bent like a seat on it. An she made roses grow over it an she used to
sit there. But one day when she was sittin there th branch broke an
she fell on th ground an was hurt so bad that next day she died. Th
doctors thought he d go out o his mind an die, too. That s why he
hates it. No one s never gone in since, an he won t let anyone talk
about it.
Mary did not ask any more questions. She looked at the red fire and
listened to the wind wutherin . It seemed to be wutherin louder
than ever.
At that moment a very good thing was happening to her. Four good things
had happened to her, in fact, since she came to Misselthwaite Manor.
She had felt as if she had understood a robin and that he had
understood her; she had run in the wind until her blood had grown warm;
she had been healthily hungry for the first time in her life; and she
had found out what it was to be sorry for someone.
But as she was listening to the wind she began to listen to something
else. She did not know what it was, because at first she could scarcely
distinguish it from the wind itself. It was a curious sound it seemed
almost as if a child were crying somewhere. Sometimes the wind sounded
rather like a child crying, but presently Mistress Mary felt quite sure
this sound was inside the house, not outside it. It was far away, but
it was inside. She turned round and looked at Martha.
Do you hear anyone crying? she said.
Martha suddenly looked confused.
No, she answered. It s th wind. Sometimes it sounds like as if
someone was lost on th moor an wailin . It s got all sorts o
sounds.
But listen, said Mary. It s in the house down one of those long
corridors.
And at that very moment a door must have been opened somewhere
downstairs; for a great rushing draft blew along the passage and the
door of the room they sat in was blown open with a crash, and as they
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