ten o'clock
The birds in my yard , as of old , poured forth their songs . But those loud , long , clear , melodious , deep-hearted , passionate , best-loved notes ! As the chorus swelled from shadowy shrubs and vines to the sparking tree-tops I listened for some sound from Georgiana 's room , but over there I saw only the soft , slow flapping of the white curtains like signals of distress . Towards ten o'clock , wandering restless , I snatched up a book , which I had no wish to read , and went to the arbor where I had so often discoursed to Sylvia about children 's cruelty to birds . Through the fluttering leaves the sunlight dripped as a weightless shower of gold , and the long pendants of young fruit swayed gently in their cool waxen greenness . Where some rotting planks crossed the top of the arbor a blue-jay sat on her coarse nest ; and presently the mate flew to her with a worm , and then talked to her in a low voice , as much as saying that they must now leave the place forever . I was thinking how love softens even the voice of this file-throated screamer , when along the garden walk came the rustle of a woman 's clothes , and , springing up , I stood face to face with Georgiana .