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Just this first night out of so many nights?
The first shame over, all that would might fall.
The morn's deed o'er and o'er. I must have crept
Such woe! I crouch away from it! 'T is she,
Tresh. [without.] Mildred!
The curse! deliver all you come to say!
What must become of me? Oh speak that thought
Which makes your brow and cheek so pale!
Mil. All of it!
How we waded-years ago—
Robert Browning. III.
After those water-lilies, till the plash,
I know not how, surprised us; and you dared
For once more reaching the relinquished prize!
You call me kindlier by my name
Than even yesterday: what is in that?
Tresh. It weighs so much upon my mind that I This morning took an office not my own!
I might.. of course, I must be glad or grieved,
That touches you. I may with a wrung heart
Will you forgive me?
Thorold? do you mock? Or no.. and yet you bid me . . say that word!
Tresh. Forgive me, Mildred!--are you silent, Sweet? Mil. [starting up.] Why does not Henry Mertoun come to-night?
Are you, too, silent?
[Dashing his mantle aside, and pointing to his scabbard, which is empty.
Ah, this speaks for you!
You've murdered Henry Mertoun! Now proceed!
What I do forbid
Your utterance of! So much that you may tell
And will not-how you murdered him . . but, no!
Tresh. You cannot, Mildred! for the harsh words, yes: Of this last deed Another's judge: whose doom I wait in doubt, despondency and fear.
Mil. Oh, true! There's nought for me to pardon! True!
You loose my soul of all its cares at once.
Death makes me sure of him for ever! You
Which death . . .
Death? You are dying too? Well said Of Guendolen! I dared not hope you'd die: But she was sure of it.
Mil. Ah Thorold! Was't not rashly done
To quench that blood, on fire with youth and hope
While you were slaying him? Oh doubtlessly
Of honour bids you hear before you strike:
The moon on his flushed cheek, I gathered all
Had I but glanced, where all seemed turbidest,
But bless you, Thorold, from my soul of souls!
[Falls on his neck.
There! Do not think too much upon the past!
It loves you as mine loves! Confirm me, Henry!
Tresh. I wish thee joy, Beloved! I am glad In thy full gladness!
Guen. [without.] Mildred! Tresham! [Entering with AUSTIN.]
I could desist no longer. Ah, she swoons!
Tresh. Oh, better far than that!
Let me unlock her arms!
She threw them thus
About my neck, and blessed me, and then died:
And look to him! What ails you, Thorold?
As she, and whiter! Austin! quick-this side!
Something does weigh down.
Thorold-Thorold-why was this?
Don't leave him, Austin! Death is close. Tresh. Already Mildred's face is peacefuller.