Tresh.

Ah, Guendolen-good morning.

Guen.

Come in! [She enters.

Nothing more?

Pleasant question! more?

Tresh. What should I say more?
Guen.

This more! Did I besiege poor Mildred's brain
Last night till close on morning with "the Earl "-
"The Earl"-whose worth did I asseverate

Till I am very fain to hope that . . . Thorold,

What is all this?

Tresh.

You laugh at me.

Guen.

Arrived, then?

You are not well!

Who, I?

Has what I'm fain to hope

Does that huge tome show some blot

In the Earl's 'scutcheon come no longer back
Than Arthur's time?

Tresh.

When left you Mildred's chamber?

Guen. Oh late enough, I told you! The main thing To ask is, how I left her chamber,—sure,

Content yourself, she'll grant this paragon

Of Earls no such ungracious . .

I am not well-there is no hiding it.

But tell her I would see her at her leisure—

That is, at once! here in the Library!
The passage in that old Italian book
We hunted for so long is found, say,—found—
And if I let it slip again.. you see,

That she must come-and instantly!

Guen.

I'll die

Piecemeal, record that, if there have not gloomed
Some blot i' the 'scutcheon!

Tresh.

Go! or, Guendolen,

Be you at call,-with Austin, if you choose,

In the adjoining gallery—There, go! [GUENDOLEN goes.
Another lesson to me! you might bid

A child disguise his heart's sore, and conduct
Some sly investigation point by point

With a smooth brow, as well as bid me catch
The inquisitorial cleverness some praise!
If you had told me yesterday, "There's one
"You needs must circumvent and practise with,
"Entrap by policies, if you would worm

"The truth out-and that one is-Mildred!" There

There-reasoning is thrown away on it!

Prove she's unchaste.. why you may after prove

That she's a poisoner, traitress, what you will!
Where I can comprehend nought, nought's to say,
Or do, or think! Force on me but the first

Abomination, then outpour all plagues,

And I shall ne'er make count of them!

Mil.

Enter MILDred.

What book

Is it I wanted, Thorold?

Guendolen

Thought you were pale-you are not pale! That book?

That's Latin surely!

Tresh.

Mildred-here's a line

(Don't lean on me I'll English it for you)

"Love conquers all things." What love conquers them? What love should you esteem-best love?

Mil.

True love.

Tresh. I mean, and should have said, whose love is

best

Of all that love or that profess to love?

Mil. The list's so long-there's father's, mother's, husband's ...

Tresh. Mildred, I do believe a brother's love
For a sole sister must exceed them all!

For see now, only see! there's no alloy
Of earth that creeps into the perfect'st gold
Of other loves-no gratitude to claim;
You never gave her life—not even aught
That keeps life—never tended her, instructed,
Enriched her so your love can claim no right
O'er hers save pure love's claim-that's what I call
Freedom from earthliness. You'll never hope
To be such friends, for instance, she and you,
As when you hunted cowslips in the woods,
Or played together in the meadow hay.

Oh yes-with age, respect comes, and your worth
Is felt, there's growing sympathy of tastes,

There's ripened friendship, there's confirmed esteem,

With her

-Much head these make against the new-comer!
The startling apparition-the strange youth-
Whom one half-hour's conversing with, or, say,
Mere gazing at, shall change (beyond all change
This Ovid ever sang about!) your soul
... Her soul, that is,—the sister's soul!
'Twas winter yesterday; now, all is warmth,
The green leaf's springing and the turtle's voice,
"Arise and come away!" Come whither ?—far
Enough from the esteem, respect, and all
The brother's somewhat insignificant

Array of rights! all which he knows before-
Has calculated on so long ago!

I think such love, (apart from yours and mine,)
Contented with its little term of life,
Intending to retire betimes, aware

How soon the back-ground must be place for it,
I think, am sure, a brother's love exceeds

All the world's loves in its unworldliness.

Mil. What is this for?

Tresh.

This, Mildred, is it for!

Oh, no, I cannot go to it so soon!

That's one of many points my haste left out—

Each day, each hour throws forth its silk-slight film Between the being tied to you by birth,

And you, until those slender threads compose

A web that shrouds her daily life of hopes
And fears and fancies, all her life, from yours—
So close you live and yet so far apart!

And must I rend this web, tear up, break down
The sweet and palpitating mystery

That makes her sacred? You-for you I mean,
Shall I speak-shall I not speak?

Mil.

Tresh.

Is there a story men could—any man

Speak!

I will.

Could tell of you, you would conceal from me?
I'll never think there's falsehood on that lip!
Say "There is no such story men could tell,"
And I'll believe you, tho' I disbelieve

The world.. the world of better men than I,

And women such as I suppose you-Speak!

[After a pause.] Not speak? Explain then! clear it up,

Some of the miserable weight away

That presses lower than the grave!

Some of the dead weight, Mildred!

Not speak?

Ah, if I

Could bring myself to plainly make their charge

Against you! Must I, Mildred? u! Must I, Mildred?

Silent still?

[After a pause.] Is there a gallant that has night by night

Admittance to your chamber?

[After a pause.]

Till

Then, his name!

now, I only had a thought for you—

But now, his name!

Mil.

Thorold, do you devise

Fit expiation for my guilt, if fit

There be ! 'tis nought to say that I'll endure

And bless you, that my spirit yearns to purge