Zyp had been with us a month, and surely never did changeling happen into a more congenial household.

 

Jason she still held at arm’s length, which, despite my admiration¹ of my brother, I secretly congratulated my heart on, for—let me get over it at the outset—from first to last, I have never wavered in my passion of love for this wild, beautiful creature. The unexpectedness of her coming alone was a romance, the delight of which has never palled² upon me with the deadening years. Therefore it was that I early made acquaintance with the demon⁴ of jealousy⁵, than whom none, in truth, is more irresistible⁶ in his unclean strength and hideousness⁷.

 

Zyp and I were one day wandering under the shadow of the mighty⁸ old cathedral of Winton.

 

“I don’t like it, Renny,” she said, pressing up close to me. “It’s awful and it’s grand, but there are always faces at the windows when I look up at them.”

 

“Whose?” I said, with a laugh.

 

“I don’t know,” she said; “but think of the thousands of old monks⁹ and things whose home it was once and whose ghosts are shut up among the stones. There!” she cried, pointing.

 

I looked at the old leaded window she indicated, but could see nothing.

 

“His face is like stone and he’s beckoning,” she whispered. “Oh, come along, Renny”—and she dragged me out of the grassy¹⁰ yard and never stopped hurrying me on till we reached the meadows. Here her gayety returned to her, and she felt at home among the flowers at once.

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