He whisper'd his vows to the high-born Ladye.

"Proud maiden, I come with high spousals to grace thee,
In me the great conqu'ror of conquerors see;
Enthron'd in a hall fit for monarchs I'll place thee,
And mine thou'rt for ever, thou high-born Ladye!"

The maiden she smil'd and in jewels array'd her,
Of thrones and tiaras already dreamt she;
And proud was the step, as her bridegroom convey'd
her In pomp to his home, of that high-born Ladye.

"But whither," she, starting, exclaims, "have you led me?
Here's nought but a tomb and a dark cypress tree;
Is _this_ the bright palace in which thou wouldst wed me?"
With scorn in her glance, said the high-born Ladye.

"Tis the home," he replied, "of earth's loftiest creatures."
Then he lifted his helm for the fair one to see;
But she sunk on the ground--'twas a skeleton's features,
And Death was the Lord of the high-born Ladye!

The beautiful voice throbbed away into silence, and the mandolin jarred
and thrummed upon the floor. Violet Campion sat staring straight before
her with eyes that were wide and fixed.

Olga jumped up impulsively. "Violet, why did you sing that gruesome
thing? Do you want to give us all the horrors?"

She picked up the mandolin with a swish of its red ribbons, and laid it