these unhappy letters.