(Timon) “My Leta, come! Thy Christ-gift bideth o’er our Tina’s lips and she doth coo!”
(Leta) “Timon, call aloud, that she heareth thee. Leta! Leta! Little one! Dost hear thy sire to call? Why, what’s amiss with thee? Thy staring eyes, my child! Speak thou!”
(Leta) “Sh-e-e-e! Sire, His mother’s come! And, ah, my heart! All white she be an’ crushed unto her breast a holly bough, and one white arm doth circle o’er a lamb! See, sire, the snow did drift it thro’ and weave a fairy robe to cover her.”
(Timon) “Who leaveth by the door; a stranger?”
(Leta) “Nay, He bideth here.”
(Timon) “The Lady Marye, on my soul! Leta, drop ye here thy tears, for madness bideth loosed upon the earth! And shouldst——”
(Leta) “Nay, sire! Who cometh there?”
And searchers there did find the Lady Marye, dead, amid the lambs and snow—a flowering o’ the rose upon a bush o’ thorn.