"Oh, Brooke!" she said, "for your sake I would do anything, anything; but I cannot, even for your sake, do wrong to others. For you--if it were myself alone that were concerned--I might be tempted to do an act of sacrilege--or sin. Ask me to suffer for you, Brooke, and I will suffer: oh, how gladly! Yes, Brooke," she continued, in a voice that sent a thrill through all his being--"yes, Brooke, ask me to die for you, or let the chance arise in which I may die to save you, and I will die. But do not look at me so, Brooke! do not look at me so! Your face is full of despair; your look is the look of one whose heart is breaking; and this, Brooke, this seems worse than death! Be yourself, Brooke! rouse yourself! Cannot you take refuge in some other thoughts? The very worst of your songs might rouse you now. Sing, Brooke--sing anything. Talk nonsense, and save your heart and mine from breaking!" Brooke turned away, and walked up and down for a few minutes, while he struggled to regain his composure. The struggle was a severe one, but he succeeded in assuming an outward calm. He at length returned, and, placing himself before Talbot, gave that short laugh of his, and said, with some of his old rattle, "Well, Talbot lad, you're more than half right. And, as I've always said, there's nothing like a good song--and I've lots of good songs; but as you suggest a bad song--in fact, the worst of all my songs--why, I dare say it wouldn't be a bad idea to sing it. By-the-bye, Talbot, you ought to learn to sing--at least, to hum tunes. I'll teach you how to whistle, if you like. I wonder if this Spanish cur likes music. I'll sing you a song, if you like, and I'll bet ten cents you never heard it before." And Brooke sang, to a most extraordinary tune, these most extraordinary words: "Oh, a raggedy gang to the piper danced, Of tatterdemalions all, Till the corpulent butler drove them off Beyond the manor wall. The raggedy piper shook his fist: 'A minstrel's curse on thee, Thou lubberly, duck-legg'd son of a gun, For settin' dorgs on we!'" "Brooke," said Talbot, with her usual calm, sad face, "I'm glad that you are singing, though your song is certainly slightly vulgar." "Oh, I know it," said Brooke; "but then vulgarity is sometimes a very good thing. It don't do for people to be too fastidious. The fact is, this age is over-refined, and I'm bound to reform it, or perish." CHAPTER XLIX. HOW LOPEZ INVITES HARRY TO HIS WEDDING, AND HOW HARRY MAKES A DISTURBANCE.