With inward groanings deep for meadows grey,
Grey copses, cool with twilight, shady dales,
Home-gardens, full of rest, where never may
Come loud intrusion, and what chiefly fails
My sick desire, old friendships fled away.
I am much vexed with loss. Kind Memory, lay
My head upon thy lap and tell me tales.’
“He was a very young man when he wrote these lines,” said Framlingham, “and the only criticism I would offer, is, that I should prefer ‘close’ of day to ‘shut’ of day. What say you?”
After dinner that evening, when Mrs. Massarene had retired to her room not to offend a governor, who was spoken of as a future governor-general, by the sight of her nodding and dozing, Katherine turned to her guest and said briefly—
“I will tell you now what my wishes are, and what my one doubt is.”