"Have you noticed," said Talbot, at length, "that they have left the same small guard which they left before?"
"Oh yes; but what of that?"
"Don't you think that now, after what has happened, they might be far less strict, and be open to a moderate bribe?"
"Bribe? And why?" asked Brooke.
"Why? why?" repeated Talbot, in surprise. "Why, to escape—to get our freedom."
"But suppose I don't want my freedom?" said Brooke.
"Not want it? What do you mean? Do you suppose that I may not be strong enough for the journey? Don't be afraid of that. I feel strong enough now for any effort. I'll fly with you—anywhere, Brooke."
"Fly?" said Brooke; "fly? What, and take you to your friends? And then what? Why, then—a long good-bye! Talbot, I'm too infernally selfish. I'll tell you a secret. Now that the worst is over—now that there doesn't seem to be any real danger—I'll confess that I enjoy this. I don't want it to end. I feel not only like singing, but like dancing. I want to be always living in a tower, or an old windmill, or anywhere—so long as I can look up and see you, I don't want anything more in the world. And when I look up and see Talbot no more—why, then I'll stop singing. For what will life be worth then, when all its sunlight, and bloom, and sweetness, and joy are over, and when they are all past and gone forever? Life! why, Talbot, lad, I never began to know what life could be till I saw you; and do you ask me now to put an end to our friendship?"
This was what Brooke said, and then he turned off into a song:
"Then this maiden wiped her eyelids
With her pocket-handkerchee;
Though I grow a yaller spinster
I will stick to my Billee!
Rite follalol-lol-lol-lol-lido,
Rite follalol-lol-lol-lol-lay."