The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume I Part 12

I cannot tell; He left, I know, before it was discovered.

In the middle of the storm, like one possessed, He rushed into the street, half tumbling me Headlong down stairs, and never came again.

He had paid his bill that morning, luckily; So joy go with him! Well, he was an odd one!

_Stephen_.

What was he like, fair Hostess?

_Hostess_.

Tall and dark, And with a lowering look about his brows.

He seldom spoke, but, when he did, was civil.

One queer thing was, he always wore his hat, Indoors as well as out. I dare not say He murdered Count Nembroni; but it was strange He always sat at that same window there, And looked into the street. 'Tis not as if There were much traffic in the village now; These are changed times; but I have seen the day--

_Stephen_.

Excuse me; you were saying that the man Sat at the window--

_Hostess_.

Yes; even after dark He would sit on, and never call for lights.

The first night, I brought candles, as of course; He let me set them on the table, true; But soon's my back was turned, he put them out.

_Stephen_.

Where is the lady?

_Hostess_.

That's the strangest thing Of all the story: she has disappeared, As well as he. There lay the count, stone-dead, White as my ap.r.o.n. The whole house was empty, Just as I told you.

_Stephen_.

Has no search been made?

_Host_.

The closest search; a thousand pieces offered For any information that should lead To the murderer's capture. I believe his brother, Who is his heir, they say, is still in town, Seeking in vain for some intelligence.

_Stephen_.

'Tis very odd; the oddest thing I've heard For a long time. Send me a pen and ink; I have to write some letters.

_Hostess (rising_).

Thank you, sir, For your kind entertainment.

[_Exeunt Host and Hostess_.]

_Stephen_.

We've found the badger's hole; we'll draw him next. He couldn't have gone far with her and not be seen. My life on it, there are plenty of holes and corners in the old house over the way. Run off with a wench! Holy brother Julian! Contemptuous brother Julian! Stand-by-thyself brother Julian! Run away with a wench at last! Well, there's a downfall! He'll be for marrying her on the sly, and away!--I know the old fox!--for her conscience-sake, probably not for his!

Well, one comfort is, it's d.a.m.nation and no reprieve.

The ungrateful, atheistical heretic! As if the good old mother wasn't indulgent enough to the foibles of her children! The worthy lady has winked so hard at her dutiful sons, that she's nearly blind with winking. There's nothing in a little affair with a girl now and then; but to marry, and knock one's vows on the head! Therein is displayed a little ancestral fact as to a certain respectable progenitor, commonly portrayed as the knight of the cloven foot. _Keep back thy servant_, &c.--Purgatory couldn't cleanse that; and more, 'twill never have the chance. Heaven be about us from harm! Amen. I'll go find the new count. The Church shall have the castle and estate; Revenge, in the person of the new count, the body of Julian; and Stephen may as well have the thousand pieces as not.

SCENE XVIII.--_Night. The Nurse's room_. LILIA; _to her_ JULIAN.

_Lilia_.

How changed he is! Yet he looks very n.o.ble.

_Enter_ JULIAN.

_Julian_.

My Lilia, will you go to England with me?

_Lilia_.

Julian, my father!

_Julian_.

Not without his leave.

He says, G.o.d bless us both.

_Lilia_.

Leave him in prison?

_Julian_.

No, Lilia; he's at liberty and safe, And far from this ere now.

_Lilia_.

You have done this, My n.o.ble Julian! I will go with you To sunset, if you will. My father gone!

Julian, there's none to love me now but you.

You _will_ love me, Julian?--always?

_Julian_.

I but fear That your heart, Lilia, is not big enough To hold the love wherewith my heart would fill it.

_Lilia_.

I know why you think that; and I deserve it.

But try me, Julian. I was very silly.

I could not help it. I was ill, you know; Or weak at least. May I ask you, Julian, How your arm is to-day?

_Julian_.

Almost well, child.

Twill leave an ugly scar, though, I'm afraid.

_Lilia_.

Never mind that, if it be well again.

_Julian_.

I do not mind it; but when I remember That I am all yours, then I grudge that scratch Or stain should be upon me--soul, body, yours.

And there are more scars on me now than I Should like to make you own, without confession.

_Lilia_.

My poor, poor Julian! never think of it;

[_Putting her arms round him_.]

I will but love you more. I thought you had Already told me suffering enough; But not the half, it seems, of your adventures.

You have been a soldier!