She was young, with a calm and rather fair face, whose lines told of a quiet strength held long in patience. But now a dull stare lay in her eyes, fixed far away upon a single patch of blue sky. Outside her window the tops of trees were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air, and a peddler was crying his wares in the street below. The notes of a distant song reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering under the eaves. There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had gathered above the west. The whole world outside seemed to be waking after the long sleep of winter. She drew in the fresh, cool air with slow and even breaths. She sat quite still, except when a sob rose in her throat and shook her, as a frightened child sobs in its dreams. She was young, and yet there was something coming to her, and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and difficult to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sound, the scent, the colour that filled the air. Now her chest rose and fell in a tumult. She was beginning to recognise this thing that was approaching to take hold of her, and she was trying to beat it back with her will. When she finally gave up the struggle, a little whispered word broke from her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under her breath: free, free, free! The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes, which now stayed keen and bright.