Like my heart?”
“Why is this?” I heard; “My note—
Did it miscarry?—Would you thwart me now—
Or, though my gifts could aid them, do they wish
No help from me?—My heart was fix’d on it.”
“On my cause,” breathed I. “Did you never think
That work with them would make you work with me?”
“Why think of that?” she ask’d.—“Enough to know
I sought my own work here.”
“Why, Edith, friend,”