“I’ll go into the garden,” she said, “and see if I can see the city.”
It was a glorious afternoon, with just sufficient sharpness for autumn in the air. It was considerably after three by the tower clock, and she recognised with regret there was time for little more than an hour there. Her hopes were realised. From the top of the red bank of flowers she could view the city very plainly. She saw right across to the high-standing temple, with every building of note and height rising in between. Behind her she could see nothing, for the wall rose exceptionally high, but from here she could look in the direction of the old home, and to that other magnificent erection that contained all the best prayers and aspirations of her dumb life.
After all, to look on to the sights of freedom is in a measure to the prisoner freedom itself.
From the city beyond, Rosalie’s eyes wandered back toward the mansion. There was something wanting in it; its magnificent outline attracted and repelled.
“What a lovely fairy story one could write about it,” she sighed. “It seems to me a kind of haunted, sleeping palace; and everything looks so strong, and dark, and silent, and yet beautiful, that I don’t know whether the story would have to turn out well or ill.”
She sat down on the rustic seat with the arbour of trailing leaves twining above it, and dreamily contemplated the wide expanse of city.
Suddenly she heard the ominous striking of the mansion clock.
Rosalie turned her eyes from the sky and looked at it. A faint pink flush from the sun was shining on it, and she clasped her hands.
“I won’t go in. They can’t do anything to me if I don’t. Five o’clock! the very nicest time of all the day—the only time to see the city and the sun look at their best. It isn’t wrong of me; I know it isn’t. I haven’t done anything wrong that I should be a prisoner. I haven’t, really. I feel I haven’t!”
Suddenly the great gates leading from the garden flew open to admit a dog-cart and one chestnut horse driven by Mr. Barringcourt. Behind him sat a groom, and as they took the sweep of drive leading past her toward the terrace steps, her eyes fell on the horse and man in livery.
She saw that they did not belong to this place. What was there about everyone who lived here that made them different from all else? That groom was just the ordinary groom that one saw every day within the streets and parks.