and disengaging her hand). Let me go. My husband! Oh, my white child!
[She hurries to the door, but falls.]
Lord S. (raising her). I thought you trusted me, yes, loved me, Lilia!
Lilia. Peace! that name is his! Speak it again—I rave. He thought I loved him—and I did—I do. Open the door, my lord!
[He hesitates. She draws herself up erect, with flashing eyes.]
Once more, my lord—
Open the door, I say.
[He still hesitates. She walks swiftly to the window, flings it wide, and is throwing herself out.]
Lord S. Stop, madam! I will.
[He opens the door. She leaves the window, and walks slowly out. He hears the house-door open and shut, flings himself on the couch, and hides his face.]
Enter LADY GERTRUDE.
Lady Gertrude. Dear father, are you ill? I knocked three times; You did not speak.
Lord S. I did not hear you, child. My head aches rather; else I am quite well.
Lady Gertrude. Where is the countess?
Lord S. She is gone. She had An urgent message to go home at once. But, Gertrude, now you seem so well, why not Set out to-morrow? You can travel now; And for your sake the sooner that we breathe Italian air the better.
Lady Gertrude. This is sudden! I scarcely can be ready by to-morrow.
Lord S. It will oblige me, child. Do what you can. Just go and order everything you want. I will go with you. Ring the bell, my love; I have a reason for my haste. We'll have The horses to at once. Come, Gertrude, dear.
SCENE IX.—Evening. Hampstead Heath. LILIA seated.
Lilia. The first pale star! braving the rear of Day! And all heaven waiting till the sun has drawn His long train after him! then half creation Will follow its queen-leader from the depths. O harbinger of hope! O star of love! Thou hast gone down in me, gone down for ever; And left my soul in such a starless night, It has not love enough to weep thy loss. O fool! to know thee once, and, after years, To take a gleaming marsh-light for thy lamp! How could I for one moment hear him speak! O Julian! for my last love-gift I thought To bring that love itself, bound and resigned, And offering it a sacrifice to thee, Lead it away into the wilderness; But one vile spot hath tainted this my lamb; Unoffered it must go, footsore and weary, Not flattering itself to die for thee. And yet, thank God, it was one moment only, That, lapt in darkness and the loss of thee, Sun of my soul, and half my senses dead Through very weariness and lack of love, My heart throbbed once responsive to a ray That glimmered through its gloom from other eyes, And seemed to promise rest and hope again. My presence shall not grieve thee any more, My Julian, my husband. I will find A quiet place where I will seek thy God. And—in my heart it wakens like a voice From him—the Saviour—there are other worlds Where all gone wrong in this may be set right; Where I, made pure, may find thee, purer still, And thou wilt love the love that kneels to thee. I'll write and tell him I have gone, and why. But what to say about my late offence, That he may understand just what it was? For I must tell him, if I write at all. I fear he would discover where I was; Pitiful duty would not let him rest Until he found me; and I fain would free From all the weight of mine, that heart of his.
[Sound of a coach-horn.]
It calls me to rise up and go to him,
Leading me further from him and away.
The earth is round; God's thoughts return again;
And I will go in hope. Help me, my God!
SCENE X.—Julian's room. JULIAN reading. A letter is brought in. He reads it, turns deadly pale, and leans his arms and head on the table, almost fainting. This lasts some time; then starting up, he paces through the room, his shoulders slightly shrugged, his arms rigid by his sides, and his hands clenched hard, as if a net of pain were drawn tight around his frame. At length he breathes deep, draws himself up, and walks erect, his chest swelling, but his teeth set.
Julian. Me! My wife! Insect, didst thou say my wife?
[Hurriedly turning the letter on the table to see the address.]
Why, if she love him more than me, why then
Let her go with him!—Gone to Italy!
Pursue, says he? Revenge?—Let the corpse crush The slimy maggot with its pulpy fingers!— What if I stabbed—
[Taking his dagger, and feeling its point.]
Whom? Her—what then?—Or him—
What yet? Would that give back the life to me?
There is one more—myself! Oh, peace! to feel
The earthworms crawling through my mouldering brain!—
But to be driven along the windy wastes—
To hear the tempests, raving as they turn,
Howl Lilia, Lilia—to be tossed about Beneath the stars that range themselves for ever Into the burning letters of her name— 'Twere better creep the earth down here than that, For pain's excess here sometimes deadens pain.
[He throws the dagger on the floor.]
Have I deserved this? Have I earned it? I?
A pride of innocence darts through my veins.
I stand erect. Shame cannot touch me. Ha!
I laugh at insult. I? I am myself—
Why starest thou at me? Well, stare thy fill;
When devils mock, the angels lend their wings:—
But what their wings? I have nowhere to fly.
Lilia! my worship of thy purity!
Hast thou forgotten—ah! thou didst not know
How, watching by thee in thy fever-pain,
When thy white neck and bosom were laid bare,
I turned my eyes away, and turning drew
With trembling hand white darkness over thee,
Because I knew not thou didst love me then.
Love me! O God in heaven! Is love a thing
That can die thus? Love me! Would, for thy penance,
Thou saw'st but once the heart which thou hast torn—
Shaped all about thy image set within!
But that were fearful! What rage would not, love
Must then do for thee—in mercy I would kill thee,
To save thee from the hell-fire of remorse.
If blood would make thee clean, then blood should flow;
Eager, unwilling, this hand should make thee bleed,
Till, drop by drop, the taint should drop away.
Clean! said I? fit to lie by me in sleep,
My hand upon thy heart!—not fit to lie,
For all thy bleeding, by me in the grave!
[His eye falls on that likeness of Jesus said to be copied from an emerald engraved for Tiberius. He gazes, drops on his knees, and covers his face; remains motionless a long time; then rises very pale, his lips compressed, his eyes filled with tears.]
O my poor Lilia! my bewildered child!
How shall I win thee, save thee, make thee mine?
Where art thou wandering? What words