“Please call me Carol. " "There is a great art in it, if you did," quoth he. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. I know he is dead. Let me only wear your livery. He gave you a poison. He did not even reply to her for several minutes.
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