"What say you if, for once, we part without Cromwell between our good-wills and our good-nights? Father, I have seen to-day a fan of ostrich feathers; ’tis with Gaius the packman, who will be here in the morning. Also, I want some housewifery stores, and some embroidery silks, and ballads, and a book of poems written by one Mr. John Milton, who keeps a school in London." "I know the man. We will have none of his poems." "But, father, I may have the other things?" "You will take no nay-say." "Then a good-night, sir!" "Not yet. I will have my pay for ’the other things.’ You shall sing to me. Your lute lies there. Come—’It is early in the morning.’" She was singing the first line as she went for her lute, and de Wick closed his eyes and lay smiling while the old, old ditty filled the room with its sweetness— "It is early in the morning, At the very break of day, My Love and I go roaming, All in the woods so gay. The dew like pearl drops bathes our feet, The sweet dewdrops of May "In the sweetest place of any, ’Mid the grasses thick and high Caring nothing for the dewdrops, That around us thickly lie. Bathed in glittering May-dew, Sit we there, my Love and I! "As we pluck the whitethorn blossom, As we whisper words of love, Prattling close beside the brooklet, Sings the lark, and coos the dove. Our feet are bathed in May-dew, And our hearts are bathed in love." Happily, tenderly, fell the musical syllables to the tinkling lute, and as she drew to a close, still singing, she passed smiling out of the room; leaving the door open however, so that they heard her voice growing sweetly softer and softer, and further and further away, until it left nothing but the delightsome echo in their hearts— "Our feet are bathed in May-dew And our hearts are bathed in love." *CHAPTER II* *DOCTOR JOHN VERITY* "Some trust in chariots and some in horses; but we will remember the name of the Lord our God." "The Lord strong and mighty; the Lord mighty in battle." As Matilda went singing up the darksome stairway, the moon rose in the clear skies and flooded the place with a pallid, fugitive light. In that unearthly glow she looked like some spiritual being. It gave to her pale silk robe a heavenly radiance. It fell upon her white hands touching the lute, and upon her slightly raised face, revealing the rapt expression of one who is singing with the heart as well as with the lips. The clock struck nine as she reached the topmost step, and she raised her voice to drown the chiming bell; and so, in a sweet crescendo of melody, passed out of sight and out of hearing.