"Oh, no, no; not that one. Mrs. Cathcart would not like it at all." "Yes, please do," said Adela. "Pray don't think of me, gentlemen," said the aunt. "No, I won't," said the curate. "Then I will," said the doctor, with a glance at Adela, which seemed to say--"If you want it, you shall have it, whether they like it or not." He repeated, with just a touch of the recitative in his tone, the following verses: "Night lay upon mine eyelids; Upon my mouth lay lead; With withered heart and sinews, I lay among the dead. "How long I lay and slumbered, I knew not in the gloom. I wakened up, and listened To a knocking at my tomb. "'Wilt thou not rise, my Henry? Immortal day draws on; The dead are all arisen; The endless joy begun.' "'My love, I cannot raise me; Nor could I find the door; My eyes with bitter weeping Are blind for evermore.' "'But from thine eyes, dear Henry, I'll kiss away the night; Thou shall behold the angels, And Heaven's own blessed light.' "'My love, I cannot raise me; The blood is flowing still, Where thou, heart-deep, didst stab me, With a dagger-speech, to kill.' "'Oh! I will lay my hand, Henry, So soft upon thy heart; And that will stop the bleeding-- Stop all the bitter smart.' "'My love, I cannot raise me; My head is bleeding too. When thou wast stolen from me, I shot it through and through.' "'With my thick hair, my Henry, I will stop the fountain red; Press back again the blood-stream, And heal thy wounded head.' "She begged so soft, so dearly, I could no more say no; Writhing, I strove to raise me, And to the maiden go. "Then the wounds again burst open; And afresh the torrents break From head and heart--life's torrents-- And lo! I am awake." "There now, that is enough!" said the curate. "That is not nice--is it, Mrs. Cathcart?" Mrs. Cathcart smiled, and said: "I should hardly have thought your time well-spent in translating it, Mr. Armstrong." "It took me a few idle minutes only," said the curate. "But my foolish brother, who has a child's fancy for horrid things, took a fancy to that; and so he won't let my sins be forgotten. But I will take away the taste of it with another of Heine's, seeing we have fallen upon him. I should never have dreamed of introducing him here. It was Miss Cathcart's first song that opened the vein, I believe." "I am the guilty person," said Adela; "and I fear I am not sorry for my sins--the consequences have been too pleasant. Do go on, Mr. Armstrong." He repeated: "_Peace_.