doth the little busy bee
Improve the shining hour.
But I prefer
The caterpil-ler
That feeds on the self-same flower.
The bee he slaves for all his life;--
Not so the other one;
For he soars to the sky,
A butterfly,
Ere half his days are done."

Silence now followed for a very long time. It was at length broken by
Brooke.

"Talbot," said he, in a soft, low voice.

"Well, Brooke," said Talbot.

"Will you be silent if I say something?"

"Yes, Brooke."

"Not speak a word?"

"No, Brooke."

"Not move an inch?"

"No, Brooke."

"Well," said Brooke, on second thoughts, "I think I won't say it."

Talbot said nothing.

Brooke sat looking away, as usual, but now, at last, his eyes, which
had so long avoided hers, sank down till they met her gaze. They
rested there, and these two sat in silence, regarding one another
with a strange, sad look of longing, as though there was between them
a barrier over which they dared not pass. And that barrier arose
there, invisible yet impassable--the pledge of honor and fidelity
already given by each to another, at the thought of which they had
now to crush down the surging passions within.

"Talbot," said Brooke once more.

"Well, Brooke," was the answer.

"Oh, Talbot! Talbot! Do you know what I wish to say?"

"Yes, Brooke," said Talbot. "I know it. I know it--all."

"Well, I will say it," said Brooke, "for I cannot keep it. Oh,
Talbot! it is this--it is part of my Puritan education, perhaps. Oh,
Talbot"--and his eyes rested on hers with a devouring gaze, and his
voice trembled and died out into almost inaudible tones--"oh, Talbot,
my younger brother Talbot! Very pleasant hast thou been unto me. Thy
love to me is wonderful--passing the love of women!"

Talbot was true to her promise. She did not move an inch and she did
not speak a word. But her eyes were fixed upon his; and in those eyes
Brooke saw once again what he had seen before--the look of a love
that had already shown itself stronger than life.

* * *

It was evening.

Suddenly there arose a noise outside. Brooke started up and went to
the window, where he stood looking out. It was Lopez, with all his
followers, who were returning.

Brooke, in his usual fashion, sang:

"Oh, little Jack he climbed so high,
Up the beanstalk into the sky,
And there he saw an ogre grim
A comin' to make mince-meat of him.
Singing fe-fi-fo-fum--
I smell the blood of nu