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Rh But still with such a face, so much alive, I could not choose but take it on my arm And stroke the placid patience of its cheeks,— Then told my story out, of Romney Leigh, How, having lost her, sought her, missed her still, He, broken-hearted for himself and her, Had drawn the curtains of the world awhile As if he had done with morning. There I stopped, For when she gasped, and pressed me with her eyes, ‘And now. . how is it with him? tell me now,’— I felt the shame of compensated grief, And chose my words with scruple—slowly stepped Upon the slippery stones set here and there Across the sliding water. ‘Certainly, As evening empties morning into night, Another morning takes the evening up With healthful, providential interchange; And, though he thought still of her—’ ‘Yes, she knew, She understood: she had supposed indeed That, as one stops a hole upon a flute, At which a new note comes and shapes the tune, Excluding her would bring a worthier in, And, long ere this, that Lady Waldemar He loved so’. . ‘Loved,’ I started,—‘loved her so! Now tell me’. . ‘I will tell you,’ she replied: ‘But since we’re taking oaths, you’ll promise first That he in England, he, shall never learn