Beside the crystal fountain Turning for ease to stray, So fair I found the waters My limbs in them I lay. Long is it I have loved thee, Thee shall I love alway, My dearest. Long is it I have loved thee, Thee shall I love alway. So fair I found the waters, My limbs in them I lay: Beneath an oak tree resting, I heard a roundelay. Long is it, &c. III Beneath an oak tree resting, I heard a roundelay, The nightingale was singing On the oak tree's topmost spray. Long is it, &c. IV. The nightingale was singing On the oak tree's topmost spray:-- Sing, nightingale, keep singing, Thou who hast heart so gay! Long is it, &c. V. Sing, nightingale, keep singing, Thou hast a heart so gay, Thou hast a heart so merry, While mine is sorrow's prey. Long is it, &c. VI. For I have lost my mistress, Whom I did true obey, All for a bunch of roses, Whereof I said her nay. Long is it, &c. VII. I would those luckless roses, Were on their bush to-day, And that itself the rosebush Were plunged in ocean's spray. Long is it I have loved thee, Thee shall I love alway, My dearest Long is it I have loved thee, Thee shall I love alway. The melody was of a quiet, haunting strangeness, and from the end of the words "Thou who hast heart so gay," the maiden perfected it by interweaving an exquisite contralto into the chorus, Long is it I have loved thee, Thee shall I love alway. In this fashion was Chrysler delivered at the Manoir, and when Chamilly asked him "Where have you been-this evening?" as he entered the grounds, he answered, "In Arcadia!" CHAPTER XXI. DELIVER US FROM THE EVIL ONE. "Aie! cela ressemble un peu a certaine fable celebre, dont la morale se resume ceci ne comptez pas sans votre hote." --BENJAMIN SULTE "St. Gregory the Great! Here comes the Small-pox!" exclaimed Zotique, as he and Chamilly, with their guest, were off behind the Manoir, and standing by the weather-worn Chapel in the hayfields, which served as the tomb of the first Haviland, "the Protestant Seigneur." The name "Picault" offered itself so readily to the pun of "Picotte,"--Small-pox,--that the jest had become almost a usage. Startled by Zotique's exclamation, Mr Chrysler looked from the commemorative table on the Chapel's side (whose rivulet of eulogies he was reading line by line), towards the pine-walk round the Manoir, whence a distant figure was sauntering towards them along the path, meditatively smoking a cigar.