partof
the
old
English
costume
,
"
than
gone
scrambling
heigh-go-mad
over
hedges
and
ditches
after
new-fangled
Puseyite
mummeries
!
"
Gerard
and
his
betrothed
exchange
a
glance
of
intelligence
.
Gerard
is
looking
slightly
sentimental
;
his
head
is
a
little
on
one
side
;
but
on
his
discovering
that
he
is
an
object
of
attention
to
Constance
,
it
returns
rather
suddenly
to
the
perpendicular
.
Esther
's
eyes
are
brillianter
than
their
wont
;
her
cheeks
are
flushed
with
a
deeper
hue
than
the
crimson
lips
of
a
foreign
shell
,
but
it
is
not
the
flush
of
a
newly-departed
sleep
.
The
angel
of
slumber
has
passed
by
the
portals
of
her
brain
,
as
the
destroying
angel
passed
by
the
blood-painted
lintels
of
Israel
.
Thoughts
sweeter
than
virgin
honey
,
thoughts
bitterer
than
gall
,
have
kept
her
wakeful
.
Ere
she
went
to
bed
,
she
spent
three
hours
in
writing
letters
of
dismissal
to
Brandon
,
and
at
the
end
left
him
undismissed
.
"
I
cannot
write
it
to
him
!
"
she
cries
,
sitting
up
in
bed
in
the
dark
,
and
flinging
out
blind
arms
into
the
black
nothingness
around
her
;
"
anything
written
sounds
so
harsh
,
so
abrupt
,
so
hard
.
I
must
tell
him
myself
very
gradually
and
gently
,
and
tell
him
how
sorry
I
am
,
and
beg
him
to
forgive
me
,
and
cry
—
go
down
on
my
knees
,
perhaps
.
No
;
I
should
look
such
a
fool
if
I
did
that
!
After
all
,
no
one
cries
long
over
spilt
milk
—
least
of
all
any
one
so
sensible
and
utterly
unimaginative
as
poor
dear
Bob
.
"
And
with
that
,
thinking
in
a
disparaging
,
hold-cheap
way
of
him
and
his
love
,
she
turns
the
pillow
over
to
try
and
find
a
cooler
place
on
the
under
side
for
her
burning
face
to
rest
on
.
"
Two
dissyllabic
names
now
passing
many
mouths
by
three
dissyllabic
names
are
here
expressed
,
"
reads
Miss
Blessington
,
with
distinct
gravity
,
after
breakfast
that
morning
,
out
of
an
acrostic
book
that
lies
on
the
work-table
before
her
,
while
Esther
sits
opposite
with
pencil
and
paper
,
ready
to
write
down
the
products
of
the
joint
wisdom
of
their
two
minds
.
But
the
top
of
the
pencil
is
being
bitten
by
the
young
scribe
's
short
white
teeth
,
and
her
eyes
are
straying
away
absently
—
away
through
the
open
window
and
out
to
the
sunshiny
sward
,
where
two
of
St.
John
's
dogs
,
forbidden
by
Sir
Thomas
on
pain
of
death
,
to
set
paw
within
the
house
,
are
rolling
over
one
another
,
making
abortive
bites
at
each
other
's
hind
legs
,
and
waggishly
,
with
much
growling
and
mumbling
,
taking
each
other
's
heads
into
their
mouths
.
"
That
is
the
whole
,
"
continues
Constance
.
"
These
are
the
proofs
;
a
woman
,
a
wise
man
,
a
king
,
a
poet
,
a
beauty
!
"
Silence
.
"
A
woman
!
"
says
Miss
Blessington
,
cogitatively
,
resting
her
smooth
chin
on
her
hand
,
and
looking
vaguely
round
at
the
cabinets
and
busts
for
inspiration
.
Esther
makes
no
suggestion
.
"
A
woman
!
"
repeats
Miss
Blessington
,
raising
her
voice
a
little
.
Esther
comes
back
to
consciousness
with
a
little
jump
.
"
Oh
!
I
beg
your
pardon
;
I
do
n't
think
I
was
attending
.
A
—
what
did
you
say
?
"
"
A
woman
!
"
repeats
Miss
Blessington
,
for
the
third
and
last
time
.
"
A
woman
!
"
echoes
Esther
,
vacantly
;
"
that
is
rather
vague
,
is
it
not
?
There
have
been
a
good
many
women
,
one
way
or
another
.
"
"
Let
us
try
the
next
,
then
,
"
says
Constance
,
obligingly
:
"
A
wise
man
.
"
"
Solomon
!
"
answers
Esther
,
glibly
.
"
I
said
a
dis
syllable
name
,
"
remarks
Constance
,
with
gentle
asperity
.
The
door
opens
,
and
St.
John
enters
.
"
Tell
us
a
wise
man
's
name
?
"
"
Who
was
a
wise
man
?
"
cry
they
both
in
a
breath
.
"
Solomon
!
"
replies
St.
John
,
brilliantly
.
"
So
I
said
,
"
says
Esther
,
smiling
;
"
but
,
unluckily
,
it
must
be
a
two
-syllabled
wise
man
.
I
'm
afraid
that
it
would
be
disrespectful
to
abbreviate
him
into
Solmon
,
would
n't
it
?
"
"
One
ought
to
be
provided
with
a
Bible
,
a
Lemprière
,
and
an
encyclopaedia
before
one
attempts
to
grapple
with
these
devices
of
Satan
,
"
says
Gerard
,
sitting
down
on
the
arm
of
the
sofa
beside
Constance
and
looking
over
her
shoulder
.
"
A
woman
!
Who
is
the
woman
?
"
"
We
have
not
found
out
yet
.
"
"
A
king
!
Who
is
the
king
?
"
"
We
have
not
found
out
yet
.
"
"
You
seem
to
be
on
the
highroad
to
success
,
"
says
he
,
laughing
,
and
throwing
himself
back
lazily
.
"
We
have
only
just
begun
,
"
says
Miss
Blessington
,
a
little
reproachfully
.
"
You
and
Miss
Craven
are
always
so
impatient
.
"
"
There
are
a
great
many
two-syllabled
kings
'
names
,
"
says
Esther
,
with
a
prodigious
effort
to
look
intelligent
and
interested
:
"
Edward
,
Henry
,
Louis
,
Ahab
,
Alfred
,
Joash
!
"
"
I
daresay
it
is
one
of
those
Jewish
kings
,
"
says
Constance
,
reflectively
;
"
they
are
always
fond
of
introducing
Bible
names
into
acrostics
.
Is
there
a
Bible
anywhere
about
,
St.
John
?
"
St.
John
walks
slowly
round
the
well-laden
tables
;
looks
over
photograph
books
,
Doré
's
"
Elaine
,
"
Flaxman
's
"
Dante
;
"
but
in
vain
.
He
comes
back
,
and
shakes
his
head
.
"
I
will
go
and
fetch
one
,
"
says
Constance
,
rising
with
noiseless
grace
,
and
rustling
softly
away
among
the
console
tables
.
"
May
she
long
be
occupied
in
searching
the
Scriptures
for
a
dissyllabic
king
!
"
cries
Gerard
,
drawing
a
long
breath
,
and
yawning
as
the
door
closes
behind
her
.
"
I
am
glad
she
is
gone
,
"
says
Esther
,
looking
rather
embarrassed
,
"
as
I
have
something
to
say
to
you
.
"
"
Say
on
.
"
"
I
must
go
home
to-morrow
,
"
she
continues
,
drawing
hideous
faces
and
wooden-legged
cows
on
her
bit
of
paper
.
"
Are
you
beginning
to
try
experiments
on
me
already
?
"
he
asks
,
incredulously
,
leaning
his
folded
arms
on
the
little
table
which
forms
a
barrier
between
them
.
"
No
;
but
I
have
received
a
letter
from
Jack
this
morning
,
which
—
"
"
Which
you
are
going
to
read
to
me
?
"
"
Oh
,
no
—
no
!
"
she
answers
,
hastily
,
putting
her
hand
in
involuntary
protection
over
her
pocket
;
"
it
—
it
—
would
n't
interest
you
.
"
(
It
would
have
interested
him
rather
too
much
.
)
"
He
seems
to
be
missing
me
a
good
deal
.
"
"
Be
honest
,
"
says
St.
John
,
stretching
out
his
hand
and
taking
hers
captive
,
pencil
and
all
.
"
Does
he
miss
you
as
much
as
I
shall
?
"
"
More
,
a
good
deal
,
I
should
say
,
"
she
replies
,
looking
up
with
an
arch
smile
;
"
I
do
n't
make
your
tea
,
and
order
your
dinner
,
and
darn
your
socks
.
One
,
two
,
three
,
four
weeks
,
"
continues
she
,
marking
each
number
with
her
slender
fingers
on
the
table
.
"
I
have
actually
been
here
nearly
a
month
,
and
"
(
with
a
half-absent
sigh
)
,
"
do
you
know
,
the
very
day
I
left
home
I
told
them
—
"
"
Who
's
them
?
"
She
blushes
furiously
.
"
Them
—
did
I
say
them
?
Oh
!
I
meant
him
,
of
course
—
Jack
.
"
"
Does
he
always
speak
of
himself
in
the
plural
,
like
a
king
,
or
a
reviewer
?
"
"
Nonsense
!
"
cries
Esther
,
pulling
away
her
hand
rather
impatiently
.
"
Do
you
never
make
slips
of
the
tongue
?
"
"
Frequently
.
Well
,
you
must
write
and
tell
them
"
(
with
a
laughing
emphasis
on
the
them
)
"
that
they
must
get
some
one
else
to
darn
their
socks
,
for
that
you
have
found
something
better
to
do
.
"
"
could
not
have
anything
better
,
"
she
answers
,
reddening
with
indignation
.
"
You
do
n't
understand
about
Jack
,
or
you
would
not
make
jokes
!
"
"
It
is
a
fault
I
'm
not
often
guilty
of
;
being
funny
never
was
my
besetting
sin
,
"
he
answers
,
drily
.
"
Essie
,
whenever
you
do
go
home
,
I
have
a
great
mind
to
go
with
you
—
if
you
will
invite
me
.
"
"
Oh
,
no
,
do
n't
!
"
she
cries
,
with
involuntary
eagerness
.
the
pencil
dropping
from
between
her
fingers
.
"
I
believe
you
are
ashamed
of
me
,
"
he
says
,
angrily
,
walking
off
to
the
window
to
hide
the
flush
of
vexation
which
is
invading
his
weather-worn
cheeks
.
"
Ashamed
of
myself
more
likely
,
"
she
cries
,
jumping
up
suddenly
and
following
him
.
"
Why
?
"
"
You
fine
gentlemen
do
not
understand
the
"
'
short
and
simple
annals
of
the
poor
,
'
"
she
answers
,
with
a
forced
laugh
.
"
You
would
probably
be
in
the
position
of
Mother
Hubbard
's
singularly
ill-used
dog
;
'
When
you
came
there
,
The
cupboard
was
bare
.
'
"
"
You
think
that
gluttony
,
like
gout
,
must
be
hereditary
,
"
says
Gerard
,
laughing
again
,
and
yet
looking
very
tender
withal
—
not
with
the
puling
,
milk-and-water
tenderness
of
a
green
love-sick
boy
,
but
with
the
condensed
,
strong
passion
of
a
world-worn
,
world-tainted
,
half
world-weary-grown
man
.
"
There
are
other
reasons
too
,
"
says
Essie
,
drooping
her
eyelids
,
over
which
the
small
blue
veins
—
"
wandering
,
leave
a
tender
stain
—
"
with
a
maiden
's
shyness
,
under
the
new-known
fire
of
a
lover
's
gaze
.
"
What
other
reasons
?
"
"
I
have
never
mentioned
anything
about
you
to
Jack
!
"
she
answers
,
twisting
her
one
paltry
ring
round
her
finger
.
"
I
do
n't
suppose
he
is
aware
of
your
existence
,
unless
he
has
bought
a
new
'
Baronetage
'
since
I
left
home
—
a
piece
of
extravagance
that
I
do
not
think
he
is
likely
to
have
been
guilty
of
:
and
he
would
think
it
so
odd
if
I
were
to
appear
suddenly
on
the
scene
,
dragging
you
in
tow
.
"
"
That
would
be
easily
,
explained
,
"
replies
St.
John
,
gravely
,
drawing
himself
up
,
and
looking
rather
too
conscious
of
the
eight
centuries
of
Norman
blood
in
his
strong
veins
.
"
I
suppose
that
a
man
may
be
allowed
to
travel
for
a
few
hours
in
company
with
his
future
wife
without
any
one
being
straightlaced
enough
or
behind
the
world
enough
to
call
it
odd
!
"
"
Your
future
wife
!
"
she
repeats
,
with
a
dreamy
,
mournful
smile
.
"
Am
I
that
?
I
think
not
.
I
shall
never
be
your
wife
,
"
she
says
,
a
look
of
melancholy
inspiration
crossing
and
darkening
,
as
a
travelling
cloud
crosses
and
darkens
the
blue
eyes
of
a
June
brook
,
the
sweet
red
and
sweeter
white
of
her
little
piquante
face
.
"
Do
you
know
any
just
cause
or
impediment
why
you
should
not
be
?
"
he
asks
,
gaily
.
"
None
,
"
she
answers
,
shuddering
a
little
,
as
she
has
got
into
the
habit
of
doing
lately
—
"
except
"
(
throwing
herself
impulsively
into
his
glad
arms
)
"
that
it
would
make
me
so
intolerably
happy
!
"
There
is
a
pause
—
a
little
brief
pause
—
in
which
that
shyest
,
fleetest-winged
of
earth
's
visitants
—
Happiness
—
folds
her
pinions
and
settles
down
for
a
little
minute
on
two
beating
,
trembling
human
hearts
.
"
Do
you
know
,
"
continues
Essie
,
after
awhile
—
raising
herself
,
and
looking
up
,
with
tears
glistening
,
like
dew
on
the
autumn
grass
,
upon
her
long
swart
lashes
—
"
Do
you
know
that
in
a
book
I
was
reading
the
other
day
I
met
this
sentence
:
'
Le
bonheur
sur
terre
est
un
crime
puni
de
mort
comme
le
génie
,
comme
la
divinité
'
?
It
has
haunted
me
ever
since
yesterday
.
"
"
As
far
as
that
goes
,
"
he
answers
,
thoughtfully
,
"
there
is
nothing
in
this
world
that
is
not
punished
with
death
,
except
Death
himself
.
Well
"
(
smiling
fondly
,
and
stroking
her
ruffled
,
scented
love-locks
)
,
"
may
I
come
?
may
I
be
Mother
Hubbard
's
dog
?
"
"
Why
do
you
want
to
come
now
,
particularly
?
"
she
asks
,
in
rather
a
troubled
voice
.
"
Because
I
am
a
coward
,
"
he
answers
,
laughing
—
"
because
I
like
a
quiet
life
,
and
I
imagine
that
there
will
be
squally
weather
here
when
I
announce
my
intention
of
taking
you
as
a
helpmeet
for
me
.
"
"
I
am
a
mésalliance
,
I
suppose
?
"
she
answers
,
rather
sadly
.
"
What
will
Sir
Thomas
say
?
Anything
very
bad
?
"
"
Oh
,
nothing
out
of
the
way
,
"
answers
Gerard
,
with
a
careless
shrug
.
"
He
will
call
me
an
ass
,
and
tell
me
that
I
always
was
,
from
a
boy
,
the
biggest
fool
he
ever
came
across
;
and
that
,
for
his
part
,
he
'll
wash
his
hands
of
me
:
and
he
'll
probably
conclude
with
a
threat
of
cutting
me
off
with
a
shilling
.
"
"
And
will
he
?
"
asks
Esther
,
quickly
,
looking
up
eagereyed
,
parted-lipped
.
"
Why
do
you
ask
?
"
said
the
young
man
,
sharply
.
"
Do
you
think
that
I
want
to
marry
a
beggar
?
"
inquires
she
,
playfully
,
not
detecting
his
suspicion
.
"
You
need
not
be
alarmed
,
"
he
replies
,
coldly
,
and
his
arms
slacken
their
fond
hold
a
little
.
"
He
will
not
,
for
the
very
excellent
reason
that
he
cannot
.
"
The
door
handle
,
turning
,
rattles
.
With
one
spring
,
Esther
returns
to
her
seat
—
to
her
deserted
cows
and
impossible
profiles
.
St.
John
looks
out
of
the
window
.
No
transformation
scene
at
Drury
Lane
could
be
more
complete
.
"
Ahab
—
Jehu
—
Zimri
—
Omri
—
Joash
!
"
recites
Miss
Blessington
,
entering
,
with
an
open
Bible
in
her
hand
.
CHAPTER
XVIII
.
"
I
AM
afraid
you
must
think
it
very
rude
of
us
,
leaving
you
alone
on
the
last
evening
of
your
visit
,
"
says
Miss
Blessington
next
day
to
Esther
,
as
the
two
girls
stand
together
in
the
conservatory
,
picking
bits
of
heliotrope
and
maidenhair
,
and
regardless
of
the
ten
and
twenty
little
pots
that
their
long
gowns
have
knocked
down
;
"
but
,
you
see
,
it
is
such
a
long-standing
engagement
,
and
we
can
so
seldom
induce
Sir
Thomas
to
go
to
a
ball
,
that
we
really
could
hardly
get
out
of
it
.
"
She
speaks
politely
,
with
that
friendly
suavity
that
one
feels
on
the
ultimate
and
penultimate
days
of
their
stay
to
a
guest
that
one
is
glad
to
be
rid
of
.
"
Oh
,
never
mind
me
,
"
says
Essie
,
lightly
;
"
I
can
always
amuse
myself
:
and
,
besides
,
it
will
be
very
nearly
bedtime
by
the
time
you
go
.
"
"
They
intend
me
to
go
with
them
,
"
St.
John
had
said
to
her
overnight
,
à
propos
of
this
ball
,
"
and
of
course
I
intend
it
too
;
only
some
prophetic
instinct
tells
me
that
my
head
will
begin
to
ache
prodigiously
towards
dressing-time
.
I
am
half
divided
between
that
and
toothache
,
only
I
suppose
that
the
latter
necessitates
the
simulating
of
acute
bodily
torture
,
and
subjects
one
to
unlimited
offers
of
boiled
figs
,
hopbags
,
laudanum
,
and
the
Lord
knows
what
.
"
Gerard
had
found
his
betrothed
stubborner
than
he
had
expected
as
to
her
expressed
resolution
of
departure
.
Looking
at
the
childish
roundness
of
her
soft
face
,
at
the
dewy
meekness
of
her
heavenly
eyes
,
he
had
fancied
her
malleable
by
his
hand
,
as
clay
by
the
potter
's
;
and
so
,
in
most
things
,
she
would
have
been
.
In
most
things
,
it
was
to
her
easier
to
yield
than
to
resist
—
less
trouble
—
and
,
besides
,
it
pleased
people
;
but
in
the
one
prime
passion
of
her
life
,
her
love
for
her
brother
,
you
might
as
well
try
to
move
the
Tower
of
London
with
your
finger
and
thumb
as
to
stir
her
.
After
half
an
hour
of
arguments
,
persuasions
,
caresses
,
St.
John
is
constrained
vexedly
to
own
to
himself
that
in
that
young
faithful
heart
lover
-love
holds
as
yet
only
the
second
place
.
The
sole
concession
he
could
win
from
her
was
that
of
one
day
,
the
day
of
the
ball
.
"
We
may
imagine
the
clock
put
on
thirty
years
,
and
ourselves
already
in
possession
,
"
he
says
,
laughing
—
"
only
minus
the
gout
and
wrinkles
and
spectacles
we
shall
also
have
come
into
possession
of
by
then
.
"
"
What
the
devil
do
people
mean
,
"
says
Sir
Thomas
,
entering
the
morning-room
that
evening
after
dinner
,
with
his
hair
brushed
up
into-a
stiff
cockatoo
,
and
tugging
away
at
a
huge
pair
of
white
kid
gloves
,
off
which
he
has
already
succeeded
in
bursting
both
buttons
,
"
dragging
a
man
away
from
his
own
fireside
to
see
a
lot
of
fools
cutting
capers
,
and
flourishing
their
heels
in
each
other
's
faces
?
"
From
Sir
Thomas
's
description
one
would
imagine
that
the
Cancan
was
habitually
danced
at
the
balls
he
frequents
.
The
door
opens
,
and
Miss
Blessington
makes
her
appearance
;
looking
,
not
vain
or
conscious
,
but
calmly
defiant
of
any
one
to
make
a
better
—
a
triumph
of
lace
and
tulle
and
flowers
,
and
milk-white
flesh
,
and
grand
,
cold
curves
and
contours
.
"
Oh
,
how
beautiful
!
"
cries
Essie
,
clasping
her
little
hands
,
with
the
unaffected
admiration
of
one
handsome
woman
for
another
.
"
I
know
it
is
rude
to
make
personal
remarks
;
but
is
not
she
,
Lady
Gerard
?
"
"
It
is
a
pretty
dress
,
"
replies
miladi
,
whose
unwieldy
bulk
not
even
the
cunningest
of
Parisian
couturières
has
been
able
to
fashion
into
anything
nearer
than
an
approximation
to
any
shape
at
all
;
"
but
I
never
think
that
Elise
's
taste
is
as
good
as
Jane
Clarke
's
used
to
be
.
"
Constance
has
walked
to
a
pier-glass
,
and
is
examining
with
anxiety
a
bite
that
a
gnat
has
been
savage
enough
to
inflict
on
her
face
,
a
little
under
the
lower
lip
,
and
which
has
been
disturbing
her
wonted
composed
serenity
ever
since
3
P.M.
,
when
the
catastrophe
took
place
.
"
Does
it
show
much
?
"
she
asks
,
turning
with
a
concerned
,
serious
look
to
Esther
.
"
Oh
no
!
hardly
at
all
.
"
"
I
think
I
will
put
a
little
bit
of
sticking-plaster
on
it
,
"
she
continues
,
gravely
.
"
It
will
only
look
like
a
patch
;
and
patches
are
always
so
becoming
.
"
"
Let
me
go
and
get
you
a
bit
!
"
cries
Essie
,
good-naturedly
,
running
off
.
When
she
returns
Sir
Thomas
is
saying
,
fussily
:
"
Now
,
why
is
not
that
boy
dressed
?
Always
the
same
!
Always
late
!
Never
in
time
for
anything
!
"
"
He
is
not
coming
,
Sir
Thomas
;
he
has
got
a
headache
,
and
is
gone
to
lie
down
—
at
least
he
said
so
,
"
replies
Constance
,
coldly
,
but
casting
a
scrutinising
glance
at
Esther
(
who
is
deftly
,
with
a
small
pair
of
scissors
,
cutting
out
a
little
circle
of
sticking-plaister
)
as
she
speaks
.
"
Stuff
and
nonsense
!
"
cries
"
that
boy
's
"
papa
,
angrily
—
"
a
pack
of
lies
!
A
fine
Miss
Molly
you
have
made
of
your
son
,
miladi
!
He
'll
be
afraid
of
going
out
shooting
next
year
for
fear
of
getting
his
feet
wet
!
"
"
Is
that
about
the
right
size
"
inquires
Esther
,
timidly
,
raising
a
pair
of
guilty
pink
cheeks
,
and
exhibiting
the
result
of
her
labours
on
the
point
of
the
scissors
.
"
Good
God
!
miladi
,
do
take
that
plaguy
long
tail
of
yours
up
!
How
the
devil
can
I
help
treading
on
it
?
"
These
are
the
last
sweet
words
of
Sir
Thomas
,
as
he
follows
wife
and
ward
into
the
carriage
.
They
are
gone
,
and
Essie
sits
down
in
the
large
empty
room
to
await
the
resurrection
of
her
lover
.
The
sort
of
shy
half-fear
which
always
assails
her
at
his
expected
approach
comes
over
her
more
strongly
than
ever
.
A
distant
door
bangs
faintly
somewhere
about
the
house
;
then
another
nearer
.
"
He
is
coming
!
"
she
says
to
herself
,
and
the
quick
blood
rushes
tingling
to
her
fingers
'
ends
.
It
is
a
hot
night
,
and
the
tall
French
windows
stand
unshuttered
and
open
.
Some
impulse
of
timid
coquetry
urges
her
to
flee
from
before
him
:
she
is
ashamed
that
he
should
see
the
plain
letters
of
joy
written
on
her
face
at
his
coming
:
she
would
fain
have
yet
a
few
moments
of
the
happiness
of
expectancy
,
to
whose
delights
those
of
reality
are
but
seldom
comparable
.
From
the
terrace
a
flight
of
stone
steps
leads
down
,
with
many
a
twist
,
to
the
mere
.
In
a
minute
Essie
has
run
lightly
down
,
and
is
standing
by
the
water
's
edge
.
The
dahlias
are
nodding
their
round
drowsy
heads
,
and
the
sentinel
hollyhocks
stand
up
stiff
and
pompous
with
their
clustered
flower-spikes
—
rulers
and
law-givers
among
the
flower-people
;
the
little
ripples
are
biting
with
playful
tooth
the
low
sedge-banks
,
and
the
tall
bulrush
forest
,
whence
the
coot
and
the
waterhen
families
sailed
out
into
life
in
the
warm
spring
weather
.
To
and
fro
rock
the
heavy
,
lazy
,
water-lily
leaves
,
whose
bloom-time
is
past
two
months
ago
.
Through
her
garden
,
the
sky
,
the
high
moon
walks
stately
,
holding
her
silver
lamp
,
in
whose
light
all
things
shine
deliciously
.
Essie
stands
entranced
.
It
seems
to
her
like
the
intermediate
residence
of
some
happy
soul
,
freed
from
the
world
's
toil
and
moil
,
shrived
from
sin
,
emancipated
from
life
,
where
it
should
dwell
in
tempered
bliss
till
that
last
day
when
heaven
's
brighter
glories
,
stronger
raptures
,
should
burst
upon
and
clothe
it
for
aye
.
She
strolls
along
the
narrow
gravel
path
,
bathing
her
hands
with
childish
delight
in
the
moonbeams
,
and
then
stoops
and
picks
up
two
or
three
little
stones
that
the
night
's
sweet
alchemy
has
gifted
with
a
bright
short
glory
not
their
own
.
So
stooping
,
she
hears
a
man
's
quick
firm
foot
running
down
the
garden
steps
.
She
raises
herself
,
and
goes
to
meet
him
with
"
a
moonlight-coloured
smile
"
on
her
face
.
"
Are
n't
they
lovely
?
"
she
asks
,
holding
up
her
pebbly
treasures
for
him
to
look
at
.
Not
speaking
,
he
takes
the
little
pink
palm
,
stones
and
all
,
into
his
hand
,
and
looks
into
her
face
;
and
then
,
as
if
yielding
to
a
temptation
that
he
hates
,
that
he
would
fain
resist
,
and
to
which
,
being
over-strong
,
he
must
yet
succumb
,
he
snatches
her
to
his
breast
,
and
kisses
her
fiercely
—
eyelids
,
lips
,
and
neck
—
with
a
violence
he
is
himself
hardly
conscious
of
.
"
Stop
!
"
she
cries
,
surprised
,
half-shocked
,
pushing
him
away
from
her
.
"
What
do
you
mean
?
You
frighten
me
!
"
He
recollects
himself
instantly
,
and
releases
her
.
"
It
is
alarming
being
kissed
,
especially
when
you
are
not
used
to
it
,
"
he
answers
,
with
a
sneer
.
She
looks
up
at
him
in
blank
astonishment
.
Has
he
gone
mad
?
Is
it
the
moonlight
that
has
given
him
that
white
wrathy
look
?
"
Something
has
happened
!
"
she
says
,
quickly
.
"
What
is
it
?
tell
me
!
"
"
Oh
!
nothing
—
a
mere
bagatelle
!
"
he
replies
,
with
a
little
bitter
laugh
.
"
It
is
only
that
I
have
been
hearing
a
pleasant
piece
of
news
.
"
"
What
is
it
?
"
"
Only
that
an
acquaintance
of
mine
is
going
to
be
married
!
"
"
Is
it
an
acquaintance
of
mine
too
?
"
"
About
the
most
intimate
you
have
,
I
should
say
:
yourself
,
in
fact
!
"
"
Is
that
news
?
"
she
asks
,
trying
to
smile
.
"
I
am
going
to
be
married
,
am
not
I
,
to
you
?
"
"
I
am
not
aware
that
my
name
is
—
Brandon
,
"
he
answers
,
coldly
,
while
his
sorrowful
,
fierce
eyes
go
through
her
heart
like
poisoned
arrows
.
She
turns
her
head
aside
and
groans
.
A
great
vague
darkness
blots
out
the
broad
moon
,
and
the
stars
'
thick
cohorts
;
the
bright
water
beside
her
grows
black
as
hell
's
sluggish
rivers
.
He
had
not
known
how
much
he
had
been
buoyed
up
by
hope
till
that
mute
gesture
of
hers
bid
him
despair
.
"
It
's
true
,
then
?
"
he
asks
in
a
voice
of
sharp
rage
and
anguish
,
catching
hold
of
the
white
wonder
of
her
arm
,
on
which
his
fingers
,
unwittingly
cruel
,
leave
crimson
prints
.
"
Is
what
true
?
"
she
asks
,
faintly
,
trying
for
yet
a
little
longer
to
stave
off
Fate
,
to
push
away
Nemesis
,
with
her
weak
woman-fingers
.
"
That
you
are
—
God
!
am
I
choking
?
—
engaged
to
Brandon
?
"
"
I
was
once
,
"
she
falters
under
her
breath
.
"
How
long
ago
?
"
"
When
first
I
came
here
.
"
"
And
since
then
you
have
written
to
break
it
off
?
"
he
asks
,
while
a
tone
of
joyful
hope
vibrates
in
his
deep
voice
.
"
No
,
I
have
not
,
"
she
answers
,
in
a
frightened
whisper
.
St.
John
's
face
gathers
blackness
.
"
I
am
to
understand
,
then
,
"
he
resumes
,
in
a
constrained
voice
,
out
of
which
the
man
's
strong
will
keeps
the
pent
passion
from
bursting
forth
,
"
that
you
belonged
to
him
at
the
time
when
I
kept
you
out
of
bed
one
night
to
listen
to
an
interesting
chapter
in
my
own
autobiography
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
And
when
,
in
reply
to
my
inquiries
,
you
denied
having
any
connection
beyond
common
acquaintance
with
—
with
him
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
And
when
you
were
good
enough
to
overlook
all
trifling
obstacles
,
and
to
consent
to
marry
me
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
The
little
catechism
ended
,
the
last
cobweb
of
doubt
torn
away
,
they
stand
dumb
.
Esther
's
guilty
head
sinks
down
on
her
breast
as
a
flower
's
head
sinks
overladen
with
rain
.
Suddenly
she
looks
up
and
stretches
out
her
arms
.
"
Speak
to
me
!
"
she
says
,
huskily
.
"
Curse
me
!
strike
me
!
call
me
some
bad
name
—
only
speak
!
"
"
I
wish
to
God
you
were
a
man
!
"
he
answers
,
in
a
hard
,
low
voice
;
while
his
straight
brows
draw
together
into
one
dark
line
across
his
face
,
and
his
lips
look
white
and
thin
under
his
moustache
.
"
That
you
might
kill
me
!
"
she
says
,
incoherent
with
excitement
.
"
Well
,
kill
me
now
!
If
revenge
is
so
pleasant
to
you
,
I
give
you
leave
!
"
"
Let
us
have
no
heroics
,
please
,
"
says
he
,
contemptuously
;
"
you
do
n't
appear
to
be
aware
that
it
is
not
the
fashion
for
English
gentlemen
to
murder
women
who
make
fools
of
them
.
It
may
be
a
sensible
practice
,
but
it
is
at
present
confined
to
the
tiers
état
.
"
Having
spoken
,
he
makes
a
slight
movement
to
depart
.
"
Are
you
going
to
give
me
up
?
"
she
cries
,
smiting
her
hands
together
,
and
forgetting
in
her
great
dismay
to
reflect
whether
the
remonstrance
accorded
well
with
her
dignity
or
not
.
"
I
have
no
claim
upon
you
,
"
he
answers
,
icily
.
"
What
do
you
mean
?
"
she
cries
,
passionately
.
"
You
are
unjust
.
There
could
be
nothing
too
bad
for
him
to
say
of
me
,
but
what
injury
have
I
done
you
?
You
ought
to
thank
me
and
praise
me
for
having
been
wicked
and
dishonourable
and
double-dealing
for
your
sake
.
"
"
For
my
sake
!
"
he
repeats
,
with
a
sardonic
smile
.
"
I
am
hardly
so
conceited
as
to
take
it
personally
.
"
"
What
do
you
mean
?
"
she
asks
,
quickly
.
"
If
I
did
not
do
it
for
your
sake
,
for
whose
did
I
?
"
He
is
silent
.
"
Do
you
mean
,
"
she
inquires
,
slowly
,
her
cheeks
paling
to
the
whiteness
of
snowdrops
blowing
,
"
that
you
think
I
gave
him
up
because
I
wanted
to
be
a
grand
lady
—
because
I
wanted
to
have
all
these
fine
things
"
(
looking
round
at
the
flowering
gardens
,
at
the
broad
lake
,
at
the
stately
house
shimmering
in
the
moonshine
)
"
belonging
to
me
?
"
Still
he
holds
his
peace
.
"
Is
that
what
you
meant
?
"
she
repeats
,
urgently
.
"
I
meant
,
"
he
says
,
looking
up
,
his
eyes
flashing
with
a
hard
,
metallic
gleam
,
"
that
you
thought
a
rich
man
a
better
investment
than
a
poor
one
,
and
,
being
equally
and
conveniently
indifferent
to
both
,
you
thought
it
wisest
to
select
the
former
.
"
"
If
such
is
your
opinion
of
me
,
"
she
says
,
turning
away
indignantly
,
"
I
do
n't
wonder
at
your
being
in
such
a
hurry
to
be
rid
of
me
!
"
He
looks
askance
at
her
out
of
the
corners
of
his
eyes
.
She
has
hidden
her
face
in
her
hands
,
but
by
the
panting
breast
and
heaved
white
shoulder
he
sees
that
she
is
weeping
—
that
a
storm
of
sobs
is
shaking
her
childish
frame
.
"
I
am
in
a
hurry
to
be
rid
of
you
!
"
he
says
,
harshly
,
steeling
himself
against
her
.
"
From
a
woman
who
could
throw
a
man
over
with
the
deliberate
,
cold-blooded
artlessness
you
have
done
,
one
may
well
sing
'
Te
Deum
'
for
beirg
rescued
in
time
.
"
She
flings
up
her
little
head
proudly
,
and
the
dusk
splendour
of
her
eyes
blazes
through
great
tears
.
"
Listen
to
me
!
"
she
says
,
laying
hold
of
his
arm
with
one
small
burning
hand
.
"
I
am
a
bad
girl
,
I
know
,
but
I
am
not
the
calculating
,
mercenary
wretch
you
take
me
for
.
I
tell
you
honestly
that
the
first
day
I
came
here
—
I
had
never
been
staying
at
a
great
house
before
—
I
thought
it
must
be
pleasant
to
live
in
large
rooms
,
and
have
gilt
and
ormolu
and
fine
pictures
about
one
,
and
to
have
carriages
and
horses
and
servants
,
and
not
to
be
obliged
to
think
twice
before
one
spent
sixpence
;
and
I
thought
,
too
"
(
her
long
neck
droops
,
and
she
blushes
painfully
as
she
makes
the
confession
)
,
"
what
a
pity
it
was
that
I
was
already
engaged
,
for
that
otherwise
,
as
I
was
pretty
,
you
might
have
taken
a
fancy
to
me
—
"
She
stops
,
choked
with
maiden
shame
.
Upon
his
averted
face
an
enduring
flush
,
like
a
hectic
autumn
leaf
's
,
burns
red
and
angry
.
"
But
as
soon
as
I
saw
you
,
almost
,
"
she
continues
,
commanding
her
tears
with
great
difficulty
—
"
as
soon
as
you
spoke
to
me
,
all
such
thoughts
went
out
of
my
head
.
I
do
n't
know
why
they
did
,
"
she
says
,
simply
.
"
You
were
not
particularly
pleasant
or
civil
;
I
did
not
think
you
good-looking
,
and
you
gave
me
the
idea
of
being
ill-tempered
;
but
"
(
with
a
sigh
)
"
one
cannot
reason
about
those
sort
of
things
.
I
began
to
think
so
much
about
what
you
were
,
that
I
forgot
to
remember
what
you
had
.
"
He
makes
no
comment
upon
her
confession
.
"
Do
you
believe
me
?
"
she
asks
,
eagerly
,
her
little
fingers
tightening
their
clasp
upon
his
coat-sleeve
.
Still
he
is
dumb
.
"
Do
you
?
"
she
repeats
,
excitedly
,
the
quick
breath
passing
to
and
fro
pantingly
across
the
threshold
of
her
crimson
lips
.
"
Why
do
you
insist
on
making
me
uncivil
?
"
he
says
,
with
a
sarcastic
smile
.
"
I
do
not
believe
you
.
I
dare
say
you
fancy
you
are
telling
truth
;
but
if
another
man
were
to
come
on
the
scene
with
a
few
thousands
a-year
more
,
and
a
higher
position
in
the
social
scale
,
you
would
enact
the
same
part
over
again
.
Women
must
be
true
to
their
instincts
.
Those
who
are
bent
on
rising
must
kick
down
the
ladder
by
which
they
have
climbed
:
it
is
an
irreversible
law
.
"
"
You
are
mistaken
,
"
she
says
,
eagerly
.
"
I
have
no
desire
to
climb
;
if
I
came
here
with
any
silly
,
childish
idea
that
rich
people
were
happier
than
poor
ones
,
I
have
been
quite
disillusioned
.
Bob
"
(
how
oddly
the
little
unromantic
name
comes
in
among
her
heroics
!
)
—
"
Bob
is
a
happier
man
than
you
are
,
though
he
is
only
a
lieutenant
in
a
foot
regiment
,
and
has
next
to
nothing
to
live
upon
.
"
"
I
have
no
doubt
that
Bob
"
(
with
a
little
sneering
emphasis
on
the
monosyllable
)
"
is
in
all
respects
a
very
superior
person
to
me
,
"
says
St.
John
,
with
a
bitter
pale
smile
,
like
a
gleam
of
wrathful
sunlight
on
a
day
of
east
wind
and
clouds
and
driving
sleet
.
"
I
quite
agree
with
you
,
"
she
answers
eagerly
,
her
great
eyes
flashing
angry
,
like
unwonted
meteors
that
blaze
fitful
in
the
winter
sky
,
"
and
I
wish
to
Heaven
I
had
never
left
him
!
"
Over
Gerard
's
features
a
spasm
,
contracting
and
puckering
them
,
passes
ugly
and
painful
;
his
hands
clench
themselves
in
the
mightiness
of
his
effort
to
govern
his
smitten
soul
.
"
That
is
easily
remedied
,
"
he
answers
,
after
a
little
pause
,
in
a
clear
cold
voice
.
"
Why
should
not
you
go
back
to
him
as
you
came
?
There
is
no
reason
why
he
should
ever
hear
of
this
—
this
episode
,
this
interlude
,
this
farce
.
"
"
And
you
think
that
I
am
to
be
bandied
about
like
a
bale
of
goods
!
"
she
cries
,
scornfully
,
voice
trembling
and
lip
quivering
with
passion
.
"
You
are
like
the
woman
in
the
Judgment
of
Solomon
,
who
said
,
'
Let
it
be
neither
mine
nor
thine
,
but
divide
it
!
'
You
love
me
!
You
never
did
!
"
"
Perhaps
not
,
"
he
answers
,
with
slow
difficulty
;
"
perhaps
what
I
loved
was
my
ideal
that
I
fancied
I
had
found
in
you
,
and
when
I
found
I
was
mistaken
,
perhaps
the
love
went
too
!
My
God
,
I
wish
it
had
!
"
Through
the
proud
calmness
of
his
voice
penetrates
a
tone
of
bitter
,
unwilling
tenderness
.
Hearing
it
,
her
whole
soul
is
melted
into
fresh
,
quick
tears
.
"
It
is
not
my
ideal
,
or
any
one
else
's
,
that
I
love
in
you
!
"
she
cries
,
stretching
out
eager
white
arms
towards
him
;
"
it
is
yourself
—
your
very
self
!
Oh
,
if
I
could
but
tear
out
my
heart
,
and
show
it
you
!
Oh
!
why
wo
n't
you
believe
me
?
"
He
looks
at
her
—
looks
at
the
innocently-wooing
arms
,
at
the
tear-stained
,
dimpled
,
tremulous
face
—
and
feels
his
resolution
wasting
away
like
wax
before
the
fire
,
as
Samson
's
wasted
away
in
Delilah
's
lap
.
He
turns
his
eyes
away
across
the
cool
silvered
flood
,
and
hardens
his
heart
against
her
.
"
Why
cannot
you
?
"
she
repeats
,
in
her
sweet
,
vibrating
voice
.
"
Because
I
have
not
the
faith
that
removes
mountains
,
"
he
answers
,
harshly
;
"
because
a
thing
must
be
probable
,
or
at
least
possible
,
before
I
can
give
credit
to
it
;
because
I
am
unable
to
understand
how
,
for
a
man
whom
you
confess
to
having
thought
ill-looking
,
ill-tempered
,
and
ill-mannered
,
you
could
,
out
of
pure
disinterested
love
,
throw
over
one
to
whom
you
must
,
at
least
,
have
pretended
to
be
sincerely
attached
.
"
"
I
never
pretended
anything
of
the
kind
,
"
she
answers
,
vehemently
.
"
If
you
do
n't
believe
me
,
ask
him
.
I
was
engaged
to
him
because
he
seemed
unhappy
,
and
because
I
did
not
see
any
particular
reason
why
I
should
not
,
and
because
he
asked
me
.
"
Through
all
his
bitter
,
surging
wrath
,
St.
John
can
hardly
forbear
a
smile
.
"
And
you
became
engaged
to
me
because
I
asked
you
?
"
he
says
,
drily
.
"
At
that
rate
,
there
is
no
reason
why
the
number
of
your
aspirants
should
not
be
increased
ad
infinitum
.
"
And
were
you
going
to
play
the
play
out
to
the
end
,
may
I
ask
,
and
marry
us
both
"
he
inquires
,
in
the
same
cutting
key
.
No
woman
can
stand
being
sneered
at
;
she
much
prefers
having
the
tables
and
chairs
flung
at
her
head
.
"
Do
you
think
it
manly
or
witty
to
jeer
at
me
,
"
cries
Essie
,
stung
almost
to
madness
by
his
taunts
,
"
because
I
have
been
fool
enough
to
desert
for
you
a
man
worth
a
hundred
of
you
?
"
Gerard
stands
motionless
in
the
moonlight
,
with
folded
arms
,
and
a
chill
,
painful
smile
on
his
stern
mouth
.
"
I
have
already
announced
my
conviction
of
his
superiority
,
and
have
advised
you
to
return
to
him
,
"
he
says
.
"
Do
you
mean
really
?
"
asks
Essie
,
her
wild
,
wide
eyes
flaming
in
half-incredulous
fear
on
his
face
.
"
I
do
,
"
he
answers
,
with
icy
steadiness
.
"
And
you
have
done
with
me
altogether
?
"
she
says
,
brokenly
,
her
tears
forcing
their
way
through
her
slight
shielding
fingers
,
and
falling
one
after
another
,
slow
and
heavy
,
on
the
stones
at
her
feet
.
"
Serve
me
right
!
—
Serve
me
right
!
"
Once
again
,
intoxicated
by
her
great
fairness
,
he
goes
nigh
to
pardoning
her
;
once
again
his
obstinate
will
comes
to
his
aid
.
"
If
I
were
to
marry
you
now
,
"
he
says
,
resolutely
,
"
my
life
would
be
one
long
suspicion
:
I
should
love
you
madly
,
and
should
disbelieve
in
you
.
"
With
that
,
and
his
saying
he
should
love
her
madly
,
a
little
creeping
hope
steals
warmly
about
her
heart
.
"
Why
should
you
disbelieve
in
me
?
"
she
asks
,
putting
out
a
timid
peace-making
hand
.
"
Because
a
faith
once
broken
can
never
be
mended
,
"
he
answers
,
sternly
—
"
it
may
be
patched
up
,
but
a
patched
faith
will
not
do
to
go
through
life
with
;
because
a
woman
who
has
deceived
a
man
once
for
one
object
may
deceive
him
a
second
time
for
another
.
I
should
never
,
"
he
says
(
words
coming
quicker
and
emotion
deepening
as
he
proceeds
)
,
"
look
in
your
sweet
eyes
without
thinking
I
read
some
treachery
in
them
;
I
should
never
press
your
heart
against
mine
without
fearing
that
it
was
beating
for
some
one
else
.
"
She
withdraws
her
rejected
hand
,
and
falls
to
weeping
sorelier
than
ever
,
but
very
mutely
.
"
What
madness
induced
you
to
tell
me
so
many
lies
?
"
he
cries
,
passionately
,
with
mournful
severity
.
"
Were
you
bent
on
putting
a
gulf
,
that
could
never
be
bridged
through
all
eternity
,
between
us
?
Did
not
you
know
that
that
is
the
one
sin
I
could
never
forget
or
forgive
?
"
She
looks
down
humbled
and
crestfallen
,
and
says
,
sobbingly
,
"
I
was
afraid
of
you
.
I
thought
that
,
if
I
told
you
,
I
should
lose
you
as
I
have
done
now
,
without
telling
you
.
I
was
on
the
point
of
speaking
two
or
three
times
,
but
you
looked
so
angry
that
my
courage
failed
,
and
I
dared
not
.
"
"
Afraid
of
me
!
"
he
says
,
reproachfully
.
"
By
your
own
showing
,
then
,
you
could
not
have
loved
me
perfectly
,
for
'
perfect
love
casteth
out
fear
.
'
If
you
are
afraid
of
me
,
it
is
indeed
time
for
us
to
part
.
"
"
I
see
you
are
bent
on
misconstruing
every
word
I
say
,
"
she
says
,
hopelessly
,
and
yet
with
a
little
petulant
movement
of
shoulder
and
head
,
"
and
so
I
'll
hold
my
tongue
.
"
He
looks
at
her
,
not
relentingly
,
but
with
infinite
sadness
.
"
I
almost
wish
that
Constance
had
left
me
in
my
Fool
's
Paradise
!
"
he
says
.
"
Constance
!
"
exclaims
Esther
,
quickly
.
"
Was
it
she
that
told
you
?
"
"
It
was
,
"
he
answers
,
quietly
:
"
she
heard
it
this
morning
;
she
was
annoyed
with
me
for
not
going
to
the
ball
,
and
chose
this
ingenious
and
,
I
must
say
,
complete
mode
of
revenge
.
"
"
What
had
I
done
to
her
?
"
says
Essie
,
bringing
her
two
hands
together
sharply
,
and
looking
upwards
to
Heaven
's
great
black
,
blue
floor
above
her
,
'
Thick
inlaid
with
patines
of
bright
gold
.
"
"
What
had
I
done
to
her
,
"
she
says
,
in
a
sort
of
wonder
,
"
that
she
should
do
me
such
a
mischief
?
"
Looking
at
her
as
she
stands
with
upturned
eyes
,
like
some
sweet
prayerful
saint
or
penitent
Magdalen
,
drawn
by
a
cunning
hand
that
has
been
resolved
three
centuries
back
into
elemental
dust
—
dust
that
has
stopped
a
bunghole
perhaps
,
like
Alexander
's
—
Gerard
's
resolution
breaks
a
little
;
not
his
resolution
of
parting
from
her
—
that
remains
firm
as
ever
—
but
his
power
of
so
parting
with
nonchalant
coldness
:
"
Child
!
"
he
cries
,
a
little
roughly
,
and
yet
with
a
half-groan
,
placing
a
hand
heavily
on
each
of
her
shoulders
—
"
Child
!
why
are
you
so
pretty
?
If
it
was
your
nature
to
be
deceitful
and
underhand
,
why
could
not
you
be
ugly
too
?
Your
beauty
is
the
one
thing
about
you
that
I
believe
in
,
and
it
drives
me
distracted
!
"
"
And
yet
,
"
she
answers
,
with
a
melancholy
smile
,
"
you
told
me
just
now
,
very
calmly
,
to
go
back
to
—
to
him
:
you
seemed
to
contemplate
with
great
equanimity
the
prospect
of
seeing
me
and
my
distracting
beauty
"
(
with
a
bitter
emphasis
)
"
in
another
man
's
possession
.
"
"
You
are
mistaken
,
"
he
answers
,
with
quick
violence
.
"
By
God
's
help
,
I
'll
never
see
you
again
after
to-night
.
"
Hearing
that
heavy
sentence
,
her
knees
tremble
beneath
her
a
little
;
a
momentary
dimness
comes
over
her
eyes
;
voice
,
breath
,
and
heart
seem
to
suspend
their
functions
.
No
word
of
protest
,
of
lamentation
,
of
entreaty
,
crosses
her
whitened
lips
.
"
What
right
have
I
to
be
with
you
?
"
he
asks
,
indignantly
—
"
I
,
who
cannot
see
you
without
coveting
you
?
What
right
have
I
to
steal
another
man
's
wife
,
any
more
than
his
horse
or
his
money
?
"
"
Let
me
go
,
then
,
"
she
answers
,
with
a
low
,
moaning
sigh
—
"
since
it
must
be
so
.
You
know
what
is
right
better
than
I
do
.
Good-bye
!
"
"
Good-bye
!
"
he
answers
,
very
shortly
,
and
turns
away
his
head
sharply
,
that
only
the
lake
and
the
stars
may
see
the
distortion
that
the
passion
of
that
parting
is
working
on
his
face
.
"
Say
you
forgive
me
before
I
go
!
"
says
the
tender
,
tremulous
voice
,
that
might
unman
a
hero
—
might
unsaint
an
anchorite
—
as
she
lingers
yet
a
little
minute
beside
him
.
"
Why
should
I
say
what
is
not
true
?
"
he
asks
,
turning
round
roughly
upon
her
.
"
I
do
n't
forgive
you
,
and
never
shall
,
either
in
this
world
or
the
next
.
"
"
You
must
!
"
she
says
,
sobbingly
,
the
words
coming
a
little
wildly
through
a
tempest
of
tears
.
"
I
cannot
go
unless
you
do
;
if
I
went
now
,
I
should
remember
you
all
my
life
as
you
are
to-day
;
to-day
would
blot
out
all
the
happy
hours
we
have
been
together
!
"
For
all
answer
he
turns
away
from
her
,
and
buries
his
face
in
his
hands
.
"
Look
at
me
kindly
once
again
!
"
she
says
,
calmness
growing
out
of
her
strong
emotion
,
putting
up
her
two
small
hands
and
trying
to
draw
his
away
from
before
his
hidden
face
.
"
I
may
be
very
wicked
;
I
suppose
I
am
—
as
you
say
so
—
mean
,
underhand
,
deceitful
;
but
yet
,
for
the
sake
of
what
is
gone
,
look
at
me
kindly
once
again
:
that
wo
n't
hurt
you
,
as
it
is
for
the
very
last
time
!
"
Still
Gerard
remains
speechless
—
not
from
obstinacy
,
but
because
he
cannot
command
his
voice
:
and
his
pride
revolts
from
speaking
shakily
,
quaveringly
,
like
an
hysterical
woman
or
paralytic
old
man
.
"
If
I
were
a
thief
,
or
a
murderer
!
"
she
says
,
indignantly
,
withdrawing
her
hands
,
"
you
could
not
turn
from
me
with
greater
loathing
!
"
"
You
are
a
murderer
!
"
he
answers
,
with
fierce
vehemence
,
looking
at
her
once
again
as
she
had
asked
him
—
looking
at
her
with
wrathful
,
reluctant
passion
,
but
not
kindly
.
"
You
have
murdered
my
whole
future
—
my
hope
,
my
belief
in
women
,
in
truth
—
my
everything
of
life
but
what
is
merely
animal
.
If
you
had
murdered
my
body
I
could
have
forgiven
you
much
more
easily
.
Time
or
disease
must
have
done
that
sooner
or
later
,
but
now
—
"
He
stops
abruptly
.
"
If
I
am
a
murderer
,
I
am
a
suicide
too
,
"
she
replies
,
with
a
smile
more
tearful
than
her
tears
.
"
St.
John
,
"
she
says
,
earnestly
,
"
do
n't
you
know
that
people
always
attend
to
dying
requests
,
however
foolish
and
unreasonable
they
may
be
?
This
of
mine
is
a
dying
request
,
for
after
to-night
I
shall
be
dead
to
you
.
Say
,
'
Essie
,
I
forgive
you
.
'
"
"
What
is
it
to
you
whether
I
forgive
you
or
not
?
"
he
inquires
,
sullenly
,
with
a
certain
savage
pulling
and
biting
of
his
moustache
.
"
Are
you
mistaking
me
for
Brandon
again
?
Why
should
two
indifferent
acquaintances
like
us
go
through
the
farce
of
begging
each
other
's
pardons
?
What
are
we
to
one
another
?
"
"
Nothing
,
"
she
answers
,
calmly
;
"
you
need
not
be
so
eager
to
remind
me
of
that
;
my
memory
needs
no
refreshing
;
but
we
have
been
something
—
do
what
you
will
you
cannot
take
that
away
from
me
—
so
for
the
sake
of
that
'
have
been
,
'
say
you
forgive
me
!
"
"
Falsehoods
do
n't
pass
my
lips
so
glibly
as
they
do
yours
,
"
he
answers
,
doggedly
.
"
If
I
were
to
say
,
'
I
forgive
you
'
a
thousand
times
,
I
should
be
no
nearer
the
doing
it
.
Good-bye
!
"
he
says
again
,
abruptly
,
putting
out
his
hand
;
feeling
that
the
strain
is
too
great
for
him
,
and
that
if
it
last
much
longer
he
,
being
but
human
,
will
break
under
it
.
Her
answering
farewell
is
to
fling
herself
upon
his
breast
.
"
I
can
no
more
say
'
good-bye
,
'
"
she
says
,
desperately
,
in
a
passionate
whisper
,
"
than
you
can
say
'
I
forgive
you
.
'
St.
John
,
take
me
back
,
try
me
once
again
!
I
know
I
ought
not
to
say
it
—
that
it
is
undignified
,
unwomanly
,
perhaps
—
but
I
cannot
see
my
everything
going
away
from
me
without
reaching
out
a
hand
to
stop
it
.
Oh
,
my
darling
!
give
me
one
more
trial
!
"
Her
arms
cling
about
his
brown
throat
close
as
the
bindweed
clings
about
the
hedges
in
sultry
August
;
her
white
warm
breast
heaves
and
pants
against
his
,
as
the
sea
heaves
and
pants
against
the
shore
's
tawny
sides
;
her
eyes
,
impassioned
as
only
dark
eyes
can
be
—
alluring
,
despairing
—
flame
into
his
eyes
,
and
down
through
his
eyes
into
his
heart
.
Prisoned
in
those
sweet
,
frail
fetters
,
he
feels
strength
and
name
and
fame
ebbing
from
him
,
as
Merlin
's
ebbed
under
Vivien
's
wily
charm
.
"
Is
not
it
better
to
be
tricked
by
such
a
woman
,
"
Passion
whispers
,
"
than
to
spend
long
eons
of
unswerving
fidelity
with
one
less
maddeningly
fair
?
Were
not
such
moments
of
ecstasy
very
cheaply
purchased
,
even
by
years
of
suspicion
and
deceit
?
"
But
Will
and
Honour
push
her
back
with
their
strong
right
hands
.
"
She
has
deceived
you
once
,
and
therefore
she
will
deceive
you
twice
.
She
is
enacting
this
melodrama
on
your
breast
:
she
may
enact
the
next
on
another
man
's
.
Put
her
away
!
—
put
her
away
!
"
Hearkening
to
them
,
he
,
with
a
groan
as
of
one
that
teareth
out
his
right
eye
,
with
relentless
fingers
unfastens
her
arms
from
about
his
neck
.
"
Your
darling
!
"
he
says
,
contemptuously
;
"
you
are
forgetting
whom
you
are
addressing
!
"
"
I
am
,
indeed
,
"
she
answers
,
with
a
sudden
revulsion
of
feeling
;
"
but
it
is
a
mistake
that
one
does
not
make
twice
in
a
lifetime
.
"
"
I
hope
not
,
"
he
answers
,
taking
refuge
in
surly
rudeness
from
the
almost
overpowering
temptation
to
fall
at
her
feet
and
say
,
"
Essie
,
come
to
me
!
deceive
me
!
outwit
me
!
overreach
me
;
do
what
you
please
,
I
cannot
help
it
!
If
there
were
a
thousand
Brandons
and
ten
thousand
treacheries
between
us
,
I
must
be
yours
,
and
you
must
be
mine
!
"
"
I
have
degraded
myself
once
to
the
dust
before
you
,
"
rejoins
Essie
,
in
a
voice
that
tries
to
be
angry
,
but
is
only
trembling
;
"
but
there
is
no
fear
of
my
doing
it
again
.
And
yet
,
"
she
continues
,
after
a
pause
,
her
soft
nature
making
it
more
difficult
for
her
to
part
from
him
in
anger
than
to
incur
his
contempt
by
again
descending
to
supplication
—
"
and
yet
,
since
I
have
confessed
to
having
been
wicked
,
you
might
as
well
forgive
me
.
How
much
the
better
will
you
be
for
going
through
life
with
the
consciousness
that
you
have
made
one
wretched
woman
even
more
unhappy
than
she
would
otherwise
have
been
?
You
forgave
that
other
girl
who
deceived
you
because
she
did
not
love
you
.
Forgive
me
,
who
deceived
you
,
because
I
loved
you
too
well
!
"
"
I
forgave
her
,
"
he
answers
,
sternly
,
"
because
I
had
ceased
to
care
about
her
—
because
what
she
stole
from
me
had
lost
its
value
.
Perhaps
at
some
future
period
I
may
be
in
the
same
frame
of
mind
towards
you
;
at
present
I
am
some
way
off
it
.
I
neither
can
forgive
you
,
nor
have
I
the
slightest
wish
to
do
so
!
"
Seeing
that
she
is
abasing
herself
in
vain
,
she
refrains
.
"
Well
,
then
,
since
you
wish
it
,
so
it
must
be
,
"
she
answers
,
with
meek
despair
;
and
catching
suddenly
his
hand
before
he
has
time
to
prevent
her
,
she
kisses
it
very
humbly
and
sorrowfully
.
Then
,
unforgiven
,
unrecalled
,
she
passes
away
.
And
Gerard
,
the
battle
over
,
the
victory
won
,
sits
down
on
a
garden-seat
,
and
cries
like
a
child
for
his
pretty
lost
plaything
.
CHAPTER
XIX
.
A
ND
so
that
act
of
the
play
is
finished
:
all
the
actors
have
strutted
and
fumed
and
fretted
through
their
little
parts
,
and
now
the
curtain
has
fallen
.
When
next
it
rises
,
the
principal
actress
in
this
tragic
drama
is
discovered
lying
full-dressed
on
her
bed
;
her
pretty
face
buried
—
eyes
,
nose
,
and
mouth
—
in
the
tumbled
pillow
;
her
little
neat-shod
feet
hanging
over
the
bedside
.
She
looks
as
if
she
had
been
thrown
there
,
an
inert
,
passive
mass
,
by
some
spiteful
giant
.
Six
miles
away
,
at
Lord
—
'
s
ball
,
the
fiddles
are
squeaking
,
and
the
pink-and-green
Chinese
lanterns
swinging
to
and
fro
among
the
orange
boughs
in
the
slight
wind
made
by
the
rustling
dresses
and
passing
men
and
women
.
Sir
Thomas
,
with
his
hands
in
their
burst
white
gloves
under
his
coat
tails
,
and
his
blue-cloth
back
leaning
against
a
marble
mantel-piece
,
is
talking
sweetly
,
in
his
hard
,
rasping
voice
,
of
scab
and
foot-rot
.
Miladi
is
gone
down
to
supper
for
the
sixth
time
on
the
sixth
devoted
married
man
's
arm
;
she
is
eating
game
pie
,
and
drinking
sherry
and
champagne
and
moselle
in
turns
.
Miss
Blessington
,
sweeping
about
on
the
arm
of
a
small
white
gentleman
,
whose
estate
is
as
large
as
his
person
is
minute
,
is
responding
a
little
superciliously
to
a
presumptuous
younger
son
,
