“’Twas I that paid for all things,
’Twas others drank the wine;
I cannot now recall things,
Live but a fool to pine.
’Twas I that beat the bush,
The bird to others flew;
For she, alas, hath left me,
Felero, lero, loo!”
With a pained face the girl stood for a minute looking at him, then softly attempted to withdraw, but his ear, sharpened to unnatural quickness, caught the sound of her step, light as it was.
“Who is that?” he asked. “Joe, is it you?”