The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume I Part 11

_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 murderer!

_Lilia_.

Oh no, I love you-- Will never leave you. Pardon me, my Julian; But blood is terrible.

_Julian_ (_drawing her close to him_).

My own sweet Lilia, 'Twas justly shed, for your defense and mine, As it had been a tiger that I killed.

He had no right to live. Be at peace, darling; His blood lies not on me, but on himself; I do not feel its stain upon my conscience.

[_A tap at the door_.]

_Enter_ Nurse.

_Nurse_.

My lord, the steward waits on you below.

[JULIAN _goes_.]

You have been standing till you're faint, my lady!

Lie down a little. There!--I'll fetch you something.

SCENE XVI.--_The Steward's room_. JULIAN. _The Steward_.

_Julian_.

Well, Joseph, that will do. I shall expect To hear from you soon after my arrival.

Is the boat ready?

_Steward_.

Yes, my lord; afloat Where you directed.

_Julian_.

A strange feeling haunts me, As of some danger near. Unlock it, and cast The chain around the post. m.u.f.fle the oars.

_Steward_.

I will, directly.

[_Goes_.]

_Julian_.

How shall I manage it?

I have her father's leave, but have not dared To tell her all; and she must know it first!

She fears me half, even now: what will she think To see my shaven head? My heart is free-- I know that G.o.d absolves mistaken vows.

I looked for help in the high search from those Who knew the secret place of the Most High.

If I had known, would I have bound myself Brother to men from whose low, marshy minds Never a lark springs to salute the day?

The loftiest of them dreamers, and the best Content with goodness growing like moss on stones!

It cannot be G.o.d's will I should be such.

But there was more: they virtually condemned Me in my quest; would have had me content To kneel with them around a wayside post, Nor heed the pointing finger at its top?

It was the dull abode of foolishness: Not such the house where G.o.d would train his children!

My very birth into a world of men Shows me the school where he would have me learn; Shows me the place of penance; shows the field Where I must fight and die victorious, Or yield and perish. True, I know not how This will fall out: he must direct my way!

But then for her--she cannot see all this; Words will not make it plain; and if they would, The time is shorter than the words would need: This overshadowing bodes nearing ill.-- It _may_ be only vapour, of the heat Of too much joy engendered; sudden fear That the fair gladness is too good to live: The wider prospect from the steep hill's crest, The deeper to the vale the cliff goes down; But how will she receive it? Will she think I have been mocking her? How could I help it?

Her illness and my danger! But, indeed, So strong was I in truth, I never thought Her doubts might prove a hindrance in the way.

My love did make her so a part of me, I never dreamed she might judge otherwise, Until our talk of yesterday. And now Her horror at Nembroni's death confirms me: To wed a monk will seem to her the worst Of crimes which in a fever one might dream.

I cannot take the truth, and, bodily, Hold it before her eyes. She is not strong.

She loves me--not as I love her. But always --There's Robert for an instance--I have loved A life for what it might become, far more Than for its present: there's a germ in her Of something n.o.ble, much beyond her now: Chance gleams betray it, though she knows it not.

This evening must decide it, come what will.

SCENE XVII.--_The inn; the room which had been_ JULIAN'S. STEPHEN, Host, _and_ Hostess. _Wine on the table_.

_Stephen_.

Here, my good lady, let me fill your gla.s.s; Then send the bottle on, please, to your husband.

_Hostess_.

I thank you, sir; I hope you like the wine; My husband's choice is praised. I cannot say I am a judge myself.

_Host_.

I'm confident It needs but to be tasted.

_Stephen_ (_tasting critically, then nodding_).

That is wine!

Let me congratulate you, my good sir, Upon your exquisite judgment!

_Host_.

Thank you, sir.

_Stephen_ (_to the_ Hostess).

And so this man, you say, was here until The night the count was murdered: did he leave Before or after that?

_Hostess_.