"And then one day I met a maiden, beautiful, lovely; she lured me on by her very beauty, I grew to know her better from day to day; the admiration deepened as I saw her--pure, innocent, and true, never deceiving, never trifling with men's love, always noble, unselfish, and unaffected, never seeming conscious of her great beauty which turned the heads of men. As I knew her better I admired her more, until one day I awoke and found my admiration had ripened into love. Shall I tell thee what it meant to me?--how it brightened life's pathway; how if I could but see one bright face my heart was full to overflowing; how if one was absent from the room it was deserted for me, and how when I was by her side earth was heaven enough for me; how I watched the streets day and night to see her pass, and counted that day well spent when I had seen her face? I treasured her smile as the miser does his gold, and at night counted them over one by one. "One morning as I arose early, I saw her out for a morning stroll with a companion, and watched her as she tossed a coin to a beggar upon the corner. I bought that coin from her, and now wear it next my heart," and I pulled a little gold chain from around my neck, and laid it upon the table. No sound from the silent figure with her head upon the table. "Margaret!" I cried, "I love thee. I know not how to express my love, I can only sing like the bird, only one song by night and day--I love thee." "Don't," she said, "I am not worthy of such love as this." "Not worthy!" I cried. "Why, a king upon his throne would step down gladly for thy love," and I bent toward her. "No, no," she murmured, her shoulders rising and falling with her sobs. "Margaret," I said, "dost thou love another?" No sound save that of her low sobs. At that moment I remembered the mirror in the crone's hut in that far-away island, and what I had seen in it. It was possible that it might be true after all. Bobby was by her side here in London, was constantly thrown in her company; would it be strange if he had grown to love her? "Is it Sir Robert Vane?" I asked. She sprang to her feet, her eyes flashing through her tears. "How darest thou?" she cried. "How darest thou ask me such a question as that? Who gave thee the right, sir?" and she gazed at me a moment in her anger, as though she would strike me down, and then, sinking into her chair, she cried as though her heart would break. "I hate thee," she wailed.