te wisdom, and a
strength of courage, that seemed more than courage, wisdom and joy, for
they had come from the very fountain of all these things. And very
slowly, with that unfading look, she took off her black gown and put on
the white bridal-smock she had made; and as soon as she had put it on
she fell dead at his feet.

("I think," said Martin Pippin, "that you have now had plenty of time,
Mistress Jessica, to ponder my riddle."

"Your riddle?" exclaimed Jessica. "But--good heavens! bother your
riddle! get on with the story."

"How can I get on with it?" said Martin. "It's got there."

Joscelyn: No, no, no! oh, it's impossible! oh, I can't bear it! oh, how
angry I am with you!

Martin: Dear Mistress Joscelyn, why are you so agitated?

Joscelyn: I? I am not at all agitated. I am quite collected. I only
wish you were as collected, for I think you must be out of your wits.
How DARE you leave this story where it is? How dare you!

Martin: Dear, dear Mistress Joscelyn, what more is there to be told?

Joscelyn: I do not care what more is to be told. Only some of it must
be re-told. You must bring that girl instantly to life!

Joyce: Of course you must! And explain why she died, though she mustn't
die.

Jennifer: No, indeed! and if it had to do with her black hair, you must
pluck it out by the roots.

Jessica: Yes, indeed! and you must do something about the horrible pool
in the Red Copse, for perhaps that is what killed her.

Jane: Oh, it is too dreadful not to have a story with a wedding in it!

And little Joan leaned out of her branch and took Martin's hand in
hers, and looked at him pleadingly, and said nothing.

"Will women NEVER let a man make a thing in his own way?" said Martin.
"Will they ALWAYS be adding and changing this detail and that? For what
a detail is death once lovers have kissed. However--!")

Not less than yourselves, my silly dears, was Hobb overwhelmed by that
down-sinking of his love Margaret. And he fell on his knees beside her,
and took her in his arms, and put his hand over the rose on her heart,
that had ceased to beat. Suddenly it seemed to him that his hand had
been stung, and he drew it away quickly, his eyes on the golden rose.
And where she had left it just incomplete at his coming, he saw a
jet-black speck. A light broke over him swiftly, and one by one he
broke the strands at the rose's heart, and under it revealed a small
black snake; and as the rose had been done f