"Alas, and who shall count the cost
Of human souls for love's sake lost?
For peasant's hut and kingly crown,
And rural dell and stately town,
And vineyards ripening in the sun,
And kingdoms by the strong arm won,
And armies marshaled for the fray,
Have been overthrown and swept away,
Betrayed and wrecked and lost for this,
The needless harvest of a kiss!"
He was silent so long that the dreamy, half-shut eyes unclosed and looked at him in wonder.
"Are you not going to read?" she asked in a tone of disappointment.
"I don't think my voice is in tune to-day. I'm hoarse as a raven. I'll read you a verse and then you will cry, 'Hold! enough.'"
She laughed, and Lord Chester began:
"A sweeter, sadder thing,
My life for having known you,
Forever with its sacred kin,
My soul's soul, I must own you
Forever mine, my friend,
From June to life's December—
Not mine to have or hold,
But to pray for and remember."
His voice was discordant with the hoarseness of subtle pain. He let the little book fall on the grass.
"You see?" he said.
"Yes you do not read well," she answered frankly. "But how can I amuse you? Shall I read to you, or talk?"
"Neither," he replied with a forced smile. "Let us sit very, very quiet for awhile and listen to the river. It has a voice, you know, and when we listen thoughtfully it will repeat over and over some one word, according to your fancy. Then you shall tell me what it said to you and I will confess what it said to me."