to his trade,
And they follow one another;
But such a hunter never was made
As the monk that hunted his brother!
And the runaway pig, ere its game be played,
Shall be eaten by its mother!
Better hunt a flea in a woolly blanket, than a leg-bail monk in this wilderness of mountains, forests, and precipices! But the flea may be caught, and so shall the monk. I have said it. He is well spotted, with his silver crown and his uncropped ears. The rascally heretic! But his vows shall keep him, though he won't keep his vows. The whining, blubbering idiot! Gave his plaything, and wants it back!—I wonder whereabouts I am.
SCENE XII.—The Nurse's room. LILIA sitting up in bed. JULIAN seated by her; an open note in his hand.
Lilia. Tear it up, Julian.
Julian. No; I'll treasure it As the remembrance of a by-gone grief: I love it well, because it is not yours.
Lilia. Where have you been these long, long years away? You look much older. You have suffered, Julian!
Julian. Since that day, Lilia, I have seen much, thought much, Suffered a little. When you are quite yourself, I'll tell you all you want to know about me.
Lilia. Do tell me something now. I feel quite strong; It will not hurt me.
Julian. Wait a day or two. Indeed 'twould weary you to tell you all.
Lilia. And I have much to tell you, Julian. I Have suffered too—not all for my own sake.
[Recalling something.]
Oh, what a dream I had! Oh, Julian!—
I don't know when it was. It must have been
Before you brought me here! I am sure it was.
Julian. Don't speak about it. Tell me afterwards. You must keep quiet now. Indeed you must.
Lilia. I will obey you, will not speak a word.
Enter Nurse.
Nurse. Blessings upon her! she's near well already. Who would have thought, three days ago, to see You look so bright! My lord, you have done wonders.
Julian. My art has helped a little, I thank God.— To please me, Lilia, go to sleep a while.
[JULIAN goes.]
Lilia. Why does he always wear that curious cap?
Nurse. I don't know. You must sleep.
Lilia. Yes. I forgot.
SCENE XIII.—The Steward's room. JULIAN and the Steward. Papers on the table, which JULIAN has just finished examining.
Julian. Thank you much, Joseph; you have done well for me. You sent that note privately to my friend?
Steward. I did, my lord; and have conveyed the money, Putting all things in train for his release, Without appearing in it personally, Or giving any clue to other hands. He sent this message by my messenger: His hearty thanks, and God will bless you for it. He will be secret. For his daughter, she Is safe with you as with himself; and so God bless you both! He will expect to hear From both of you from England.
Julian. Well, again. What money is remaining in your hands?
Steward. Two bags, three hundred each; that's all. I fear To wake suspicion, if I call in more.
Julian. One thing, and I have done: lest a mischance Befall us, though I do not fear it much— have been very secret—is that boat I had before I left, in sailing trim?
Steward. I knew it was a favorite with my lord; I've taken care of it. A month ago, With my own hands I painted it all fresh, Fitting new oars and rowlocks. The old sail I'll have replaced immediately; and then 'Twill be as good as new.
Julian. That's excellent. Well, launch it in the evening. Make it fast To the stone steps behind my garden study. Stow in the lockers some sea-stores, and put The money in the old desk in the study.
Steward. I will, my lord. It will be safe enough.
SCENE XIV.—A road near the town. A Waggoner. STEPHEN, in lay dress, coming up to him.
Stephen. Whose castle's that upon the hill, good fellow?
Waggoner. Its present owner's of the Uglii; They call him Lorenzino.
Stephen. Whose is that Down in the valley?
Waggoner. That is Count Lamballa's.
Stephen. What is his Christian name?
Waggoner. Omfredo. No, That was his father's; his is Julian.
Stephen. Is he at home?
Waggoner. No, not for many a day. His steward, honest man, I know is doubtful Whether he be alive; and yet his land Is better farmed than any in the country.
Stephen. He is not married, then?
Waggoner. No. There's a gossip Amongst the women—but who would heed their talk!— That love half-crazed, then drove him out of doors, To wander here and there, like a bad ghost, Because a silly wench refused him:—fudge!
Stephen. Most probably. I quite agree with you. Where do you stop?
Waggoner. At the first inn we come to; You'll see it from the bottom of the hill. There is a better at the other end, But here the stabling is by far the best.
Stephen. I must push on. Four legs can never go Down-hill so fast as two. Good morning, friend.
Waggoner. Good morning, sir.
Stephen (aside) I take the further house.
SCENE XV.—The Nurse's room. JULIAN and LILIA standing near the window.
Julian. But do you really love me, Lilia?
Lilia. Why do you make me say it so often, Julian? You make me say I love you, oftener far Than you say you love me.
Julian. To love you seems So much a thing of mere necessity! I can refrain from loving you no more Than keep from waking when the sun shines full Upon my face.
Lilia. And yet I love to say How, how I love you, Julian!
[Leans her head on his arm. JULIAN winces a little. She raises her head and looks at him.]
Did I hurt you?
Would you not have me lean my head on you?
Julian. Come on this side, my love; 'tis a slight hurt Not yet quite healed.
Lilia. Ah, my poor Julian! How— I am so sorry!—Oh, I do remember! I saw it all quite plain! It was no dream! I saw you fighting!—Surely you did not kill him?
Julian (calmly, but drawing himself up). I killed him as I would a dog that bit you.
Lilia (turning pale, and covering her face with her hands.) Oh, that was dreadful! there is blood on you!
Julian. Shall I go, Lilia?
Lilia. Oh no, no, no, do not.— I shall be better presently.
Julian. You shrink As from a