, "I had had my answer sooner."

Shakespeare was somewhat taken aback to see a developed young woman,
evidently of gentle birth, where he had thought to find the mere
prank-loving child of some neighboring cottager. Instantly his manner
changed. Bowing courteously, he stepped forward and began in a
deferential voice:

"Nay, then, fair mistress, an I had known----"

"Tut--tut!" she interrupted, astonished at her own boldness. "You
thought me a chit, sir. Let it pass. Pray what think you of my lines?"

"They seemed the whisper of a present muse," he said, gayly, but with
conviction in his voice. "'Twas in the very mood of Jacques, my lady--a
melancholy fellow by profession----"

"Holding that light which another might presently approve"--she broke
in--"and praise bestowing on ill deserts in the mere wantonness of a
cynic wit! What!--doth the cap fit?"

The amazement in her companion's face was irresistible, and Phoebe
burst forth into a spontaneous laugh of purest merriment.

"'A hit--a hit--a very palpable hit!'" she quoted, clapping her hands in
her glee.

"Were not witches an eldritch race," said Shakespeare, "you, mistress,
might well lie under grave suspicion."

"What--what! Do I not fit the wizened stamp of Macbeth's sisters
three?"

Shakespeare flung out his arms with a gesture of despair.

"Yet more and deeper mystery!" he cried. "My half-formed
plots--half-finished scraps--the clear analysis of souls whose only life
is here!" he tapped his forehead. "Say, good lady, has Will Shakespeare
spoken, perchance, in sleep--yet e'en so, how could----"

He broke off and coming to her side, spoke earnestly in lowered tones.

"Tell me. Have you the fabled power to read the soul? Naught else
explains your speech."

"Tell me, sir, first the truth," said Phoebe. "In all sadness, Master
Shakespeare, have you had aught from Francis Bacon? I mean by way of aid
in writing--or e'en of mere suggestion?"

"Bacon--Francis Bacon," said he, evidently at a loss. "There was one
Nicholas Bacon----"

"Nay, 'tis of his son I speak."

"Then, in good sooth, I can but answer 'No,' mistress; since that I knew
not even that this Nicholas had a son."

Phoebe heaved a sigh of relief and then went on with a partial return
of her former spirit.

"Then all's well!" she exclaimed. "I am a muse well pleased; and now, an
you will, I'll teach you straight more verses for your play."

"As you like it," said Shakespeare, bowing, hal