“But are you not coming to bed?”
“Not yet. I wish to open the shutters and look out at the old castle by moonlight. I will draw the curtains at the foot of your bed, so that the beams may not keep you awake.”
“Oh, the moonlight would never disturb my slumbers, Wynnette,” said Odalite.
Nevertheless, the younger girl went and drew the white dimity curtains across the foot of the bed, which was facing the west window. Then Wynnette turned down the light to a mere glow-worm size, and opened the folding shutters of the window and sat down to look out at the prospect.
The moon was in its third quarter, had passed the meridian, and was now halfway down the western hemisphere, and hung over the sea, above the ruined castle on the cliff, illumining the scene with a weird light.
Wynnette looked down on the great square inclosure of the courtyard, shut in by strong walls of mighty buildings on all four sides, the walls of the ancient ruin being on the western side, directly opposite her window. The courtyard was as secure and as clean as the carefully kept interior of a barracks. And it was so quiet at this hour that the sound of the sea, beating against the rocks at the base of the old ruin, was heard as deafening thunder.
But Wynnette’s eyes were fixed on that row of ancient windows in the ruined hall and looked like mere slits in the wall.
And now happened to the girl a very marvelous event. As she gazed on these narrow openings they became illumined from within by a strange light.
It was not from the moon, for the moon was far above, and would have to be an hour lower to shed that light. Besides, it was a dark, red light, like nothing on this earth.
Wynnette gazed and wondered—wondered and gazed. It was a steady light; it never wavered or flickered, never brightened or faded.