"Do the hawk and dove agree together in the same nest?"
"The dove would stand but a poor chance," said Robert.
"True." She turned upon her heel and went into the cottage, and seating herself in a low chair, began rocking it backwards and forwards, singing, in a kind of low, monotonous chant,
"When the leaves from the trees begin to fall Then the curse hangs darkly over the Hall."
"That must be now, then," said Robert, who had followed her in, "for the leaves are falling thick enough and fast enough in the wood."
"Darker and darker as the leaves fall thicker," she replied, "and darkest of all when they are on the ground, and the trees bare."
"What will happen then?"
"Ask your own heart: hasn't it anger, hatred, and despair in it? Did I not hear you call aloud for vengeance?"
"And what good can come of it?" continued she, seeing he made no reply; "like you, I've had all that in my heart, until curses loud and bitter have followed one after another, heaped on those who injured me, and yet I'm as far off from happiness as ever. I began to seek it when I was a young woman, and look! my hair is grey, and yet I have not found it; while the fierce anger, the strong will to return evil for evil, have faded from my spirit like the slow whitening of these grey hairs. There's only despair now, and hatred for those, for her who did me wrong."
"Do we all hate as mercilessly as this? I feel that a look, a word of love would turn my heart from bitterness."