el Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me._

_But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those that were older than we--
Of many far wiser than we--
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee."_

As Brigit read aloud these words of haunting pathos, the very trees,
rustling outside in the October wind, the far-away sound of the waves
beating upon the sand, seemed to Robert an ominous accompaniment--half a
warning, half a promise.

"I wonder," he said, "I wonder why that was there?"

He was uneasy, he could not say why. He was conscious of some influence
in the room. He felt, unaccountably, that they were not alone. Looking
round for some confirmation of this strange instinct his eyes fell on
the small blue envelope which had been placed on the mantelpiece by his
servant. It was addressed to himself. Fortunately, whilst he was opening
it, Brigit's attention was still riveted on the old song which she was
humming over at the piano. She spoke to him three times before he
answered.

"This telegram," he said, at last, trying to control his voice, "is from
Reckage. He is on his way now to see me."

"He is coming here? Why is he coming here?"

He put his arm round her, in a desperate, long embrace, kissing her
face, her eyes, her hair.

"What is it, Robert?" she said, clinging to him, for she heard something
like a sob under his breath. "You have had bad news. You must tell me."

"It may not be so serious ... perhaps it is badly worded ... but Pensee
is coming with him and he says quite plainly that there is some legal
difficulty about our marriage."

"Some legal difficulty!" she repeated. "What is the use of that now? I
can't leave you again. I'll die first. I can't bear it. O, Robert, I am
so tired of the law. There are no laws for the birds, or for the
flowers, or for the trees, or for any thing that is happy! Why should we
be made so miserable--just to please the magistrates and mayors!"

"But it is more than that--I am certain. Suppose it has something to do
with Parflete?"

"With Wrexham? How could that be? He is dead."

"He may not be dead."

She sank down to the floor on her knees.

"O my God! You know that he is living."

"Reckage doesn't say so. But would he and Pensee come unless they felt
we s