"Beware that you don't spoil it. Choose well, or forever after hold your
peace."
He lifted the well-worn and well-loved volume of poetry. It parted in
his hand to the Rossetti sonnet. He began to read at the lines:
"When Work and Will awake too late, to gaze After their life sailed by,
and hold their breath."
Io opened her eyes again.
"Why did you select that thing?"
"Why did you mark it?"
"Did I mark it?"
"Certainly, I'm not responsible for the sage-blossom between the pages."
"Ah, the sage! That's for wisdom," she paraphrased lightly.
"Do you think Rossetti so wise a preceptor?"
"It isn't often that he preaches. When he does, as in that sonnet--well,
the inspiration may be a little heavy, but he does have something to
say."
"Then it's the more evident that you marked it for some special reason."
"What supernatural insight," she mocked. "Can you read your name between
the lines?"
"What is it that you want me to do?"
"You mean to ask what it is that Mr. Rossetti wants you to do. I didn't
write the sonnet, you know."
"You didn't fashion the arrow, but you aimed it."
"Am I a good marksman?"
"I suppose you mean that I'm wasting my time here."
"Surely not!" she gibed. "Forming a link of transcontinental traffic.
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