The fortnight sped swiftly, as time always does when something we dislike
and shrink from awaits us at its close. I never saw Uncle Silas during that
period. It may seem odd to those who merely read the report of our last
interview, in which his manner had been more playful and his talk more
trifling than in any other, that from it I had carried away a profounder
sense of fear and insecurity than from any other. It was with a foreboding
of evil and an awful dejection that on a very dark day, in Milly's room,
I awaited the summons which I was sure would reach me from my punctual
guardian.
As I looked from the window upon the slanting rain and leaden sky, and
thought of the hated interview that awaited me, I pressed my hand to my
troubled heart, and murmured, 'O that I had wings like a dove! then would I
flee away, and be at rest.'
Just then the prattle of the parrot struck my ear. I looked round on the
wire cage, and remembered the words, 'The bird's name is Maud.'
'Poor bird!' I said. 'I dare say, Milly, it longs to get out. If it were a
native of this country, would not you like to open the window, and then the
door of that cruel cage, and let the poor thing fly away?'
'Master wants Miss Maud,' said Wyat's disagreeable tones, at the half-open
door.
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