noon
The winter storms moaned , lashed themselves above it , yet below were hushed down to a long sighing . The quiet visitations of the snow , the dripping of the autumn rains , the sun 's force , the trap-bite of the frost , or that new breath that comes stealing through woodlands in spring , were all strangers alike to the carpet of brown needles about Maulfry 's hold . No birds ever sang there . Death and a great mystery , the dark , air like a lake 's at noon , kept fur and feather from Tortsentier , and left Maulfry alone with what she had . Within , it was a spacious place . A great hall ran the whole height -LRB- although not the whole area -RRB- of it , having a gallery midway up whence you gained what other chambers there were . Below the gallery were deep alcoves hung with tapestry -LRB- of which Maulfry was a diligent worker -RRB- , and thickened with curtains ; between every alcove hung trophies of shields and arms .