William Henry read very well, and with much pathos, and into the last line he put especial tenderness which did not need the covert glance he shot at her to bring the colour into Margaret’s cheek.
‘“Though deathe with neverre faylinge blowe,
Doth manne and babe alyke bringe lowe;
Yet doth he take naught butte hys due
And strikes not Willy’s heart still treue.”’
‘What simplicity, what fidelity!’ murmured the antiquary; ‘a flawless gem indeed! Whence did you unearth it?’
‘I found it where I found the other deed, sir, amongst my patron’s documents; I took it, of course, to him at once. He was greatly surprised and interested, and fully conscious of the value of the godsend; yet he never showed the least sign of regret at the gift he made me, of what he was pleased to call the jetsam and flotsam from his collection. ‘“If I were a younger man,” he said, “I think I should have grudged you that lock of hair. It is just the sort of present a young fellow should give to the girl he has a respect for. A thing that costs nothing, yet is exceedingly precious, and which speaks of love and fidelity. It is too good for any antiquary.”’
‘Your patron is mad, my lad,’ said Mr. Erin, in a tone of cheerful conviction; ‘he must be mad to talk like that; and, indeed, he would never give away these things at all if he were in his sober senses. The idea of bestowing such an inestimable relic upon a girl! Why, it should rather be preserved in some museum in the custody of trustees, to the delight of the whole nation for ever.’
‘Nevertheless, sir, such was my patron’s injunction. He asked of me if I knew any pure and comely maiden, well brought up, and who would understand the value of such a thing. I had therefore, of course, no choice but to mention Margaret; whereupon he said that the lock of hair was to be hers.’
‘I’ll keep it for you, Maggie, in my iron press,’ said Mr. Erin considerately. ‘You shall look at it—in my presence—as often as you like; and then we shall both know that it is safe and sound. As for the letter and verses, Samuel, it will be better to put them for the present, perhaps, in the same repository.’
‘You may put them where you like, sir,’ answered William Henry smiling, as he always did when addressed by that unwonted name; ‘they are yours.’
‘A good lad, an excellent lad,’ murmured the antiquary; ‘now let us with all due reverence inspect these treasures. This is the very hair I should have looked for as having been the immortal bard’s, just as the engraving by Droeshart depicts it in the folio edition. Brown, straight, and wiry, as Steevens terms it.’
‘I should not call it wiry, uncle,’ observed Margaret, ‘though to be sure it has no curl nor gloss on it; it seems to me soft enough to have been a woman’s hair.’