The master's voice grew low and lingering now.

It was a labour of love, this.

Oh, it is so easy to go back out of the broil of dust and meanness and barter into the clear shadow of that old life where love and bravery stand eternal verities,--never to be bought and sold in that dusty town yonder! To go back?
To dream back, rather.

To drag out of our own hearts, as the hungry old master did, whatever is truest and highest there, and clothe it with name and deed in the dim days of chivalry.

Make a poem of it,--so much easier than to make a life! Knowles shuffled uneasily, watching the girl keenly, to know how the picture touched her.