[Sighing.]
My wounds are not of such.
[LILIA, loosening her arms, and drawing back a little with a kind of shrinking, looks a frightened interrogation.]
No. Penance, Lilia;
Such penance as the saints of old inflicted
Upon their quivering flesh. Folly, I know;
As a lord would exalt himself, by making
His willing servants into trembling slaves!
Yet I have borne it.
Lilia (laying her hand on his arm). Ah, alas, my Julian, You have been guilty!
Julian. Not what men call guilty, Save it be now; now you will think I sin. Alas, I have sinned! but not in this I sin.— Lilia, I have been a monk.
Lilia. A monk?
[Turningpale.]
I thought—
[Faltering.]
Julian,—I thought you said…. did you not say…?
[Very pale, brokenly.]
I thought you said …
[With an effort.]
I was to be your wife!
[Covering her face with her hands, and bursting into tears.]
Julian (speaking low and in pain). And so I did.
Lilia (hopefully, and looking up). Then you've had dispensation?
Julian. God has absolved me, though the Church will not. He knows it was in ignorance I did it. Rather would he have men to do his will, Than keep a weight of words upon their souls, Which they laid there, not graven by his finger. The vow was made to him—to him I break it.
Lilia (weeping bitterly). I would … your words were true … but I do know … It never can … be right to break a vow; If so, men might be liars every day; You'd do the same by me, if we were married.
Julian (in anguish). 'Tis ever so. Words are the living things! There is no spirit—save what's born of words! Words are the bonds that of two souls make one! Words the security of heart to heart! God, make me patient! God, I pray thee, God!
Lilia (not heeding him). Besides, we dare not; you would find the dungeon Gave late repentance; I should weep away My life within a convent.
Julian. Come to England, To England, Lilia.
Lilia. Men would point, and say: There go the monk and his wife; if they, in truth, Called me not by a harder name than that.
Julian. There are no monks in England.
Lilia. But will that Make right what's wrong?
Julian. Did I say so, my Lilia? I answered but your last objections thus; I had a different answer for the first.
Lilia. No, no; I cannot, cannot, dare not do it.
Julian. Lilia, you will not doubt my love; you cannot. —I would have told you all before, but thought, Foolishly, you would feel the same as I;— I have lived longer, thought more, seen much more; I would not hurt your body, less your soul, For all the blessedness your love can give: For love's sake weigh the weight of what I say. Think not that must be right which you have heard From infancy—it may——
[Enter the Steward in haste, pale, breathless, and bleeding.]
Steward. My lord, there's such an uproar in the town! They call you murderer and heretic. The officers of justice, with a monk, And the new Count Nembroni, accompanied By a fierce mob with torches, howling out For justice on you, madly cursing you! They caught a glimpse of me as I returned, And stones and sticks flew round me like a storm; But I escaped them, old man as I am, And was in time to bar the castle-gates.— Would heaven we had not cast those mounds, and shut The river from the moat!
[Distant yells and cries.]
Escape, my lord!
Julian (calmly). Will the gates hold them out awhile, my Joseph?
Steward. A little while, my lord; but those damned torches! Oh, for twelve feet of water round the walls!
Julian. Leave us, good Joseph; watch them from a window, And tell us of their progress.
[JOSEPH goes. Sounds approach.]
Farewell, Lilia!
[Putting his arm round her. She stands like stone.]
Fear of a coward's name shall not detain me.
My presence would but bring down evil on you,
My heart's beloved; yes, all the ill you fear,
The terrible things that you have imaged out
If you fled with me. They will not hurt you,
If you be not polluted by my presence.
[Light from without flares on the wall.]
They've fired the gate.
[An outburst of mingled cries.]
Steward (entering). They've fired the gate, my lord!
Julian. Well, put yourself in safety, my dear Joseph. You and old Agata tell all the truth, And they'll forgive you. It will not hurt me; I shall be safe—you know me—never fear.
Steward. God grant it may be so. Farewell, dear lord!
[Is going.]
Julian. But add, it was in vain; the signorina Would not consent; therefore I fled alone.
[LILIA stands as before.]
Steward. Can it be so? Good-bye, good-bye, my master!
[Goes.]
Julian. Put your arms round me once, my Lilia. Not once?—not once at parting?
[Rushing feet up the stairs, and along the galleries.]
O God! farewell!
[He clasps her to his heart; leaves her; pushes back the panel, flings open a door, enters, and closes both behind him. LILIA starts suddenly from her fixed bewilderment,
