It was
surrounded by an unusually broad framework, curiously and elaborately
carved, and black as polished ebony. Flowers grew all about it,--sweet
peas, mignonette, and large purple pansies--while red and white climbing
roses rioted in untrained profusion over its wide sill. Above it was a
quaintly built dovecote, where some of the strutting fan-tailed
inhabitants were perched, swelling out their snowy breasts, and
discoursing of their domestic trials in notes of dulcet melancholy;
while lower down, three or four ring-doves nestled on the roof in a
patch of sunlight, spreading up their pinions like miniature sails, to
catch the warmth and lustre.
Within the deep, shadowy embrasure, like a jewel placed on dark velvet,
was seated a girl spinning,--no other than the mysterious maiden of the
shell cavern. She was attired in a plain, straight gown, of some soft
white woolen stuff, cut squarely at her throat; her round, graceful arms
were partially bare, and as the wheel turned swiftly, and her slender
hands busied themselves with the flax, she smiled, as though some
pleasing thought had touched her mind.
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