In chiming notes like clinking ice.
William Habberton eyed his guest;
Like stubborn flint was grown his stare.
He drew a parchment from his breast,
And looked, and saw his ruin there.
His fields beneath another’s plow,
Another’s seal stamped on his brow.
Black hound, Disaster, at his heel ...
Hand crept to sheath and found the steel.
Out of the night the lovers came,