The breathing multiple of roses passionate,
Of perfect pearls, of birds with happy melody—
Ay, a mere girl, yet in herself a universe.’
“A poet sung that, Margery, and it is the very echo of my heart.”
“You are very good,” she murmured, gently; and then, bending to touch her cheek with his lips, Lord Court went slowly from the room.
Margery lay silent, his words ringing in her ears, and again and again she told herself that she could not destroy this man’s new-found peace, his life’s happiness. She must strive to crush all love and remembrance from her heart, turn her face from the past, with all its store of sweetness and bitterness, and look upon the future, where the path of duty lay straight before her. Loyalty and honor demanded the sacrifice, and she would obey them.
“I shall go my ways, tread out my measure,
Fill the days of my daily breath
With fugitive things not good to treasure—
Do as the world doth, say as it saith.