Ask me no more if I regret—
You need not care to know;
“A woman’s heart does not forget—
Bid me good-by, and go.
You do not love me—no;
Bid me good-by, and go.
Good-by, good-by—’tis better so;
Bid me good-by, and go.”
Margery moved dreamily; she opened her eyes. A flood of glorious sunshine filled the room. She felt strangely weak; her hands were almost numb, her head was heavy; she could do nothing but lie back and rest—rest, and listen to the sound of a rich voice singing, somewhat near, a plaintive, sighing song:
“You do not love me—no;