A Blot In The 'Scutcheon [5]
MILDRED. Brown hair.
GUENDOLEN. Brown? why, it IS brown: how could you know that?
MILDRED. How? did not you--Oh, Austin 'twas, declared His hair was light, not brown--my head!--and look, The moon-beam purpling the dark chamber! Sweet, Good night!
GUENDOLEN. Forgive me--sleep the soundlier for me! [Going, she turns suddenly.] Mildred! Perdition! all's discovered! Thorold finds --That the Earl's greatest of all grandmothers Was grander daughter still--to that fair dame Whose garter slipped down at the famous dance! [Goes.]
MILDRED. Is she--can she be really gone at last? My heart! I shall not reach the window. Needs Must I have sinned much, so to suffer. [She lifts the small lamp which is suspended before the Virgin's image in the window, and places it by the purple pane.] There! [She returns to the seat in front.] Mildred and Mertoun! Mildred, with consent Of all the world and Thorold, Mertoun's bride! Too late! 'Tis sweet to think of, sweeter still To hope for, that this blessed end soothes up The curse of the beginning; but I know It comes too late: 'twill sweetest be of all To dream my soul away and die upon. [A noise without.] The voice! Oh why, why glided sin the snake Into the paradise Heaven meant us both? [The window opens softly. A low voice sings.]
There's a woman like a dew-drop, she's so purer than the purest; And her noble heart's the noblest, yes, and her sure faith's the surest: And her eyes are dark and humid, like the depth on depth of lustre Hid i' the harebell, while her tresses, sunnier than the wild-grape cluster, Gush in golden tinted plenty down her neck's rose-misted marble: Then her voice's music... call it the well's bubbling, the bird's warble!
[A figure wrapped in a mantle appears at the window.]
And this woman says, "My days were sunless and my nights were moonless, Parched the pleasant April herbage, and the lark's heart's outbreak tuneless, If you loved me not!" And I who--(ah, for words of flame!) adore her, Who am mad to lay my spirit prostrate palpably before her--
[He enters, approaches her seat, and bends over her.]
I may enter at her portal soon, as now her lattice takes me, And by noontide as by midnight make her mine, as hers she makes me!
[The EARL throws off his slouched hat and long cloak.]
My very heart sings, so I sing, Beloved!
MILDRED. Sit, Henry--do not take my hand!
MERTOUN. 'Tis mine. The meeting that appalled us both so much Is ended.
MILDRED. What begins now?
MERTOUN. Happiness Such as the world contains not.
MILDRED. That is it. Our happiness would, as you say, exceed The whole world's best of blisses: we--do we Deserve that? Utter to your soul, what mine Long since, Beloved, has grown used to hear, Like a death-knell, so much regarded once, And so familiar now; this will not be!
MERTOUN. Oh, Mildred, have I met your brother's face? Compelled myself--if not to speak untruth, Yet to disguise, to shun, to put aside The truth, as--what had e'er prevailed on me Save you to venture? Have I gained at last Your brother, the one scarer of your dreams, And waking thoughts' sole apprehension too? Does a new life, like a young sunrise, break On the strange unrest of our night, confused With rain and stormy flaw--and will you see No dripping blossoms, no fire-tinted drops On each live spray, no vapour steaming up, And no expressless glory in the East? When I am by you, to be ever by you, When I have won you and may worship you, Oh, Mildred, can you say "this will not be"?
MILDRED. Sin has surprised us, so will punishment.
MERTOUN. No--me alone, who sinned alone!
MILDRED. The night You likened our past life to--was it storm Throughout to you then, Henry?
MERTOUN.