But now Atra lays a hand kindly on her shoulder and stays her, and
says: Now meseems the walls of the Wailing-Tower, for so it hight, have
no ears to hear, and we may talk together. Wottest thou why I have
brought thee hither? Said Birdalone in a faint voice: Hast thou been
bidden to whip me? And if I had been so bidden, dear maiden, said Atra
laughing, nowise would I do it. Hold up thine heart! For all hath gone
well so far, and now meseems betwixt us three we shall save thee.
Birdalone’s spirit came back to her at that word, and she put her hands
to her face and fell a-weeping. But Atra was kind to her and made much
of her; and she kissed her and wiped her tears, and Birdalone smiled
again amidst her sobs, and she thanked Atra; who said to her: First of
all I must tell thee that I am taking thee to prison by the witch’s
bidding. Yea, said Birdalone, and what is prison? Said Atra: A prison
is a grim place where poor folk who have done that which pleaseth not
rich folk are shut up, that they may be grieved and tormented by not
being able to fare abroad, or go where they would; and by suffering
whatsoever their masters may lay upon them, as darkness, and cold, and
hunger, and stripes. Somewhat so, or worse, our lady would have it for
thee; but so would not we. Therefore for thee shall this prison be a
place where thou shalt be safe till we may bring thee forth when the
night hath worn towards its ending. For she will have forgotten thee by
to-morrow; and this she knoweth; wherefore just now, when thou stoodest
out of earshot, she was bidding me, amongst other matters, to bring
thee before her to-morrow morning, and tell her the tale of thee, that
she might call it to mind then what she had will to this morning.
Yea, said Birdalone, but will she not remember that she hath given thee
a charge concerning me? But little thereof, said Atra, and with a few
words I may easily confuse her memory so that speech thereon will fail
her. Keep up thine heart, sweetling; but let us up this stair now
forthwith, for I were fain to have thee hid away in this prison, and
then will I down to her and tell her that thou art lying therein in all
misery and terror, lest it come into her head to send for thee ere her
memory is grown dim.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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