St. George and St. Michael. Volume II

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. It was weather that made SOME dogs / bite their masters, made most of the maids quarrelsome, and all the / men but one or two more or less sullen, made Dorothy sad, Molly long / after she knew not what, her mother weep, her grandfather feel / himself growing old, and the hearts of all the lovers, within and / without the castle, throb for the comfort of each other's lonely / society. The fish lay still in the ponds, the pigeons sat motionless / on the roof-ridges, and the fountains did not play; for Dorothy's / heart was so heavy about Molly, that she had forgotten them.