tone so as not to add to
my burdens. You see I know it all, Talbot, and understand you
thoroughly, so there need not be any further dissimulation."

"Brooke," said Talbot, "you are feverish from anxiety, and fanciful.
Be yourself. Sing one of your droll songs. Talk nonsense. If you go
on in this mournful strain, you will make me break down utterly."

At this Brooke drew a long breath.

"Forgive me, Talbot," he said. "I really don't know what has come
over me. If I were alone I could sleep as sound as a top, but anxiety
about another is a different thing. Still, you are right, and I mean
to turn the conversation to some other subject. A song, did you say?
Very well. By-the-bye, did you ever hear this?

"'Oh, Jenny Jones was a lovely gal,
And her mother worked a mangle;
She fell in love with a fine yonng lad,
Who played on the triangle.'"

Brooke hummed this, and then stopped.

"I never heard it before," said Talbot. "Sing the rest. Now you are
yourself again.

Whatever you feel, Brooke, don't speak of it, but laugh, and jest,
and sing old scraps of songs."

"I won't," said Brooke. "I'll sing nothing more, and I'll say nothing
more."

Talbot made no reply.

Brooke was true to his resolution, and said not another word. Talbot
was as silent as he. Each had thoughts which were all-engrossing.
Neither spoke, but each knew perfectly well that the other was wide
awake, and full of care.

Thus the night passed away, with its long, long hours. It seemed
interminable; but at length it came to an end, as all nights must,
however long. The dawn came, and the two could see each other. Each
sat propped up against the wall. Neither one spoke for a long time,
until it was broad day, when Brooke, who had been watching Talbot's
face until it grew fully revealed, broke the silence with a slight
cough. Talbot turned and smiled.

"Good-morning," said Brooke. "We seem to be having quite a spell of
weather. Quite a fine view from these windows. You haven't been out
yet, I suppose?"

"Not yet," said Talbot.

"Well," said Brooke, "we must take a walk after breakfast:

"'Oh, if I was the owner of London town,
I'd buy my love a scarlet gown--
A gown of scarlet bombazine,
And away we'd travel to Gretna Green.'"

"Have you ever been there?" asked Talbot, trying to assume Brooke's
own careless tone.

"Yes, Talbot; of course I have. Every American makes a pilgrimage
there when he visits Eng