“Not yet. Let me listen at your heart. Child, how it beats.”
“It is your own caged bird. It beats to get at you.”
“Come into my hand, dear bird, and lie warm and rest. There is a long flight waits you on the morrow.”
“O, I die to think of it!”
“What?—of fear or rapture?”
“Of rapture that is fear. Listen—Bonbec!”
“It is midnight striking—the hour of sweet augury. You will not fail me, will you, by a minute—here, at the window?”
“I will put the clock forward.”
“If we can reach the mountains, and thence make by way of Zurich across the German border, and so northward.”
“To the wild green gardens! O, heaven speed us!”