On a night, as she slept, came to her dreams of her days in the House
under the Wood (as very seldom betid), and the witch-wife was
speaking to her in friendly fashion (as for her) and blaming her for
fleeing away, and was taunting her with the failure of her love, and
therewith telling her how fair a man and lovesome was the Black
Squire, and what a loss she had of him; and Birdalone was hearkening
and weeping for tenderness' sake, while the witch was unto her
neither fearful nor irksome, and forsooth nought save a mouthpiece
for words that both grieved Birdalone and yet were an eager pleasure
unto her. But in the midst thereof, and ere the dream had time to
change, Birdalone awoke, and it was an early morning of later spring,
and the sky was clear blue and the sun shining bright, and the birds
singing in the garden of the house, and in the street was the sound
of the early market-folk passing through the street with their wares;
and all was fresh and lovely.
She awoke sobbing, and the pillow was wet with her tears, and yet she
felt as if something strange and joyous were going to betide her, and
for joy of the love of life the heart beat fast in her bosom.
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