When the sun had sunk behind a veil of whitish clouds, Letitia stood up, and gazed searchingly over the endless plain of grass. The high wooden posts still projected with unwearying regularity at both sides of the uncut road.
But suddenly she saw on one of the posts a greyish-brown bird, moveless and bent, with huge, round, glowing eyes.
“What kind of a bird is that?” she asked.
Stephen Gunderam started from his slumber. “It’s an owl,” he answered. “Have you never seen one? Every evening, when darkness falls, they sit on the posts. Look, it is starting: there is one on each.”
Letitia looked and saw that it was true. On every post and on either side, far as one’s sight could reach, sat with its great, circular, glowing eyes a heavy, slothful, solemn owl.
OR EVER THE SILVER CORD BE LOOSED
I
Fraulein von Einsiedel took Crammon’s tender trifling quite seriously. When Crammon observed this, he grew cold, and planned at once to rid himself of the threatened complication.
She sent him urgent little notes by her maid; he left them unanswered. She begged him for a meeting; he promised to come but did not. She reproached him and inquired after the reason. He cast down his eyes and answered sadly: “I was mistaken in the hour, dear friend. For some time my mind has been wandering. I sometimes wake in the morning and fancy that it is still evening. I sit down at table and forget to eat. I need treatment and shall consult a physician. You must be indulgent, Elise.”