Long
practice had acquainted him with the significance of light and darkness
seen through chinks in shutters. "I know her room," he said, "and the
times of her lights. She looks out over the streets towards the Park twice
every night--once when she is dressed, and once before she goes to bed. It
is as if she is saying her prayers. She looks long to the west, very
seriously. I think her lips move. I believe that she always does it."
Senhouse, who may have been listening, bowed his head to his knees,
below his clasped hands.
"Twice she looked full at me without knowing me. Why should she know me
now? Her pale and serious face, master, was as beautiful as the winter
moon, as remote from us and our little affairs. No words of mine can
express to you the outward splendour of her neck and bosom. She was
uncovered for a party at the house. In the morning she came out to walk.
You know her way, how she glides rather than seems to move her feet--the
soaring, even motion of a sea-bird. She walked across the Park, and I
followed, praising God, whose image she is. On the further side the Pole
met her in his furs, and she walked with him for an hour in the sun. She
had no wrappage to hide her blissful shape.
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