I
After this I had one or two interviews with our solicitor in
Lincoln's Inn Fields, upon important family matters connected with my
late uncle's property.
I had been one night to the theatre with my mother and my aunt. The
house had been unusually crowded. When the performance was over, we
found that the streets were deluged with rain. Our carriage had been
called some time before it drew up, and we were standing under the
portico amid a crowd of impatient ladies when a sound fell or seemed
to fall on my ears which stopped for the moment the very movements of
life. Amid the rattle of wheels and horses' feet and cries of
messengers about carriages and cabs, I seemed to distinguish a female
voice singing:
'I met in a glade a lone little maid.
At the foot of y Wyddfa the white;
Oh, lissom her feet as the mountain hind,
And darker her hair than the night!'
It was the voice of Winifred singing as in a dream.