It was his own. Mr. Carleton brought it. Hugh opened it and took out a folded paper which he gave to Mr. Carleton, saying that he thought he ought to have it.
"Do you know the handwriting, sir?"
"No."
"Ah she has scratched it so. It is Fleda's."
Hugh shut his eyes again and Mr. Carleton seeing that he had settled himself to sleep went to the window with the paper. It hardly told him anything he did not know before, though set in a fresh light.
"Cold blew the east wind
And thick fell the rain,
I looked for the tops
Of the mountains in vain;
Twilight was gathering
And dark grew the west,
And the woodfire's crackling
Toned well with the rest.
"Speak fire and tell me--
Thy flickering flame
Fell on me in years past--
Say, am I the same?
Has my face the same brightness
In those days it wore?--
My foot the same lightness
As it crosses the floor?
"Methinks there are changes--
Am weary to-night,--
I once was as tireless
As the bird on her flight;
My bark in full measure
Threw foam from the prow;--
Not even for pleasure
Would I care to move now.
"Tis not the foot only
That lieth thus still,--
I am weary in spirit,
I am listless in will.
My eye vainly peereth
Through the darkness, to find
Some object that cheereth--
Some light for the mind.
"What shadows come o'er me--
What things of the past,--
Bright things of my childhood
That fled all too fast,
The scenes where light roaming
My foot wandered free,
Come back through the gloamin'--
Come all back to me.