"I never told him," replied his friend; "but I think that he divined. You see, in his letter, that he gives no explanation. But listen, Harry; will it not be better--now that we have spoken freely on this theme--will it not be better, I say, for you to return home, let the first memory of these dark days pass away, and seek for happiness with one who may well make up for all that you have suffered in the past." "What!" cried Dacre, "with this stain upon my name? Oh, no! that dream of joy is gone. No, no, my only course is to forget that there is such a thing as love on earth, or to think with your friend Chaucer's lay, that-- '--Love ne is in yonge folke but rage, And is in olde folke a grete dotage, Who most it usith, he most shal enpaire For thereof cometh disese and hevinesse So sorrow and care, and many a grete sicknesse, Despite, debate, and angre, and envie, Depraving shame, untrust, and jelousie, Pride, mischefe, povertie, and wodeness.'" "'Tis the song of the cuckoo," Harry replied Woodville; "but this sad humour, built upon a baseless dream, will pass away when you find that the suspicions which you now fancy in every one's heart, live but in your own imagination; and then you will answer with the nightingale-- 'That evirmore Love his servauntes amendeth, And from all evil tachis them defendeth;' but Time must do his own work; and till then, argument is of no avail. Yet I would fain not have you lose bright days with me in foreign lands. Happy were I if I could stay like you in hope, and lead the pleasant summer life, beneath the lightsome looks of her whom I love best. Think of it, Harry, think of it; and do not rashly judge that you see clear till you have wiped the dust out of your eyes." Dacre shook his head, and answered, "I will to rest, Richard, such as I can find; for now that I have got this craven's reply, I have no further business here till I join you again upon our pilgrimage. I will away to-morrow, to prepare; but we shall meet before I go. I know my way." CHAPTER VII. THE CORONATION.