And Life is a nymph who will never be thine,
With lily, germander, and sops in wine.
With sweet-brier,
And bon-fire,
And strawberry-wire,
And columbine."
The voice stopped, and Master Nathaniel buried his face in his hands and sobbed as if his heart would break.
In this magically sweet music once more he had heard the Note. It held, this time, no menace as to things to come; but it aroused in his breast an agonizing tumult of remorse for having allowed something to escape that he would never, never recapture. It was as if he had left his beloved with harsh words, and had returned to find her dead.
Through his agony he was conscious of a hand laid on his shoulder: "Why, Chanticleer! Old John o' Dreams! What ails you? Has the cock's crow become too bitter-sweet for Chanticleer?" said a voice, half tender and half mocking, in his ear.
He turned round, and by the light of the moon saw standing behind him—Duke Aubrey.