"Oh! what is love? Some say it is but sorrow, Passion unholden, joy a three-part pain. Here for to-day but gone for aye to-morrow, Leaving behind a memory and a stain, If this be so, my heart it shall not move. Let me not love. Let me not love. "Oh! what is love? Some say ’tis but a dreaming Born in the Spring-time of a single sigh. Blazing in glory, earth an Eden seeming, Dying of passion as the roses die. If this be so, if love a vision prove, Let me not love. Let me not love. "Oh! what is love? A worship all undying. Faith looks to faith, and heart to heart has fled. Faith is fulfilled, no more the soul goes sighing. Love is for aye, and time itself is dead. If this be so, if earth a heaven may prove. Ah! give me love. Ah! give me love." Scarcely was the song ended when Captain Protheroe strode abruptly into the room, and crossing to her side seized her almost roughly by the arm. "Mistress Barbara," he asked hoarsely, "know you aught of what you sing?" She paused, silent, wondering at his tone. "Ah! Mistress Barbara," he continued more gently; "would it were mine to teach you the meaning of your words." But, though she dearly loved to read that look upon his face, yet at his words a spirit of mischief possessed her; and, maiden-like, loving him she loved to show him cruelty that she might hereafter prove the kinder in atonement. So drawing from him she turned to place her pasty in the oven, at the same time asking mischievously: "What! Wouldest teach me that love is sorrow, sir?" He smiled at her and shook his head. "Nay, that was not all your song, Mistress Barbara." "A worship all undying," she repeated softly. Then she turned to him demurely. "Captain Protheroe, how long is’t since you saw the lady of whom you spake to me in the forest, she who was once your queen?" He started back angrily. "Mistress Barbara! Who hath been spreading scandalous stories concerning me?" he cried in a fury of indignation. She stared at him in amazement. "Nay, sir, none that I know on," she faltered. "Then what——" "I did but wonder how long a man’s ’worship undying’ lives," she answered mischievously. He eyed her keenly for a moment, then he laughed. "Sure a man can scarce be writ down inconstant because he remain not true to his childhood’s love." "Yet some men have proved themselves so constant," she murmured softly. "That should be easy, madame, to one who hath known you all his life," he answered quickly, disarming her by his gallantry. Then he continued: "’Twould indeed go hard with me, must I forfeit all other loves for that one, seeing the lady hath been wed for more than ten years." "She is wed! Ah!" Then she looked at him curiously. "You loved her once?" she asked gently.