sing it for you. I am sure you will enjoy it. I can add more lines as I go along.”
“Mercy! Mercy, Tom!” the sergeant exclaimed, taking his seat at Marion’s side. “We’ve come through enough hardships of late. Do you wish to inflict on us any more?”
“I only wanted to cheer you all up,” Rolfe explained. “After your most solemncoly and dramatic spiel, I thought a little diversion wouldn’t come amiss. However, if you don’t appreciate my efforts, I shall keep my great thoughts to myself. The course of true genius, like love, never did run smooth. I guess it’s something like what Crabbe, the poet, said:
“‘Genius! thou gift of Heav’n! thou light divine!
Amid what dangers art thou doom’d to shine!’”
While Rolfe was thus talking, Hugo was watching him most intently. His gray eyes shone with humor, a striking contrast to the fire of fear and rage which had so often gleamed in those same orbs.
“Young man,” he began, “your words do me good. It’s been long years since I have heard the light chatter of youth. Tragedy has been hanging dark over my life. It has surrounded me on every trail, and entered into my very soul. I have been a victim of gloom and despair. To me the past was as a closed book, the present a period of misery, and the future held out no hope. At times I had almost forgotten that I was a man, and was in danger of becoming a mere brute. But a change has taken place. The spirit of heaviness has been removed, and I see with other eyes. Give me your hand, young man, and let us shake. I like your buoyant spirit.”
Rolfe was much surprised at this unexpected speech,
