"Nonsense!" said his lordship. "We will not be denied, Mr. Moore."
"Then since I 'm not Saint Peter, I 'll have to yield. What shall it be?"
A short discussion followed at the organ, and when this had been settled by Dyke and Farrell choosing "The Shamrock," Moore, calmly paying no attention to such a detail as that, proceeded to sing his latest poem, written only that morning in honor of Sir Percival.
Nothing could have been more to the point, for at this very moment the baronet was urging the girl to ratify her parent's decision in regard to the proposed move to London, painting for her in vivid words what a Successful career at Drury Lane Theatre would mean, at the same time dwelling upon her father's opportunity for advancement as poet and scholar.
"Oh! weep for the hour, When to Eveleen's bower The Lord of the Valley with false vows came; The moon hid her light From the heavens that night, And wept behind her clouds o'er the maiden's shame.
"The clouds passed soon From the chaste cold moon, And heaven smiled again with her vestal flame; But none will see the day When the clouds shall pass away, Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame.
"The white snow lay On the narrow pathway When the Lord of the Valley crost over the moor; And many a deep print On the white snow's tint Showed the track of his footsteps to Eveleen's door.
"The next sun's ray Soon melted away Every trace on the path where the false Lord came; But there's a light above Which alone can remove That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame."
Moore's voice died away melodiously in the last plaintive note.
"A very pretty song, Mr. Moore. It tells a beautiful story and points a splendid moral," said Lord Brooking.
"Yes, my lord," answered Moore, glancing toward Bessie. "It shows the folly of a poor girl in believing aught told her by a nobleman. It is as true nowadays as it was then."
"Oh, Tom," said the girl, tremulously. "It is beautiful. Is it not, Sir Percival?"
"Oh, very, very," replied the baronet. "Extremely so. I congratulate you, Mr. Moore."
"Have you reason to do so, Sir Percival?" asked Moore.
His question was answered immediately, for Bessie turned toward the gentleman addressed.
"I thank you, Sir Percival," she said, "but I fear London is not for such as father and me."