Ger... Climbs up, and, where they lessen at the top,
-I cannot see distinctly, but he throws,

I think-for this I do not vouch- a line
That reaches to the Lady's casement-

Tresh.

He enters not!

- Which

Gerard-some wretched fool

Dares pry into my sister's privacy!

When such are young, it seems a precious thing
To have approached,-to merely have approached,
Got sight of, the abode of her they set

Their frantic thoughts upon! He does not enter?
Gerard?
Ger.

There is a lamp that's full in the midst,
Under a red square in the painted glass

Of Lady Mildred's.

Tresh. That lamp?

Ger.

-Is moved at midnight higher up
To one pane-a small dark-blue pane-he waits
For that among the boughs; at sight of that,

I see him, plain as I see you, my lord,
Open the Lady's casement, enter there
Tresh. And stay?

Ger.

An hour, two hours.

Tresh.

And this you saw

Yet sent

But

My range so far, to track the stranger stag

That broke the pale, I saw the man.

Tresh.

No cross-brow shaft thro' the marauder ?

Ger.

THe came, my lord, the first time he was seen,
In a great moonlight, light as any day,
From Lady Mildred's chamber.

Tresh. [after a pause.]

You have no cause-
-Who could have cause-to do my sister wrong?
Ger. Oh, my lord, only once-let me this once
Speak what is on my mind! Since first I noted
All this, I 've groaned as if a fiery net

Plucked me this way and that-fire, if I turned
To her, fire if I turned to you, and fire,
If down I flung myself and strove to die.
The lady could not have been seven years old
When I was trusted to conduct her safe

Thro' the deer-herd to stroke the snow-white fawn
I brought to eat bread from her tiny hand
Within a month. She ever had a smile
To greet me with-she. . if it could undo

What's done to lop each limb from off this trunk . .
All that is foolish talk, not fit for you-

I mean, I could not speak and bring her hurt
For Heaven's compelling: but when I was fixed
To hold my peace, each morsel of your food
Eaten beneath your roof, my birth place too,
Choked me. I wish I had grown mad in doubts
What it behoved me do. This morn it seemed
Either I must confess to you, or die:
Now it is done, I seem the vilest worm
That crawls, to have betrayed my Lady!
Tresh.
No-Gerard!
Ger.

Tresh.

No

Let me go!

A man, you say

What man? Young? Not a vulgar hind? What dress?
Ger. A slouched hat and a large dark foreign cloak
Wraps his whole form: even his face is hid;

But I should judge him young; no hind, be sure !
Tresh. Why?

Ger.

Beneath the cloak.

Tresh.

He is ever armed: his sword projects

Gerard, I will not say

No word, no breath of this!

Ger.

Thanks, thanks, my lord! Goes.
TRESHAM paces the room. After a pause,

Oh, thought 's absurd!—as with some monstrous fact
That, when ill thoughts beset us, seems to give
Merciful God that made the sun and stars,
The waters and the green delights of earth,
The lie! I apprehend the monstrous fact-
Yet know the Maker of all worlds is good,
And yield my reason up, inadequate
To reconcile what yet I do behold-

Blasting my sense! There's cheerful day outside-
This is my library-and this the chair

My father used to sit in carelessly,

After his soldier-fashion, while I stood

Between his knees to question him—and here,

Gerard our grey retainer, as he says,

Fed with our food from sire to son an age,

Has told a story—I am to believe !

That Mildred . . . oh, no, no! both tales are true,

Her pure cheek's story and the forester's!

Would she, or could she, err-much less, confound
All guilts of treachery, of craft, of. . . Heaven
Keep me within its hand!-I will sit here
Until thought settles and I see my course.
Avert, O God, only this woe from me!

[As he sinks his head between his arms on the table, GUENDOLEN's voice is heard at the door. Lord Tresham! [She knocks.] Is Lord Tresham there? [TRESHAM, hastily turnimg, pulls down the first book above him and opens it.

Tresh.
Ah, Guendolen-good morning.
Guen.

Come in!

[She enters.

Nothing more?

Pleasant question! more?

Tresh. What should I say more?
Guen.
This more! Did I besiege poor Mildred's brain
Last night till close on morning with "the Earl ”.
"The Earl"-whose worth did I asseverate
Till I am very fain to hope that... Thorold,
You are not well!

What is all this?

Tresh.

You laugh at me.

Guen.

Who, I?

Has what I'm fain to hope

Arrived, then? Does that huge tome show some blot
In the Earl's 'scutcheon come no longer back

Than Arthur's time?

Tresh.

When left you Mildred's chamber?

Guen. Oh, late enough, I told you! The main thing To ask is, how I left her chamber,―sure,

Content yourself, she 'll grant this paragon

Of Earls no such ungracious

Send her here!

I mean-acquaint her, Guendolen,——

Mildly?

Ah, you guess'd aright!

I am not well-there is no hiding it.

But tell her I would see her at her leisure-
That is, at once! here in the Library!

The passage in that old Italian book

We hunted for so long is, found, say,-found-
And if I let it slip again.

That she must come and instantly!

Piecemeal, record that, if there have not gloomed

Some blot i' the 'scutcheon!

Tresh.

Go! or, Guendolen,

Be you at call,—with Austin, if you choose,-
In the adjoining gallery-There, go!
Another lesson to me! you might bid

[GUENDOLEN goes.

A child disguise his heart's sore, and conduct
Some sly investigation point by point
With a smooth brow, as well as bid me catch
The inquisitorial cleverness some praise !
If you had told me yesterday, “There's one
"You needs must circumvent and practise with,

66

Entrap by policies, if you would worm

"The truth out-and that one is-Mildred!" ThereThere reasoning is thrown away on it!

Prove she 's unchaste why you may after prove
That she's a poisoner, traitress, what you will!
Where I can comprehend nought, nought 's to say,
Or do, or think! Force on me but the first
Abomination, then outpour all plagues,
And I shall ne'er make count of them!

Mil.

Enter MILDRED.

What book

Is it I wanted, Thorold? Guendolen.

Thought you were pale-you are not pale! That book?
That's Latin surely!

Tresh.

Mildred-here's a line

(Don't lean on me--I'll English it for you)

"Love conquers all things." What love conquers them? What love should you esteem--best love ?

Mil.

True love.

Tresh. I mean, and should have said, whose love is best Of all that love or that profess to love?

Mil. The list's so long-there's father's, mother's, husband's .

Tresh. Mildred, I do believe a brother's love

For a sole sister must exceed them all!

For see now, only see! there's no alloy
Of earth that creeps into the perfect'st gold
Of other loves-no gratitude to claim;
You never gave her life-not even aught
That keeps life-never tended her, instruc.ed,
Enriched her-so your love can claim no right
O'er hers save pure love's claim-that 's what I call
Freedom from earthliness. You'll never hope
To be such friends, for instance, she and you,
As when you hunted cowslips in the woods,
Or played together in the meadow hay.
Oh yes-with age, respect comes, and your worth
Is felt, there's growing sympathy of tastes,

There's ripened friendship, there's confirmed esteem,
-Much head these make against the new-comer!
The startling apparition-the strange youth-
Whom one half-hour's conversing with, or, say,
Mere gazing at, shall change (beyond all change
This Ovid ever sang about !) your soul

.. Her soul, that is,-the sister's soul! With her
'Twas winter yesterday; now, all is warmth,
The green leaf's springing and the turtle's voice,
"Arise and come away! ! Come whither? - far
Enough from the esteem, respect, and all
The brother's somewhat insignificant
Array of rights! all which he knows before--
Has calculated on so long ago!

I think such love, (apart from yours and mine,)
Contented with its little term of life,

Intending to retire betimes, aware

How soon the background must be place for it,
I think, am sure, a brother's love exceeds

All the world's loves in its unworldliness.

Mil. What is this for?
Tresh.

This, Mildred, is it for!

Oh, no, I cannot go to it so soon!

That's one of many points my haste left out

Each day, each hour throws forth its silk-slight film
Between the being tied to you by birth,

And you, until those slender threads compose

A web that shrouds her daily life of hopes

And fears and fancies, all her life, from yours-

So close you live and yet so far apart!

And must I rend this web, tear up, break down
The sweet and palpitating mystery

That makes her sacred? You-for you I mean,
Shall I speak-shall I not speak?

Mil.
Tresh.

Speak!

I will.

Is there a story men could-any man
Could tell of you, you would conceal from me?
I'll never think there's falsehood on that lip!
Say "There is no such story men could tell,”
And I'll believe you, tho' I disbelieve

The world. . the world of better men than I,
And women such as I suppose you-Speak!

[After a pause.] Not speak? Explain then! clear it up, then!

Move

Some of the miserable weight away
That presses lower than the grave!
Some of the dead weight, Mildred!

Not speak ?

Ah, if I