out to wonder at them as they go by. You remember--

"'Who is your lady of love, oh ye that pass
Singing? And is it for sorrow of that which was
That ye sing sadly, or dream of what shall be?
For gladly at once and sadly it seems ye sing.
--Our lady of love by you is unbeholden;
For hands she hath none, nor eyes, nor lips, nor golden
Treasure of hair, nor face nor form; but we
That love, we know her more fair than anything.'"

Yes; he had certainly a pathetic thrill in his voice; but now there was
something else--something strange--in the slow and monotonous cadence
that caught the acute ear of his friend. And again he went on, but
absently, almost as if he were himself listening--

"--Is she a queen, having great gifts to give?
--Yea, these; that whoso hath seen her shall not live
Except he serve her sorrowing, with strange pain,
Travail and bloodshedding and bitterest tears;
And when she bids die he shall surely die.
And he shall leave all things under the sky,
And go forth naked under sun and rain,
And work and wait and watch out all his years."

"Evelyn," said George Brand, suddenly, fixing his keen eyes on his
friend's face, "where have you heard that? Who has taught you? You are
not speaking with your own voice."

"With whose, then?" and a smile came over the pale, calm, beautiful