And pleasant meetings there have been at this door, no
doubt, and sorrowful partings too,--and hearts within have leaped at the
sound of that gate, and merry tales have been told by that desolate
hearth. In this little lonely unthought-of place, the mysterious world
of the human soul has unfolded,--the drama of life been played, as
grandly in the eyes of angels as in the proud halls where my life
dawned. And there are hearts that cling to this desolate spot as mine
does to that far-off home. We have driven them away in sorrow and fear.
This is war!
_Maid_. I wonder who is fluting under that tree there, so late. They are
serenading that Dutch woman, as I live.
_Lady A_. The Baroness, are you talking of, Margaret?
_Maid_. A baroness! Good sooth!--she looks like it, in that yellow silk,
and those odious beads, fussing about. If your ladyship will believe me,
I saw her sitting in her tent to-night, ay, in the door, feeding that
wretched child with her own hands. We can't be thankful enough they did
not put her in here with us, I'll own.
_Lady A_. Hush, hush, for shame! We might well have spared that empty
room.
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