“O happy living things! No tongue Their beauty might declare; A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware! Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I blessed them unaware. “The self-same moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea.” Barbara jumped up, clapping her hands with delight. “I knew something was going to happen!” she cried. “I knew it was coming all right!” “You have not heard the end yet! You don't know what may be coming!” protested Richard. “Nothing _can_ go wrong now! The man's love is awake, and he will be sorrier and sorrier for what he did! Instead of saying, 'The wrigglesome, slimy things!' he blesses them; and because he is going to be a friend to the other creatures in the house, and live on good terms with them, the body he had killed tumbles from his neck; the bad deed is gone down into the depth of the great sea, and he is able to say his prayers again;--no, not that exactly; it must be something better than saying prayers now!”--She paused a moment, then added, “It must be something I think I don't know yet!” and sat down. Richard heard and admired: he thought that as she had perceived there was something better than saying prayers, she would pray no more! “Go on; go on,” she said. “But if you like to stop, I shan't mind. I have no fear now. It's all going right, and must soon come all right!” “O sleep! It is a gentle thing,” said Richard, going on. “There it is!” she interrupted. “I knew it was all coming right! He can sleep now!” “O sleep! It is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle deep from Heaven, That slid into my soul.” Some one was in the room, the door of which had been open all the time. The sky was so cloudy, and the twilight so far advanced, that neither of them, Barbara absorbed in the poem and Richard in the last of his day's work, had heard any one enter. “Why don't you ring for a lamp?” said Lestrange. “There is no occasion; I have just done,” answered Richard. “You cannot surely see in this light!” said Arthur, who was short-sighted. “You certainly were not at your work when I came into the room!” He thought Richard had caught up the piece of leather he was paring, in order to deceive him. “Indeed, sir, I was.” “You were not. You were reading!” “I was not reading, sir. I was busy with the last of my day's work.” “Do not tell me you were not reading: I heard you!” “You did hear me, sir; but you did not hear me reading,” rejoined Richard, growing angry with the tone of the young man, and with his unreadiness to believe him. Many workmen, having told a lie, would have been more indignant at not being believed, than was Richard speaking the truth; still, he was growing angry.