Lily (beseechingly). Not yet. Don't tell me go to sleep again; It makes me so, so frightened! Take me up, And let me sit upon your knee.—Where's mother? I cannot see her.
Julian. She's not at home, my child; But soon she will be back.
Lily. But if she walk Out in the dark streets—so dark, it will catch her.
Julian. She will not walk—but what would catch her, sweet?
Lily. I don't know. Tell me a story till she comes.
Julian (taking her, and sitting with her on his knees by the fire). Come then, my little Lily, I will tell you A story I have read this very night.
[She looks in his face.]
There was a man who had a little boy,
And when the boy grew big, he went and asked
His father to give him a purse of money.
His father gave him such a large purse full!
And then he went away and left his home.
You see he did not love his father much.
Lily. Oh! didn't he?—If he had, he wouldn't have gone!
Julian. Away he went, far far away he went, Until he could not even spy the top Of the great mountain by his father's house. And still he went away, away, as if He tried how far his feet could go away; Until he came to a city huge and wide, Like London here.
Lily. Perhaps it was London.
Julian. Perhaps it was, my child. And there he spent All, all his father's money, buying things That he had always told him were not worth, And not to buy them; but he would and did.
Lily. How very naughty of him!
Julian. Yes, my child. And so when he had spent his last few pence, He grew quite hungry. But he had none left To buy a piece of bread. And bread was scarce; Nobody gave him any. He had been Always so idle, that he could not work. But at last some one sent him to feed swine.
Lily. Swine! Oh!
Julian. Yes, swine: 'twas all that he could do; And he was glad to eat some of their food.
[She stares at him.]
But at the last, hunger and waking love
Made him remember his old happy home.
"How many servants in my father's house
Have plenty, and to spare!" he said. "I'll go
And say, 'I have done very wrong, my father;
I am not worthy to be called your son;
Put me among your servants, father, please.'"
Then he rose up and went; but thought the road
So much, much farther to walk back again,
When he was tired and hungry. But at last
He saw the blue top of the great big hill
That stood beside his father's house; and then
He walked much faster. But a great way off,
His father saw him coming, lame and weary
With his long walk; and very different
From what he had been. All his clothes were hanging
In tatters, and his toes stuck through his shoes—
[She bursts into tears.]
Lily (sobbing). Like that poor beggar I saw yesterday?
Julian. Yes, my dear child.
Lily. And was he dirty too?
Julian. Yes, very dirty; he had been so long Among the swine.
Lily. Is it all true though, father?
Julian. Yes, my darling; all true, and truer far Than you can think.
Lily. What was his father like?
Julian. A tall, grand, stately man.
Lily. Like you, dear father?
Julian. Like me, only much grander.
Lily. I love you The best though.
[Kissing him.]
Julian. Well, all dirty as he was, And thin, and pale, and torn, with staring eyes, His father knew him, the first look, far off, And ran so fast to meet him! put his arms Around his neck and kissed him.
Lily. Oh, how dear! I love him too;—but not so well as you.
[Sound of a carriage drawing up.]
Julian. There is your mother.
Lily. I am glad, so glad!
Enter LILIA, looking pale.
Lilia. You naughty child, why are you not in bed?
Lily (pouting). I am not naughty. I am afraid to go, Because you don't go with me into sleep; And when I see things, and you are not there, Nor father, I am so frightened, I cry out, And stretch my hands, and so I come awake. Come with me into sleep, dear mother; come.
Lilia. What a strange child it is! There! (kissing her) go to bed.
[Lays her down.]
Julian (gazing on the child). As thou art in thy dreams without thy mother, So are we lost in life without our God.
SCENE IV.—LILIA in bed. The room lighted from a gas-lamp in the street; the bright shadow of the window on the wall and ceiling.
Lilia. Oh, it is dreary, dreary! All the time My thoughts would wander to my dreary home. Through every dance, my soul walked evermore In a most dreary dance through this same room. I saw these walls, this carpet; and I heard, As now, his measured step in the next chamber, Go pacing up and down, and I shut out! He is too good for me, I weak for him. Yet if he put his arms around me once, And held me fast as then, kissed me as then, My soul, I think, would come again to me, And pass from me in trembling love to him. But he repels me now. He loves me, true,— Because I am his wife: he ought to love me! Me, the cold statue, thus he drapes with duty. Sometimes he waits upon me like a maid, Silent with watchful eyes. Oh, would to Heaven, He used me like a slave
