The Story
of Saville
Whereof the one saw the other not and neither the silence broke,
But at the third strange meeting-time, Kyrle gathered courage and spoke,
For e’en as she laid her tribute down and would have fled hurrying by,
He caught her hand in a deathful grip, unheeding her startled cry,
Too wrapped in his infinite harrowing need, too wholly absorbed to feel
The crusted wealth of her priceless rings, the elegant sleeve of seal,
And he poured out his thanks in a sudden rush as a brook doth in March overswell,
Entreating that she who had been but a fragrance should now be a voice as well.
Long she stood hesitant, statue-still, her lilies and fingers withdrawn,
And at last he sighed in a shuddering breath, deeming she must have gone,
But then she answered and all the peace and healing and balm that dwell
In a country lane on a Sabbath morn, blest by a distant bell,
Hallowed her voice, and the words thereof were sweeter than asphodel,
