And your tale, Lady Florence, is hard to believe—
Oh! why did you tell it, I pray?”
“In the tales that I tell,” Lady Florence replied,
“I remember that rumour flies fast;
And all that I cannot conjecture at first,
Gets somehow put in at the last.”
“But those men, Lady Florence,” the young man cried.
“Those ruffians, with knives, got away,
And yet of your struggle all traces are gone—
Oh, where are their footmarks, I pray?”