of her precious breath, if breathe indeed like common folk she did. “Now,” thought Feargus, “if she weeps for me I am glad of my coming; but gin she greets for other cause, and this new faith hath hardened her against her old friends, then will the head of Feargus hang this night over the lintel of king Sigmund, and Penda will know that Feargus hath broken his word which as a youth he swore on his father’s sword, and his name will go down without honour among the Albanich, and his enemy Osbert will rejoice.” Then Feargus walked out towards the garden and, drawing his harp, sang the simple song which he had made in riding through the woods that morning. Done with great freedom from the old English into the new it ran thus:— MY HEART DOTH BEAT “My heart doth beat for thou art fair, As Luga’s shower[3] thy glowing hair, As down thy soft white cheeks and red, As fleecy clouds thy pale forehead. “Oh, never man had love so meet, Oh, never maiden face so sweet, Oh, ne’er will be so sad a heart As mine shouldst thou bid me depart. “But shouldst thou whisper, ‘Lover, stay, I cannot live an thou’rt away, So I the whole world will defy To have my sweetheart ever nigh;’ “Then all these clouds will turn to rose As at an August evening’s close, And mating song-birds in the brake Will sing of love for thy dear sake.” Torfrida paused in her walk when the first notes fell upon her ear. She heard the song right through and smiled sadly and wept a little, and then turned swiftly and ran through the green bushes and threw her arms round the tall minstrel with a little cry of joy. And when she had found her tongue she said— “Feargus, O Feargus! what dost thou here? If the men of Sigmund do but see thee, then neither I nor any other can save thee.” “Then thou art of a mind, sweet Torfrida, to save the enemy of Sigmund and the conqueror of the Christians.” “Thou hast wronged me if ever thou hast thought that I could betray thee; but what brings thee here?” she added, with a woman’s disingenuousness. “Thyself, Torfrida.” “Myself!” “Nay now, thou well knowest ’tis thyself; never since the day thy father took thee away has there been any joy in the world for Feargus, nor will be till thou art back.” “Back, ah! that I will never be, noble Feargus, slayer of Christians though thou art—but get thee hence, for hast thou not broken Penda’s bidding by coming into this land?” “That have I, and that must I again, if I may not see thee without, for thou, Torfrida, hast the heart of Feargus.” “And thou that of Torfrida.” Long time they stood with hands locked, and much they spake, till the maidens of Torfrida came out to seek their mistress. Then said Torfrida, “Never again must thou come, O Feargus, for an the men of Penda or of my father caught thee, even though death were not dealt to thee, thou wouldest be for ever disgraced.”