The air was very warm and sultry,--all the windows of the Manor were thrown open for coolness,--and through those of the drawing-room came the lovely vibrations of Cicely's pure fresh voice. She was singing an enchanting melody on which some words of Julian Adderley's, simple and quaint, without having any claim to particular poetic merit, floated clearly with distinct and perfect enunciation-"A little rose on a young rose-tree Shed all its crimson blood for me, Drop by drop on the dewy grass, Its petals fell, and its life did pass; Oh little rose on the young rose-tree, Why did you shed your blood for me?
"A nightingale in a tall pine-tree Broke its heart in a song for me, Singing, with moonbeams around it spread, It fluttered, and fell at my threshold, dead;-- Oh nightingale in the tall pine-tree, Why did you break your heart for me?
"A lover of ladies, bold and free, Challenged the world to a fight for me, But I scorn'd his love in a foolish pride, And, sword in hand, he fighting died! Oh lover of ladies, bold and free, Why did you lose your life for me?"
And again, with plaintive insistence, the last two lines were repeated, ringing out on the deep stillness of the summer night-"Oh lover of ladies, told and free, Why did you lose yowr life for me?"
The song ceased with a clash of chords. It was followed by a subdued clapping of hands,--a pause of silence--and then a renewed murmur of conversation. Walden looked up as if suddenly startled from a reverie, and resumed his quick pace across the courtyard,--and Maryllia, seeing him go, advanced a little more into the gleaming moonlight to follow him with her eyes till he should quite disappear.
"Upon my word, a very quaint little comedy!" said a coldly mocking voice behind her--"A modern Juliet gazing pathetically after the retiring form of a somewhat elderly clerical Romeo! Let me congratulate you, Miss Maryllia, on your newest and most brilliant achievement,--the conquest of a country parson! It is quite worthy of you!"
And turning, she confronted Lord Roxmouth.