CHAPTER VI
might we but hear
The folded flocks penn’d in their wattled cotes,
Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops,
Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock
Count the night watches to his feathery dames,
’Twould be some solace yet, some little cheering
In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs.
MILTON
In the morning Emily was relieved from her fears for Annette, who came at an early hour.
“Here were fine doings in the castle, last night, ma’amselle,” said she, as soon as she entered the room,—“fine doings, indeed! Were you not frightened, ma’amselle, at not seeing me?”
“I was alarmed both on your account and on my own,” replied Emily—“What detained you?”
“Aye, I said so, I told him so; but it would not do. It was not my fault, indeed, ma’amselle, for I could not get ou
