CHAPTER XVII THE OMEN
"My lady sweet, arise!
My lady sweet, arise
With everything that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise;
Arise, arise."
It was morning, and Charmian was singing. The pure, rich notes floated in at my open lattice, and I heard the clatter of her pail as she went to fetch water from the brook. Wherefore I presently stepped out into the sunshine, my coat and neckcloth across my arm, to plunge my head and face into the brook, and carry back the heavy bucket for her, as was my custom.
Being come to the brook I found the brimming bucket, sure enough, but no Charmian. I was looking about wonderingly, when she began to sing again, and, guided by this, I espied her kneeling beside the stream.
The water ran deep and very still, just here, overhung by ash and alder and willo
