A week ago, however, you were bent On going out into God’s world with song. LIND. Yes, but I thought the tour a little long; The fourteen days might well be better spent. FALK. Nay, but you had another argument For staying; how the lovely dale for you Was mountain air and winged warble too. LIND. Yes, to be sure, this air is unalloyed; But all its benefits may be enjoyed Over one’s book without the slightest bar. FALK. But it was just the _Book_ which failed, you see, As Jacob’s ladder— LIND. How perverse you are! That is what people say when they are _free_— FALK [_looking at him and folding his hands in silent amazement_]. Thou also, Brutus! LIND [_with a shade of confusion and annoyance_]. Pray remember, do! That I have other duties now than you; I have my _fiancée_. Every plighted pair, Those of prolonged experience not excepted,— Whose evidence you would not wish rejected,— Will tell you, that if two are bound to fare Through life together, they must— FALK. Prithee spare The comment; who supplied it? LIND. Well, we’ll say Stiver, he’s honest surely; and Miss Jay, Who has such very great experience here, She says— FALK. Well, but the Parson and his—dear? LIND. Yes, they’re remarkable. There broods above Them such placidity, such quietude,— Conceive, she can’t remember being wooed, Has quite forgotten what is meant by love. FALK. Ah yes, when one has slumber’d over long, The birds of memory refuse their song. [_Laying his hand on_ LIND’S _shoulder, with an ironical look._ You, Lind, slept sound last night, I guarantee? LIND. And long. I went to bed in such depression, And yet with such a fever in my brain, I almost doubted if I could be sane. FALK. Ah yes, a sort of witchery, you see. LIND. Thank God I woke in perfect self-possession.