pturned face, with hands locked tight upon the
wonder of this hour.

"The rose, the rose has faded, Dione," said the ardent voice. "Look how
dead it lies upon my palm! But bend and breathe upon it, and it will
bloom again! Ah, that day at Penshurst! when I sought you and they told
me you were gone--a brother ill and calling for you--a guardian, no
friend of mine, to whose house I had not access! And then the Queen must
send for me, and there was service to be done--service which got me my
knighthood.... The stream between us widened. At first I thought to span
it with a letter, and then I wrote it not. 'Twas all too frail a bridge
to trust my hope upon. For what should have the paper said? _I am so
near a stranger to thee that scarce have we spoken twice
together--therefore love me! I am a man who hath done somewhat in the
busy world, and shall, God willing, labor once again, but now a cloud
overshadows me--therefore love me! I have no wealth or pomp of place to
give thee, and I myself am of those whom God hath bound to
wander--therefore love me! I chanced upon thee beside a fountain ringed
with roses, gray with mist; the sun came out and I saw thee, golden in
the golden light--therefore love me!_ Ah no! you would have answered--I
know not what. Therefore I waited, for I have at times a strange
patience, a willingness to let Fate guide me. Moreover, I ever thought
to meet you, to speak with you face to face again, but it fell not so.
Was I with the court, the country claimed you; went I north or west,
needs must I hear of you a lovely star within that galaxy I had left.
Thrice were we in company together--cursed spite that gave us only time
for courtly greeting, courtly parting!"

The voice came nearer, came very near: "Have I said that I wrote not to
you? Ay, but I did, my only dear! And as I wrote, from the court, from
the camp, from my poor house of Ferne, I said: 'This will tell her how
in her I reverence womankind,' and, 'These are flowers for her
coronal--will she not know it among a thousand wreaths?' and, 'This, ah,
this, will show her how deeply now hath worked the arrow!' and, 'Now she
cannot choose but know--her soul will hear my soul cry!' And that those
letters might come to your eyes, I, following the fashion, sealed them
only with feigned names, altered circumstance. All who ran might read,
but the heartbeat was for your ear ... Dione! Didst never guess?"

She answered in a still voice without moving: "