"I won't," said Brooke. "I'll sing nothing more, and I'll say nothing more." Talbot made no reply. Brooke was true to his resolution, and said not another word. Talbot was as silent as he. Each had thoughts which were all-engrossing. Neither spoke, but each knew perfectly well that the other was wide awake, and full of care. Thus the night passed away, with its long, long hours. It seemed interminable; but at length it came to an end, as all nights must, however long. The dawn came, and the two could see each other. Each sat propped up against the wall. Neither one spoke for a long time, until it was broad day, when Brooke, who had been watching Talbot's face until it grew fully revealed, broke the silence with a slight cough. Talbot turned and smiled. "Good-morning," said Brooke. "We seem to be having quite a spell of weather. Quite a fine view from these windows. You haven't been out yet, I suppose?" "Not yet," said Talbot. "Well," said Brooke, "we must take a walk after breakfast: "'Oh, if I was the owner of London town, I'd buy my love a scarlet gown-- A gown of scarlet bombazine, And away we'd travel to Gretna Green.'" "Have you ever been there?" asked Talbot, trying to assume Brooke's own careless tone. "Yes, Talbot; of course I have. Every American makes a pilgrimage there when he visits England. As the poet says: "'I have been there, and still would go; 'Tis like a little heaven below.' Talbot!" Brooke's voice changed. "Well, Brooke." "Can you be sure of yourself this day? Can you stand it?" "Yes, Brooke." "Are you sure?" "Yes, Brooke." "Oh, Talbot, Talbot! don't shrink! Oh, Talbot, don't falter! For my sake, don't let me see you falter, Talbot, or I shall break down. Alone I could let myself be tortured to death by Comanches, and I'd sing my death-song as bravely as Mullins Bryan; but mark this, Talbot: if you break down, if you even falter, I'm a lost, ruined, and dishonored man. Will you remember that, Talbot?" As he spoke these words, Brooke's voice had a thrill in it that Talbot had never heard before. "Brooke," said she, "I will be firm. Rather than show any weakness, I will die." "That's very good," said Brooke. "Your hand on it, Talbot." She held out her hand. He pressed it with a convulsive grasp. "You will not forget?" he asked, eagerly. "I cannot forget," she answered, simply. "Good lad!" said Brooke. He dropped her hand, and at once resumed his careless manner. "And now," said he, "we can continue our music: "'For there the historic blacksmith stands--' Gretna Green, you know-- "'And hammers away at the marriage bands.' Only he don't do so now, you know, for he's dead and gone, and they've got new marriage laws." Not long after this a man came up with a flask of wine and some rolls. Brooke took them from him and brought them over.