"Brünnhild'!" He lifted his arms: "Brünnhild'!"
CHAPTER XXII
The sun came shining in through the garret windows, dancing over the floor in cones of light, caressing the geraniums until they gleamed a rich scarlet against the green of the ivy; and the cobwebs glistened like silk under the eaves. About the mill the doves flew in circles, alighting on the sill, clinging to the ivy with their pink claws, cooing gently, and pecking at the worm-eaten casement.
"Dear doves," said Kaya, "You are hungry, and when you come to me for bread you find nothing but the stone. Chrr-rp!" She whistled softly and held her hands over the sill, dropping crumbs: "Chrr-rp! Come, pretty doves, and eat!"
The birds came nearer, eying her out of their bright eyes with little runs forward, then circling and cooing again.
"Chrr-rp!" she called,—"Chrr-rp! Come!" And she held out her hands as if coaxing: "Come, my doves! Chrr-rp!"
One with fawn-coloured wings came flying and lighted on her shoulder; another followed.
"Come—chrr-rp!"
The soft little bodies huddled against one another on the sill, pressing closer; some on her arm and some eating out of her hand. She stroked their bright plumage, holding a crumb between her teeth.