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The threshold, and with joy ascends

The stairs, and then her way she wends,

With trembling limbs, from room to room,

But vainly seeketh in their gloom

Fair-Welcome, who, all worn and spent,

Was leaning ’gainst the battlement.

She noted how his hope grew dim,

And trimmed her speech to comfort him.

How now, fair son, quoth she, much pain

Is mine to see your spirit wane;

Say then what grief doth trouble you,

And I an end will put thereto

If so I may. Confide in me.

Fair-Welcome wondered what might be

The gist of this, but did not dare

Believe her, though she spoke him fair;

And as he strove to think about

This thing, fulfilled was he of doubt;

He did not dare to show offence,

Yet felt in her no confidence,

And though his spirit was atremble,

He deemed it wiser to dissemble

His mind, however much might he

Doubt the old cat’s sincerity;

Yet feels at heart suspicion dire,

Lest treason doth her speech inspired.

Misease within him lurks e’en while

His visage bears a merry smile,

And cheerful air of unconcern.