A poet might make something out of this: to-day face to
face with the day before yesterday. But that's the beauty of
archaeology. I did not know it was a pursuit of yours, and am glad
to see you are sufficiently recovered of your illness to take it up
again. Good-bye for the present. I am obliged to be cautious in
taking farewell of you, for we have such a habit of meeting
unexpectedly. So, as I have to be up and moving for the summit, I'll
say 'Good-bye for the present.' We may as well leave this image
where it is; the dead won't miss it, and it's handy by, at any rate.
_Addio_, Trenoweth, and best of luck to your future researches.'
"He was gone. I could hear him singing as he went a strange song
which he had often sung on the outward voyage--
"'Sing hey! for the dead man's lips, my lads;
Sing ho! for the dead man's soul.
At his red, red lips. . . .'
"The song died away in the distance before I moved. I had hardly
opened my lips during the interview, and now had much ado to believe
it a reality. But the newly-turfed grave was voucher enough for
this.
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