My thought?
MILDRED. All of it!
TRESHAM. How we waded years--ago--
After those water-lilies, till the plash,
I know not how, surprised us; and you dared
Neither advance nor turn back: so, we stood
Laughing and crying until Gerard came--
Once safe upon the turf, the loudest too,
For once more reaching the relinquished prize!
How idle thoughts are, some men's, dying men's!
Mildred,--
MILDRED. You call me kindlier by my name
Than even yesterday: what is in that?
TRESHAM. It weighs so much upon my mind that I
This morning took an office not my own!
I might... of course, I must be glad or grieved,
Content or not, at every little thing
That touches you. I may with a wrung heart
Even reprove you, Mildred; I did more:
Will you forgive me?
MILDRED. Thorold? do you mock?
Oh no... and yet you bid me... say that word!
TRESHAM. Forgive me, Mildred!--are you silent, Sweet?
MILDRED [starting up]. Why does not Henry Mertoun come to-night?
Are you, too, silent?
[Dashing his mantle aside, and pointing to his scabbard,
which is empty.]
Ah, this speaks for you!
You've murdered Henry Mertoun! Now proceed!
What is it I must pardon? This and all?
Well, I do pardon you--I think I do.
Thorold, how very wretched you must be!
TRESHAM. He bade me tell you...
MILDRED. What I do forbid
Your utterance of! So much that you may tell
And will not--how you murdered him.
Pages:
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55