up in the air, around the many-colored tower.
Lucy walked over the old steps, over the path which looked as though covered with snow,—the white petals of the bird-cherry blossoms lay there.
All around was quiet. Lucy looked inquisitively into all the side-paths. It was quiet everywhere. A small woodpecker was pecking somewhere at the trunk of a tree. The chatter of the swallows reached her from the tower, now lightly, now more distinctly.
Lucy walked faster.
There was the bench,—how strongly her heart beat then! The blood rushed to her face like fire. . . . The bench was empty. . . . The stifling air around her was oppressive, as with some old perfume. . . . Threads of cobwebs stuck to her cheeks, and pestering gnats beat into her face.
Lucy said to herself that she was out for a walk only, that she did not expect anything,—but she walked on more rapidly, and
