A Blot In The 'Scutcheon [7]
not wrong you--you believe That I was ignorant. I scarce grieve o'er The past. We'll love on; you will love me still.
MERTOUN. Oh, to love less what one has injured! Dove, Whose pinion I have rashly hurt, my breast-- Shall my heart's warmth not nurse thee into strength? Flower I have crushed, shall I not care for thee? Bloom o'er my crest, my fight-mark and device! Mildred, I love you and you love me.
MILDRED. Go! Be that your last word. I shall sleep to-night.
MERTOUN. This is not our last meeting?
MILDRED. One night more.
MERTOUN. And then--think, then!
MILDRED. Then, no sweet courtship-days, No dawning consciousness of love for us, No strange and palpitating births of sense >From words and looks, no innocent fears and hopes, Reserves and confidences: morning's over!
MERTOUN. How else should love's perfected noontide follow? All the dawn promised shall the day perform.
MILDRED. So may it be! but-- You are cautious, Love? Are sure that unobserved you scaled the walls?
MERTOUN. Oh, trust me! Then our final meeting's fixed To-morrow night?
MILDRED. Farewell! stay, Henry... wherefore? His foot is on the yew-tree bough; the turf Receives him: now the moonlight as he runs Embraces him--but he must go--is gone. Ah, once again he turns--thanks, thanks, my Love! He's gone. Oh, I'll believe him every word! I was so young, I loved him so, I had No mother, God forgot me, and I fell. There may be pardon yet: all's doubt beyond! Surely the bitterness of death is past.
ACT II
SCENE.--The Library
Enter LORD TRESHAM, hastily
TRESHAM. This way! In, Gerard, quick! [As GERARD enters, TRESHAM secures the door.] Now speak! or, wait-- I'll bid you speak directly. [Seats himself.] Now repeat Firmly and circumstantially the tale You just now told me; it eludes me; either I did not listen, or the half is gone Away from me. How long have you lived here? Here in my house, your father kept our woods Before you?
GERARD. --As his father did, my lord. I have been eating, sixty years almost, Your bread.
TRESHAM. Yes, yes. You ever were of all The servants in my father's house, I know, The trusted one. You'll speak the truth.
GERARD. I'll speak God's truth. Night after night...
TRESHAM. Since when?
GERARD. At least A month--each midnight has some man access To Lady Mildred's chamber.
TRESHAM. Tush, "access"-- No wide words like "access" to me!
GERARD. He runs Along the woodside, crosses to the South, Takes the left tree that ends the avenue...
TRESHAM. The last great yew-tree?
GERARD. You might stand upon The main boughs like a platform. Then he...
TRESHAM. Quick!
GERARD. Climbs up, and, where they lessen at the top, --I cannot see distinctly, but he throws, I think--for this I do not vouch--a line That reaches to the lady's casement--
TRESHAM. --Which He enters not! Gerard, some wretched fool Dares pry into my sister's privacy! When such are young, it seems a precious thing To have approached,--to merely have approached, Got sight of the abode of her they set Their frantic thoughts upon. Ha does not enter? Gerard?
GERARD. There is a lamp that's full i' the midst. Under a red square in the painted glass Of Lady Mildred's...
TRESHAM. Leave that name out! Well? That lamp?
GERARD. Is moved at midnight higher up To one pane--a small dark-blue pane; he waits For that among the boughs: at sight of that, I see him, plain as I see you, my lord, Open the lady's casement, enter there...
TRESHAM. --And stay?
GERARD. An hour, two hours.
TRESHAM.
MERTOUN. Oh, to love less what one has injured! Dove, Whose pinion I have rashly hurt, my breast-- Shall my heart's warmth not nurse thee into strength? Flower I have crushed, shall I not care for thee? Bloom o'er my crest, my fight-mark and device! Mildred, I love you and you love me.
MILDRED. Go! Be that your last word. I shall sleep to-night.
MERTOUN. This is not our last meeting?
MILDRED. One night more.
MERTOUN. And then--think, then!
MILDRED. Then, no sweet courtship-days, No dawning consciousness of love for us, No strange and palpitating births of sense >From words and looks, no innocent fears and hopes, Reserves and confidences: morning's over!
MERTOUN. How else should love's perfected noontide follow? All the dawn promised shall the day perform.
MILDRED. So may it be! but-- You are cautious, Love? Are sure that unobserved you scaled the walls?
MERTOUN. Oh, trust me! Then our final meeting's fixed To-morrow night?
MILDRED. Farewell! stay, Henry... wherefore? His foot is on the yew-tree bough; the turf Receives him: now the moonlight as he runs Embraces him--but he must go--is gone. Ah, once again he turns--thanks, thanks, my Love! He's gone. Oh, I'll believe him every word! I was so young, I loved him so, I had No mother, God forgot me, and I fell. There may be pardon yet: all's doubt beyond! Surely the bitterness of death is past.
ACT II
SCENE.--The Library
Enter LORD TRESHAM, hastily
TRESHAM. This way! In, Gerard, quick! [As GERARD enters, TRESHAM secures the door.] Now speak! or, wait-- I'll bid you speak directly. [Seats himself.] Now repeat Firmly and circumstantially the tale You just now told me; it eludes me; either I did not listen, or the half is gone Away from me. How long have you lived here? Here in my house, your father kept our woods Before you?
GERARD. --As his father did, my lord. I have been eating, sixty years almost, Your bread.
TRESHAM. Yes, yes. You ever were of all The servants in my father's house, I know, The trusted one. You'll speak the truth.
GERARD. I'll speak God's truth. Night after night...
TRESHAM. Since when?
GERARD. At least A month--each midnight has some man access To Lady Mildred's chamber.
TRESHAM. Tush, "access"-- No wide words like "access" to me!
GERARD. He runs Along the woodside, crosses to the South, Takes the left tree that ends the avenue...
TRESHAM. The last great yew-tree?
GERARD. You might stand upon The main boughs like a platform. Then he...
TRESHAM. Quick!
GERARD. Climbs up, and, where they lessen at the top, --I cannot see distinctly, but he throws, I think--for this I do not vouch--a line That reaches to the lady's casement--
TRESHAM. --Which He enters not! Gerard, some wretched fool Dares pry into my sister's privacy! When such are young, it seems a precious thing To have approached,--to merely have approached, Got sight of the abode of her they set Their frantic thoughts upon. Ha does not enter? Gerard?
GERARD. There is a lamp that's full i' the midst. Under a red square in the painted glass Of Lady Mildred's...
TRESHAM. Leave that name out! Well? That lamp?
GERARD. Is moved at midnight higher up To one pane--a small dark-blue pane; he waits For that among the boughs: at sight of that, I see him, plain as I see you, my lord, Open the lady's casement, enter there...
TRESHAM. --And stay?
GERARD. An hour, two hours.
TRESHAM.