just
as he fell to touching his lute, his eye fell on a group in a corner;
the Lady Beckwith sate there, and beside her Margaret; behind whom sate
a young Knight, Sir Richard de Benoit by name, the fairest and goodliest
of all in the castle, whom Paul loved well; and he leaned over and said
some words in the maiden's ear, who looked round shyly at him with a
little smile.

Then Paul put out all his art, as though to recover a thing that he had
nearly lost. He struck a sweet chord on the lute, and the talk all died
away and left an utter silence; and Paul, looking at but one face, and
as though he spoke but to one ear, sang his song of love. It was like a
spell of magic; men and women turned to each other and felt the love of
their youth rise in their hearts as sweet as ever. The Duke where he
sate laid a hand upon the Duchess' hand and smiled. They that were old,
and had lost what they loved, were moved to weeping--and the young men
and maidens looked upon the ground, or at the singer, and felt the hot
blood rise in their cheeks. And Paul, exulting in his heart, felt that
he swayed the souls of those that heard him, as the wind sways a field
of wheat, that bends all one way before it. Then again came the silence,
when the voice ceased; a silence into which the last chords of the lute
sank, like stones dropped into a still water. And Paul bowed again, and
stepped down from the dais--and then with slow steps he moved to where
the Lady Beckwith sate, and bowing to her, took the chair beside her.

Then came a tumbler and played many agile tricks before them; and then a
company of mummers, with the heads of birds and beasts, danced and
sported. But the Lady Beckwith said, "Sir Paul, I will tell you a tale.
A bird of the forest alighted at our window-sill some days ago, and
sang very sweetly to us--and we spread crumbs and made it a little
feast; and it seemed to trust us, but presently it spread its wings and
flew away, and it comes not again. Tell us, what shall we do to tempt
the wild bird back?" And Paul, smiling in her face, said, "Oh, madam,
the bird will return; but he leads, maybe, a toilsome life, gathering
berries, and doing small businesses. The birds, which seem so free, live
a life of labour; and they may not always follow their hearts. But be
sure that your bird knows his friends; and some day, when he has
opportunity, he will alight again. To him his songs seem but a small
gift, a shallow twittering that can