As we sat at table one evening when the
moon was almost at the full again, some one spoke of moonstruck
men, and that minded me, and set me thinking. He said that once he
himself had had a sore pain in the face by reason of the moonlight
falling on it when he was asleep, and another told somewhat the
same, until the talk drifted away to other things and they forgot
it. But now I remembered how that at our first coming here I had
waked in the early hours and seen a patch of moonlight from a high
southern window on the outer wall of the palace passing across
Owen's breast as he slept. Then I was on the floor across the door,
but now I slept in the same place that Owen had that night, while
he was on the couch across the room and under the window. It was
possible, therefore, that the light did fall on my face, but I was
pretty sure that if so it would have waked me.
At all events, if the letter had aught to do with that, it was a
cumbrous way of letting me know that my bed was in a bad place for
quiet sleep. The only thing that seemed likely thus was that the
good priest who wrote had left the palace before he had remembered
to tell me how he had fared in that room once, and so sent back
word. There were many priests backward and forward here, as at
Glastonbury with Ina. Then it seemed plain that this was the
meaning of the whole thing, and so I would hang a cloak over the
window by and by.
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