ve,
And cheat of any laughter
The fate beneath us and above,
The dark before and after.

"The myrtle and the rose, the rose,
The sunshine and the swallow,
The dream that comes, the dream that goes,
The memories that follow!"

The sweet cadence died away. A bird's note took up the dropped thread of
music. The Professor broke into passionate speech.

"My cause is pleaded in your own language, Hadria, Hadria; listen to it,
listen. You know what is in my heart; I can't apologize for feeling it,
for I have no choice; no man has where you are concerned, as you must
have discovered long ago. And I do not apologize for telling you the
truth, you know it does you no wrong. This is no news to you; you must
have guessed it from the first. Your coldness, your rebuffs, betrayed
that you did. But, ah! I have struggled long enough. I can keep silence
no longer. I have thought of late that your feeling for me had changed;
a thousand things have made me hope--good heavens, if you knew what that
means to a man who had lost it! Ah! speak--don't look like that,
Hadria,--what is there in me that you always turn from? Speak, speak!"

"Ah! life is horribly difficult!" she exclaimed. "I wish to heaven I
had never budged from the traditions in which I was educated--either
that, or that everybody had discarded them. I feel one way and think
another."

"Then you do love me, Hadria," he cried.

Her instinct was to deny the truth, but there seemed to her something
mean in concealment, especially if she were to blame, especially if
those who respected tradition, and made it their guide and rule through
thick and thin, in the very teeth of reason, were right after all, as it
seemed to her, at this moment, that they were. If there were evil in
this strange passion, let her at least acknowledge her share in it. Let
her not "assume a virtue though she had it not."

Professor Theobald was watching her face, as for a verdict of life and
death.

"Oh, answer me, answer me--Yes or no, yes or no?" She had raised her
eyes for a moment, about to speak; the words were stifled at their
birth, for the next instant she was in his arms. Again came the voice of
the singer, nearer this time. The song was hummed softly.

"Oh, gather me the rose, the rose,
While yet in flower we find it,
For summer smiles, but summer goes,
And