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CHAPTER III.Thus time went on,and the old woman spanher flax in the beautiful house on the hill,andgrew feebler and a little blind; and I, down inmy corner by the fountain, worked for my breadin torrid summers and inicy winters, and grewgloomy, they said, and pleasedbut few; and myneighbours said, " what did it matter to you? —to you nothing happened. It was not as if shehad been your daughter."And,indeed,nothing had happened to me, ofcourse; onlyall the simple pleasures of Hfe weredead and gone, and the wrinkled faces of theold manuscripts said nothing to me, and thespeU of the arts for me was broken; and 1should have cared nothing though my foot had