Essie sank down on the divan. I sat down by her, and put my arms round her. She leaned her head against my shoulder.
“You heard what that woman said,” she whispered. “You see he did not live hundreds of years ago as I thought. The dress deceived me. He’s alive now. He’s twenty-four.”
My heart ached for her, but I could find no word to comfort her in her mysterious trouble.
As we looked out together through the narrow latticed windows the lines came into my mind:
“ casements opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.”
It seemed to me that poor Essie was indeed a captive in some “faery land forlorn,” and that invisible perilous seas were foaming round her casement windows.
She gave a slight shudder, and started up.
A man was walking slowly up and down the bowling green.
“It is he,” she said. “I’ve seen him walk there a hundred times.”
She watched the tall dignified figure pace up and down, and then turned her eyes from him to me. They were wide, and the pupils dilated.