Low she dropped her head, and lower, till her hair coiled on the floor, Toll slowly. And tear after tear you heard fall distinct as any word

Which you might be listening for.

"Get thee in, thou soft ladie! - here is never a place for thee!Toll slowly. Braid thy hair and clasp thy gown, that thy beauty in its moan May find grace with Leigh of Leigh."

She stood up in bitter case, with a pale yet stately face,

Toll slowly. Like a statue thunderstruck, which, though quivering, seems

look

to