LITMIR.BIZ

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My lord, her mind is wandering; she is raving; She's in a dreadful fever. We must send To Arli for the doctor, else her life Will be in danger.

      Julian (rising disturbed). Go and fetch your daughter. Between you, take her to my room, yours now. I'll see her there. I think you can together!

      Nurse. O yes, my lord; she is so thin, poor child!

      [Nurse goes.]

      Julian. I ought to know the way to treat a fever, If it be one of twenty. Hers has come Of low food, wasting, and anxiety. I've seen enough of that in Prague and Smyrna!

      SCENE IX.—The Abbot's room in the monastery. The Abbot.

      Abbot. 'Tis useless all. No trace of him found yet. One hope remains: that fellow has a head!

      Enter STEPHEN.

      Stephen, I have sent for you, because I am told

       You said to-day, if I commissioned you,

       You'd scent him out, if skulking in his grave.

      Stephen. I did, my lord.

      Abbot. How would you do it, Stephen?

      Stephen. Try one plan till it failed; then try another; Try half-a-dozen plans at once; keep eyes And ears wide open, and mouth shut, my lord: Your bull-dog sometimes makes the best retriever. I have no plan; but, give me time and money, I'll find him out.

      Abbot. Stephen, you're just the man I have been longing for. Get yourself ready.

      SCENE X.—Towards morning. The Nurse's room. LILIA in bed. JULIAN watching.

      Julian. I think she sleeps. Would God it be so; then She will do well. What strange things she has spoken! My heart is beating as if it would spend Its life in this one night, and beat it out. And well it may, for there is more of life In one such moment than in many years! Pure life is measured by intensity, Not by the how much of the crawling clock. Is that a bar of moonlight stretched across The window-blind? or is it but a band Of whiter cloth my thrifty dame has sewed Upon the other?—'Tis the moon herself, Low in the west. 'Twas such a moon as this—

      Lilia (half-asleep, wildly). If Julian had been here, you dared not do it!— Julian! Julian!

      [Half-rising.]

      Julian (forgetting his caution, and going up to her). I am here, my Lilia. Put your head down, my love. 'Twas all a dream, A terrible dream. Gone now—is it not?

      [She looks at him with wide restless eyes; then sinks back on the pillow. He leaves her.]

      How her dear eyes bewildered looked at me!

       But her soul's eyes are closed. If this last long

       She'll die before my sight, and Joy will lead

       In by the hand her sister, Grief, pale-faced,

       And leave her to console my solitude.

       Ah, what a joy! I dare not think of it!

       And what a grief! I will not think of that!

       Love? and from her? my beautiful, my own!

       O God, I did not know thou wast so rich

       In making and in giving; did not know

       The gathered glory of this earth of thine.

       What! wilt thou crush me with an infinite joy?

       Make me a god by giving? Wilt thou take

       Thy centre-thought of living beauty, born

       In thee, and send it home to dwell with me?

      [He leans on the wall.]

      Lilia (softly). Am I in heaven? There's something makes me glad, As if I were in heaven! Yes, yes, I am. I see the flashing of ten thousand glories; I hear the trembling of a thousand wings, That vibrate music on the murmuring air! Each tiny feather-blade crushes its pool Of circling air to sound, and quivers music!— What is it, though, that makes me glad like this? I knew, but cannot find it—I forget. It must be here—what was it?—Hark! the fall, The endless going of the stream of life!— Ah me! I thirst, I thirst,—I am so thirsty!

      [Querulously.]

      [JULIAN gives her drink, supporting her. She looks at him again, with large wondering eyes.]

      Ah! now I know—I was so very thirsty!

      [He lays her down. She is comforted, and falls asleep. He extinguishes the light, and looks out of the window.]

      Julian. The gray earth dawning up, cold, comfortless; With its obtrusive I am written large Upon its face!

      [Approaches the bed, and gazes on LILIA silently with clasped hands; then returns to the window.]

      She sleeps so peacefully!

       O God, I thank thee: thou hast sent her sleep.

       Lord, let it sink into her heart and brain.

      Enter Nurse.

      Oh, nurse, I'm glad you're come! She is asleep.

       You must be near her when she wakes again.

       I think she'll be herself. But do be careful—

       Right cautious how you tell her I am here.

       Sweet woman-child, may God be in your sleep!

      [JULIAN goes.]

      Nurse. Bless her white face, she looks just like my daughter, That's now a saint in heaven! Just those thin cheeks, And eyelids hardly closed over her eyes!— Dream on, poor darling! you are drinking life From the breast of sleep. And yet I fain would see Your shutters open, for I then should know Whether the soul had drawn her curtains back, To peep at morning from her own bright windows. Ah! what a joy is ready, waiting her, To break her fast upon, if her wild dreams Have but betrayed her secrets honestly! Will he not give thee love as dear as thine!

      SCENE XI.—A hilly road. STEPHEN, trudging alone, pauses to look around him.

      Stephen. Not a footprint! not a trace that a blood-hound would nose at! But Stephen shall be acknowledged good dog and true. If I had him within stick-length—mind thy head, brother Julian! Thou hast not hair enough to protect it, and thy tonsure shall not. Neither shalt thou tarry at Jericho.—It is a poor man that leaves no trail; and if thou wert poor, I would not follow thee.

      [Sings.]

      Oh, many a hound is stretching out

       His two legs or his four,

       And the saddled horses stand about

       The court and the castle door,

       Till out come the baron, jolly and stout,

       To hunt the bristly boar!

      The emperor, he doth keep a pack

       In his antechambers standing,

       And up and down the stairs, good lack!

       And eke upon the landing:

       A straining leash, and a quivering back,

       And nostrils and chest expanding!

      The devil a hunter long hath been,

       Though Doctor Luther said it:

       Of his canon-pack he was the dean,

       And merrily he led it:

       The old one kept them swift and lean

       On faith—that's devil's credit!

      Each

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