His voice took a note softly, and held it.

Presently her voice as softly joined it, his stopped, and hers went on: "In the lodge of the Mother of Men, In the land of Desire, Are the embers of fire, Are the ashes of those who return, Who return to the world: Who flame at the breath Of the Mockers of Death.
O Sweet, we will voyage again To the camp of Love's fire, Nevermore to return!" "How am I doing ?" she said at the end of this verse.

She really did not know--her voice seemed an endless distance away.

But she felt the stillness in the drawing-room.
"Well," he said.

"Now for the other.