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
