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      Sunday

My dear Watts

Your affec:

DGR      

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• “Sister,” said busy Amelotte
• To listless Aloÿse;
• “Along your wedding-road the wheat
• Bends as as if listening/hearkening for your to hear your palfrey's horse's feet,
• And the noonday stands still for heat.”

Deleted Text
Ah! sister, sister Aloÿse,
Keep watch through
all those fields.
Upon your bridesmaid at your
side;
For if I wear my years
with pride
I too this day may
be a bride.“

• Amelotte laughed into the glass air
• With eyes that sought the sun:
• But where the walls in with long brocade
• Stretched dim, Were wrought screened, as one who is afraid
• 10Sat Aloÿse within the shade.

• And even in shade was gleam enough light
• To shut out rest and peace full repose
• From the grand bridal-chamber, bride's 'tiring-chamber, which
• Was like the inner altar-niche
• Whose darkness splendour has made rich.

Deleted Text
The window was a wall of glass
Clear-latticed for the day
Beneath, where all its panes were white:
Above, it stood the chamber's height,
A maze of colour drenched with light.

• Within the window's heaped recess
• The light was counterchanged
• With thin In blent reflexes manifold
• From perfume-caskets of wrought gold
• And gems the bride's hair could not hold

• All thrust together: and with these
• A slim-curved lute, which now,
• At Amelotte's sudden passing there,
• Was swept in somewise unaware,
• And shook to music the close air.

Deleted Text
The window was a wall of glass
Clear-latticed for the day
Beneath, where all its panes were white:
Above, it stood the chamber's height,
A maze of colour drenched with light.

• Against the haloed lattice warm
• The bridesmaid sunned her breast;
• Then to the her the glass turned tall and free,
• And braced and shifted daintily
• 20Her loin-belt through her côte-hardie.

• The belt was silver, and the clasp
• Of lozenged [?] arm-bearings;
• A world of A thousand A world of [?] A world of mirrored tints minute
• The rippling sunshine wrought into't
• And bloomed her tender hands like fruit.
  Added TextThat flushed her hand and warmed her foot.

• At least an hour had Aloÿse,—
• With Her jewels in her hair—
• Clad in white samite, as a bride,
  Added TextHer white gown, as became a bride,
• Quartered in silver at each side,—
• 30Sat thus aloof, as if to hide.

• Over her bosom, that lay still,
• The vest was rich in grain,
• With close pearls wholly overset:
• Bound Around her long throat the fastenings met
• Of chevesayle and mantelet.

• Her arms were laid along her lap
• With the hands open: life
• Itself did seem at fault in her:
• Beneath the drooping brows, the stir
• 40Of thought made noonday heavier.

• Long sat she silent; and then raised
• Her head, with such a gasp
• As while she summoned breath to speak
• Fanned high that furnace in the cheek
• But sucked the heart-pulse cold and weak.

• (Oh gather round her now, all ye
• Past seasons of her fear,—
• Sick springs, and summers deadly cold!
• For In To flight your waiting hovering wings unfold,
• 50For now your secret shall be told.

• Ye many sunlights, barbed with darts
• Of dread detecting flame,—
• Gaunt moonlights that like sentinels
• Went past with iron clank of bells,—
• Draw round and render up your spells!)

• “Sister,” said Aloÿse, “I had
• A thing to tell thee of
• Long since, and could not. But do thou
• Kneel first in prayer awhile, and bow
• 60Thine heart, and I will tell thee now.”

• Amelotte wondered with her eyes;
• But her heart said in her:
• “Dear Aloÿse would have me pray
• Because the awe she feels to-day
• Must need more prayers than she can say.”

• So Amelotte put by the folds
• That covered up her feet,
• And knelt,—beyond the arras'd gloom
• And the hot window's dull perfume,—
• 70Where day was stillest in the room.

• “Queen Mary, hear,” she said, “and say
• To Jesus the Lord Christ,
• This bride's new joy, which He confers,
• Like New joy to many ministers,
• And many griefs are bound in hers.”

Deleted Text
Aloÿse shut her fingers hard,
And shut her eyes, and spoke:
“Keep kneeling still, sweet Amelotte,”
She said, “lest when thy love be not
Enough, and scorn possess thy thought.

Deleted Text
“Thou seest not (for it was not seen )
All I have borne & bear:—
That all is not enough, I know:
If When from my speech thy [?] doth disdain shall grow,
Remember that the thing is so.”

• Sweet Amelotte The bride turned Then turned she The bride turned in her chair, and hid
• Her face against the back,
• And , trembling, took her pearl gold-girt elbows in
• Her hands, and could not yet begin,
• 80But merely uttered uttered one name, shuddering, uttered, “Urscelyn!”.

• Most weak she was; for as she pressed
• Her hand against her throat,
• Along the arras she let trail
• Her face, as if all heart did fail,
• And sat with shut eyes, dumb and pale.

• Amelotte still was on her knees
• As she had kneeled to pray.
• Deeming her sister swooned, she thought,
• At first, some succour to have brought;
• 80But seeing her hands move, did not Aloÿse rocked, as one distraught.

• She would have pushed the lattice wide
• To gain what breeze might be;
• But marking that no leaf once beat
• The outside casement, it seemed meet
• Not to bring in more scent and heat.

• So she said only: “Aloÿse,
• Sister, when happened it
• At any time that the bride came
• To ill, or spoke in fear of shame,
• 90When speaking first the bridegroom's name?”

• A bird had out its song and ceased
• Ere the bride spoke. At length
• She said: “The name is as the thing:
• Sin hath no second christening,
• And shame is all that shame can bring.

• “In divers places more than once
• I would have told thee this;
• But faintness took me, or a fit
• Like fever. God would not permit
• 100That I should change thine eyes with it.”

• “Yet once I spoke, hadst thou but heard:—
• That time we wandered out
• All the sun's hours, but missed our way
• When evening darkened, and so lay
• The whole night covered up in hay.

• “At last my face was hidden: so,
• Having God's hint, I paused
• Not long; but drew myself more near
• Where thou wast laid, and shook off fear,
• 110And whispered quick into thine ear

• Something of the whole tale. At first
• I lay and bit my hair
• For the sore silence thou didst keep:
• Till, as thy breath came long & deep,
• I knew that thou hadst been asleep.

• The moon was covered, but the stars
• Lasted till morning broke.
• Awake, thou told'st me that thy dream
• Had been of me,—that all did seem
• 120At jar,—but that it was a dream.

• I knew God's hand and might not speak.
• After that night I kept
• Silence and let the record swell:
• Till now there is much more to tell
• Which must be told out ill or well.”

Deleted Text
“Mary and Christ! Lest when 'tis told
I should be prone to wrath,—
This prayer beforehand! How she errs
Soe'er, take count of grief like hers,
Whereof the days are turned to years!”

• She paused then, weary, with dry lips
• Apart. From the outside
• By fits there boomed a dull report
• From where i' the hanging tennis-court
• 130The bridegroom's retinue made sport.

• The room lay still in dusty glare,
• Having no sound through through it
• Except the chirp of a caged bird
• That came & ceased: and if she stirred,
• Amelotte's raiment could be heard.

• Quoth Amelotte: “The night this chanced
• Was a late summer night
• Last year! What secret, for Christ's love,
• Keep'st thou since then? Mary above!
• 140What thing is this thou speakest of?”

• She bowed her head neck, and having said,
• Kept on her knees to hear;
• And then, because strained thought demands
• Quiet before it understands,
• Darkened her eyesight with her hands.

• So when at last her sister spoke,
• She did not see the pain
• O' the mouth nor the ashamèd eyes,
• But marked the breath that came in sighs
• 150And the half-pausing for replies.

• The speech went thus, or hard on it
  Added TextThis was the bride's sad prelude-strain:—
• “I' the convent where the a girl
• I was grew up to dwelt till near my womanhood,
• I had but preachings of the rood
• And Aves told in solitude

• “To spend my heart on: and my hand
• Had but the weary skill
• To eke out upon silken cloth
• Christ's visage, or the long bright growth
• 160Of Mary's hair, or Satan wroth.

• “So when at last I went, and thou,
• A child not known before,
• Didst come to take the place I left,—
• My limbs, after such lifelong theft
• Of life, could be but little deft

• “In all that ministers delight
• To noble women: I
• Had learned no duress such as yours word of love's youth's discourse
• Nor gazed on games of warriors,
• 170Nor trained a hound, nor ruled a horse.

• “Besides, the ir daily life i' the sun
• Made me at first hold back.
• To thee this came at once; to me
• It crept with pauses timidly;
• I am not blithe and strong like thee.

• “Yet my feet liked the dances well,
• The songs went to my voice,
• The music made me shake and weep;
• And often, all night long, my sleep
• 180Gave dreams I had been fain to keep.

• “But though I loved not holy things,
• To hear them scorned brought pain,—
• They were my childhood; and these dames
• Were only merely perjured in saints' names
• And fixed upon saints' days for games.

• “And sometimes when my father rode
• To hunt with his loud friends,
• I dared not bring him to be quaff e'd,
• As my wont was, his stirrup-draught,
• 190Because they jested so and laugh'd.

• “At last one day my brothers said,
• “The girl must not grow thus,—
• Bring her a jennet,—she shall ride.”
• They helped my mounting, and I tried
• To seem laugh with them and keep their side.

• “But the end was I took a fall,
  Added Text“But brakes were rough and bents were steep
• And when I strove to rise
  Added TextUpon our path that day:
• My strength was gone; and so I sunk; so catching breath, I went My strength had left me; so I went
  Added TextMy palfrey threw me; and I went
• Home on men's shoulders, hurt & faint,
  Added TextUpon men's shoulders home, sore spent,
• 200
  Added TextWhile the hun chase followed up the scent.

• “ The Our shrift-father, (and he alone
• Of all the household there
• Had skill in leechcraft,) was away
• So, tossing on my couch, I lay
  Added TextWhen I reached home. I tossed, and lay
• Sullen with anguish the whole day.

• “For the day passed ere some one brought
• To mind that in the hunt
• Rode a young lord she named, long bred
• Among the priests, whose art (she said)
• 210Might chance to stand me in much stead.

• “I bade them seek and summon him:
• But long ere this, the chase
• Had scattered, and he was not found.
• I lay in the same weary stound,
• Therefore, until the night came round.

• “It was dead night and near on twelve
• When the horse-tramp at length
• Beat up the echoes of the court:
• By then, my feverish pulse came breath pulse breath was short
• 220With pain the sense could scarce support.

• “My dearest fond nurse sitting near my feet
• Rose softly,—her lamp's flame
• Held in her hand, lest it should make
• My heated lids, in passing, ache;
• And she passed softly, for my sake.

• “Returning soon, she brought the youth
• They spoke of. Meek he seemed,
• But good knights held him of stout heart.
• He was akin to us in part,
• 230And bore our shield, but barred athwart.

• “I now remembered to have seen
• His face, and heard him praised
• For letter-lore and medicine,
• Seeing his youth was nurtured in
• Priests' knowledge, as mine own had been.”

• The bride's voice did not weaken here,
• Yet by her sudden pause
• She seemed to look for questioning;
• Or else (small need though) 'twas to bring
• 240Well to her mind the long known the bygone thing.

• Her thought, long stagnant, stirred by speech,
• Gave her a sick recoil;
• As, dip thy fingers through the green
• That masks a pool,—where they have been
• The naked depth is black between.

• Amelotte kept her knees; her face
• Was shut within her hands,
• And had As it had been throughout the tale;
• Her forehead's whiteness might avail
• 250Nothing to say if she were pale.

• Although the lattice had dropped loose,
• There was no wind; the heat
• Being so at rest that Amelotte
• Heard far beneath the plunge & float
• Of a hound washing swimming in the moat.

• Some minutes since, a two rook s had toiled
• Back Home to its the nests built deep that crowned
• In buttress-coign. Ancestral ash-trees. Into Through the glare
• Beating again, it they seemed to tear
• 260With that thick caw the woof o' the air.

• But else, 'twas at the dead of noon
• Absolute silence; all,
• From the raised bridge and guarded sconce
• To green-clad places of pleasaùnce
• Where the long lake was white with swans.

• Amelotte spoke not any word
• Nor moved she once; but felt
• Between her hands in narrow space
• Her own hot breath upon her face,
• 270And kept in silence the same place.

• Aloÿse did not hear at all
• The sounds without. She heard
• The inward voice (past help obey e 'd)
• Which not [?] might not slacken nor be stay'd,
• But urged her till the whole were said.

• Therefore she spoke again: “That night
• There was not much to do:
  Added TextBut little could be done:
• He took my foot into his hands,
  Added TextMy foot, held in my nurse's hands,
• And He swathed it up heedfully in bands,
• 280And for my rest gave close commands.

• “I slept till noon, but an ill sleep
• Of dreams: through all that day
• My side was stiff and caught the breath;
• Next day, such pain as sickeneth
• Took me, and I was nigh to death.

• “At least I thought so. This endured
  Added Text“Life strove, Death claimed me for his own
• Some Through days and nights: but now
• 'Twas the shrift good father tended me,
• Having returned. Still, I did see
• 290The youth I spoke of constantly.

• “For he would with my brothers come
• To stay beside my couch,
• And fix my eyes against his own,
• Noting my pulse; or else alone,
• To sit at gaze while I made moan.

• Those n “(Some nights I knew he kept the watch,
• Because my women laid
• The rushes thick for his steel shoes.)
• Through many days this pain did use
• 300The life God would not let me lose.

• “At length, I bettered and would walk, with my good nurse to aid,
• But not without some help.
  Added TextI could walk forth again:
• And still, as one who broods or grieves,
• At noons I'd meet him and at eves,
• With idle feet that drove the leaves.

Added Text
Little we said; nor one heart heard
Even what was said within;
And, faltering some farewell, I soon
Rose up; but then i'the autumn noon
My feeble brain whirled like a swoon.

• “The day when I first walked alone
• Was dead thinned in grass and leaf,
• And yet a goodly day o' the year:
• The bird's long throstle's last bird's cry upon mine ear
• 310Left my brain weak, it was so clear.

• “The tears were sharp within mine eyes;
• I sat down, being glad,
• And wept; but stayed the sudden flow
• Anon, for footsteps that fell slow;
• 'Twas that youth passed me, bowing low.

• “He passed me without speech; but when,
• At least an hour gone by,
• Rethreading the same covert, he
• Saw I was still beneath the tree,
• 320He spoke and sat him down with me.

Deleted Text
“He said but little and I less;
He was not well at ease,
Nor I; so, feeling such constraint,
I rose, with, “ Sir, 'twere time I went;”
But rising, I was like to faint.

• “He made me sit. “Cousin, I grieve
• Your sickness stays by you.”
• “I would,” said I, “that you did err
• So grieving. I am wearier
• 330 Than I can tell you of it, Sir.”
  Added TextThan death, of the sickening dying year.”

• “He answered: ”If your weariness
• Accepts a remedy,
• I hold one & can give it you.”
• I gazed: “What ministers thereto,
• Be sure,“ I said, ”that I will do.”

• “He went on quickly:—'Twas a cure
• He had not ever named
• Unto our kin lest they should stint
• Their favour, for some foolish hint
• 340Of wizardry or magic in't:

• “But that if he were let to come
• Within my bower that night,
• (My women still attending me,
• He said, while he remain'd there,) he
• Could teach me the cure privily.

• “I bade him come that night. He came;
• But little in his speech
• Was cure or sickness spoken of,
• Only a passionate fierce love
• 350That clamoured upon God above.

• “My women wondered, leaning close
• Aloof. At mine own heart
• I think great wonder was not stirr e 'd.
• I did not dared shrank from dared not listen ing , but yet I heard
• His tangled speech, word within word.

• “He craved my pardon first,—all else
• Mere bubbling Wild tumult. In the end
• He remained silent at my feet
• Fumbling the rushes. Strange quick heat
• 360Made all the blood of my life meet.

• “I found I loved him. I but said,
• If he would leave me then,
• He should hear more of what had pass'd,
• His hot lips stung my hand: at last
• My damsels led him forth in haste.”

• The bride took breath to pause; and turned
• Her gaze where Amelotte
• Knelt,—the gold hair upon her back
• Quite still in all its threads,—the track
• 370Of her still shadow sharp and black.

• That listening without sight had grown
• To stealthy dread; and now
• That the one sound she had to mark
• Left her alone too, she was stark
• Afraid, as children in the dark.

• Her fingers felt her temples beat;
• Then came that brain-sickness
• Which thinks to scream, and murmureth;
• And pent between her hands, the breath
• 380Was damp against her face like death.

• Her arms both fell at once; but when
• She gasped upon the light,
• Her sense returned. She would have pray'd
• To change whatever words still stay'd
• Behind, but felt there was no aid.

• So she rose up, and having gone
• Within the window's arch
• Once more, she sat there, on the scent [?] pent all intent
• Among And her [?], On torturing doubts, and once more bent
• 390To hear, in mute bewilderment.

• But Aloÿse still paused. Thereon
• Amelotte gathered voice
• In somewise from the torpid fear
• Coiled round her spirit. Low but clear
• She said: “Speak, sister; for I hear.”

• But Aloÿse threw up her neck
• And called the name of God:—
• “Judge, God, 'twixt her and me to-day!
• She knows how hard this is to say,
• 400Yet will not have one word away.”

• Her sister was quite silent. Then
• Afresh:—“Not she, dear Lord!
• Thou be my judge, on Thee I call!”
• She ceased,—her forehead smote the wall:
• “Is there a God,” she said “at all?”

• Amelotte shuddered and [?] at the soul
• But did not speak. The pause
• Was long this time. At length the bride
• Pressed her hand hard against her side,
• 410And trembling between shame and pride

• Said by fierce effort: “From that night
• Often at nights we met:
• What else he hoped was unexpress'd
  Added TextThat night, his passion could but rave:
• Save pardon — ever his sole guest:
  Added TextThe next, what grace his lips did crave
• Pardon I gave; he took the rest.”
  Added TextI knew not, but I know I gave.”

• Where Amelotte was sitting, all
• The light and warmth of day
• Were so upon her without shade
• That the thing seemed by sunshine made
• 420Most foul and wanton to be said.

• She would have questioned more, & known
• The whole truth at its worst,
• But held her silent, in mere shame
• Of day. 'Twas only these words came:—
• “Sister, thou hast not said his name.”

Deleted Text
In places of dark water at night;
Or thine own image, garbed
Strangely, and printed in some year
Old long before the birth of her
Whose womb first felt the life astir.

Deleted Text
And as thou then might'st be at gaze
And feel God's shadow cross
This life, —even so did Amelotte
An instant find her sense distraught
With wonder and the dread of thought.

• “Sister,“ quoth Amelotte, Aloÿse, ”thou know'st
• His name. I said that he
• Was in a manner of our kin.
• Waiting the title he might win,
• 430They called him the Lord Urscelyn.”

• The bridegroom's name, to Amelotte
• Daily familiar,—heard
• Thus in this dreadful history,—
• Was dreadful to her; as might be
• Thine own voice speaking unto thee.

• The day's mid-hour was almost full;
• Upon the dial-plate
• The angel's sword stood near at One.
• An hour's remaining yet; the sun
• 440Will not decrease till all be done.

• Through the bride's lattice there crept in
• At whiles (from where the train
• Of minstrels, till the marriage-call,
• Loitered at windows of the wall,)
• Stray lute-notes, sweet and musical.

• They clung in the green growths and moss
• Against the outside stone;
• Low like dirge-wail or requiem
• They murmured, lost 'twixt leaf and stem:
• 450There was no wind to carry them.

• Amelotte gathered herself back
• Into the wide recess
• That the sun flooded: it o'erspread
• Like flame the hair upon her head
• And fringed her face with burning red.

• All things seemed shaken and at change:
• A silent place o' the hills
• She knew, into her spirit came:
• Within herself she said its name
• 460And wondered was it still the same.

• The bride (whom silence goaded) now
• Said strongly,—her despair
• By stubborn will kept underneath:—
• “Sister, 'twere well thou didst not breathe
• That curse of thine. Give me my wreath.”

• “Sister,” said Amelotte, ”abide
• In peace. Be God thy judge,
• As thou hast said—not I. For me,
• I merely will thank God that he
• 470Whom thou hast lovèd loveth thee.”

• Then Aloÿse lay back, and laughed
• With wan lips bitterly,
• Saying [?] shall it please thee showed Nay [?] I thank God for this
  Added TextSaying, “Nay, thank thou God for this
• What love hath given thee to know
  Added TextThat never such any soul
  Added Textlike
• That God's gift, love, beginneth so?”
  Added TextShall have its portion where love is.”

Deleted Text
“And yet, God knoweth 'twas of God!”
She cried again, ”though, left
Too much in trust it turned to this!—
Look you, mylove. No soul like his
480Has any portion where love is.”

• Weary of wonder, Amelotte
• Sat silent: she would ask
• No more, though all was unexplained:
• She was too weak; the ache still pained
• Her eyes,—her forehead's pulse remained.

• The silence lengthened. Aloÿse
• Had turned her pale fair anguished face
  Added TextWas fain to turn her face
• Apart, to where the arras told
• Two Testaments, the New and Old,
• 490In shapes and meanings manifold.

• One solace that was gained, she hid.
• Her sister, from whose curse
• Her heart recoiled, had blessed instead:
• Yet would not her heart pride have it said
• How much the blessing comforted.

• Only, on looking round again
• After some while, the face
• Which from the arras turned away
• Was more at peace and less at bay
• 500With shame than it had been that day.

• She spoke right on, as if no pause
• Had come between her speech:
• “That year from warmth grew bleak & pass'd,”
• She said; We [?] from first to last “the days from first to last
• As the days lagged on, the nights went fast.
  Added TextHow slow,—woe's me! the nights how fast!”

• “From first to last it was not known:
• My nurse, and of my train
• Some four or five, alone could tell
• What service terror kept inscrutable:
• 510There was good need to guard it well.

• “Not the guilt only made the shame,
• But he was without land
• And born amiss. He had but come
• To train his youth here at our home,
• And, being man, depart therefrom.

• “Of the whole time each single day
• Brought fear and great unrest:
• It seemed that all would not avail
• Some once,—that my close watch would fail,
• 520And some sign, somehow, tell the tale.

• “The noble maidens that I knew,
• My fellows, oftentimes
• Midway in talk or sport, would look
• A wonder which my fears mistook,
• To see how I turned faint and shook.

• “They had a game of cards, where each
• By painted arms might find
• What knight she should be given to.
• Ever with trembling hand I threw
• 530Lest I should learn the thing I knew.

• “And once it came. And Jeanne des Roulx Aure d'Orhault
• Held up the bended shield
• And whispered, Aloÿse, when you wed,
  Added TextAnd laughed: ”Gramercy for our share!—
• May such a husband's heirs be bred
  Added TextIf to our bridal we but fare
• Added TextLeftways across the marriage-bed?"
  Added TextTo smutch the blazon that we bear! ”

• “But proud Denise de Villenbois
• Kissed me, and gave her maid wench
• The card, and said: “If in our these bowers
• You women play at paramours,
• 540You must not mix your game with ours.”

• “And one puffed on it with her mouth: upcast it from her hand
• “Lo! see how high he'll soar!”
• But then their laugh was bitterest;
• For the wind veered at fate's behest
• And blew it back into my breast.

• “ Whene'er Oh! if I met him in the day
• Or heard his voice,—at meals
• Or at the Mass or through the hall,—
• A look turned towards me would appal
• 550My heart by seeming to know all.

• “Yet I grew curious of my shame,
• And oftentimes sometimes in the church,
• On hearing such a sin rebuked,
• Have held my girdle-glass unhooked
• To see how such a woman looked.

• “But if at night he did not come,
• I lay all deadly cold
• To think they might have smitten sore
• And slain him, and as the night wore,
• 560His corpse be lying at my door.

• “And entering or going forth,
• Our proud shield above o'er the gate
• Seemed blotted to to denounce to arraign my guilty shrinking eyes.
• With trem blings ors and unspoken lies
• The year went past me in this wise.

• “About the spring of the next year
• An ailing fell on me;
• (I had been stronger till the spring;)
• 'Twas mine old weakness sickness gathering,
• 570I thought; but 'twas another thing.

• “I had such yearnings as brought tears,
• And a pale wan dizziness:
• Motion, like feeling, grew intense;
• Sight was a haunting evidence
• And sound a pang that snatched the sense.

• “It now was hard on that great ill
• Which lost our wealth from us
• And all our lands. Accursed be
• The peevish fools of liberty
• 580Who will not let themselves be free!

• “The Prince was fled into the west:
• A price was on his blood,
• But he was safe. To us his friends
• He left that ruin which attends
• The strife against God's secret ends.

• “The league dropped all asunder,—lord,
• Gentle and serf. Our house
• Was marked to fall. And a day came
• When half the wealth that propped our name
• 590Went from us in a wind of flame.

• “Six hours I lay upon the wall
• And saw it burn. But when
• It clogged the day in a moist black bed
• Of stench and stifling louring louring vapour, I was led
• Down to the postern, and we fled.

• “But ere we fled, there was a voice
• Which I heard speak, and say
• That many of our friends, to shun
• Our fate, had left us and were gone,
• 600And that Lord E Urscelyn was one.

• “That name, as was its wont, made sight
• And hearing turn whirl.I gave
• No heed but only to the name:
• I held my senses, dreading them,
• And was at strife to look the same.

• “We rode and rode. As the speed grew,
• The growth of some vague curse
• Swarmed in my brain. It seemed to be me
• Numbed by the swiftness, but would be—
• 610That still—clear knowledge certainly.

• “Night lapsed. At dawn the sea was there
• And the sea-wind & sea-grass afar afar
• Blew in dry fells above the sand
  Added TextThe ravening surge was hoarse and loud,
• As each slow wave paused to expand,
  Added TextAnd underneath the dim dawn-cloud
• The wail was beaten to the land.
  Added TextEach stalking wave shook like a shroud.

• “From my drawn litter I looked out
• Unto the swarthy sea,
• And knew. That voice, which late had cross'd
• Mine ears, seemed with the foam uptoss'd:
• 620I knew that Urscelyn was lost.

• “Then I spake all: I turned on one
• And on the other, and spake:
• My curse laughed in me to behold
• Their eyes: I sat up, stricken cold,
• Mad of my voice till all was told.

Added Text
“Oh! of my brothers, one Hugues was mute,
And one Gilles was fierce wild and loud,
And one turned for Raoul strained abroad his face,
As if his gnashing wrath could trace
Even there the prey that it must chase.

Added Text
But my stern father came to them
And quelled them with his look,
Silent and deadly pale. Anon
I knew that we were hastening on,
My curtain litter closed & the light gone.

Deleted Text
“I reck not what my father did,
Nor what my brothers did,
Nor any of their speech. Anon
I know that we were hastening on,
630My litter closed and the light gone.

• “And I remember all that day
• The barren bitter wind
• Without, and the sea's moaning there
• I at That I first moaned with unaware,
• And when I knew, shook down my hair.

• “Few followed us or faced our flight:
• Once only I could hear,
• Far in the front, loud scornful words,
• And cries I knew of hostile lords,
• 640And the harsh cruel shock crash of spears and grind of swords.

• “It was soon ended. On that day
• Before the light had changed
• We reached our refuge; miles of rock
• Bulwarked for war; whose strength might mock
• Sky, sea, or man, to storm or shock.

• “Listless and feebly conscious, I
• Lay far within the night
• Awake. The many pains incurred
• That day,—the whole, said, seen or heard,—
• 650Stayed by in me as things deferred.

• “Not long. At dawn I slept. In dreams
• All was passed through afresh
• From end to end. As the morn heaved
• Towards noon, I, waking sore agrieved,
• That I might die, cursed God, and lived.

• “Many days went, and I saw none
• Except my women. They
• Calmed their wan faces, loving me;
• And when they wept, lest I should see,
• 660Would chaunt a desolate memory melody .

• “Panic unthreatened shook my blood
• Each sunset, all the slow
• Subsiding of the turbid light.
• I would rise, sister, as I might,
• And bathe my forehead through the night

Added Text
“Through the gaunt windows the great gales
Bore in the tattered clumps
Of sand-weed ruckweed waif-weed and the tamarisk-boughs;
And sea-mews, 'mid the storm's carouse,
Were hurled, flung, wild-clamouring, through in the house.

• “To elude madness. The stone stark walls
• Made chill the darkdark night night: and when
• We drew oped our curtains, to resume
• Sun-sickness after nights' long sick gloom,
• 670The barren withering sea-wind walked the room.

• “My hounds I had not; and my hawk,
• Which they had saved for me,
• Wanting the sun and rain to beat
• His wings, soon lay with gathered feet;
• And my flowers faded, lacking heat.

• “Such still were griefs: for grief was still
• A separate sense, untouched
• Of that despair which had become
• My life. Great anguish could benumb
• 680My soul,—my heart was quarrelsome.

• “Time crept. Upon a day at length
• My kinsfolk sat with me:
• That which they asked was bare and plain:
• I answered: the whole bitter strain
• Was again said, and heard again.

Added Text
And Fierce Raoul snatched his sword, and aimed turned
The point against my breast.
I bared it, smiling: “To the heart
Strike home,” I said; “another dart
Wakes Wreaks hourly there the a deadlier smart.”

Added Text
“'Twas then my sire struck down the sword,
And said with shaken lips:
“She from whom all of you receive
Your life, so smiled; thus; & I forgive.”
Thus, So, for my mother's sake, I live.

Added Text
“But I, a mother even as she,
Turned shuddering to the wall:
For I said: “Great God! and what would I do,
When to the sword, with the thing I knew,
I offered not one life but two!”

• “ Ending, I shut my eyes, Then I fell back from them, and lay
• And heard them. Outwearied.My tired sense
• Soon filmed and settled, and like stone
• I slept; till something made me moan,
• And I woke up at night alone.

• “I woke at midnight, cold and dazed;
• Because I found myself
• Seated upright, with bosom bare,
• Upon my bed, combing my hair,
• 700Ready to go, I knew not where.

• “It dawned light day,—the last of five those
• Long weeks and days: filled these
  Added TextLong months of labouring longing days.
• That noon, a the change was wrought on me
• In somewise,—nought to hear or see,—
• Only a trance and agony.”

• The bride's voice failed her, from no will
• To pause. The bridesmaid leaned,
• And where the window-panes were white,
• Looked for the day: she knew not quite
• 710If there were either day or night.

• And then it seemed as if It seemed to Aloÿse that the whole
• Day's weight lay back on her
• Like lead. The hours that did remain
• Beat their dry wings upon her brain
• Once in mid-flight, and passed again.

• There hung a cage of burnt perfumes
• In the recess: but these,
• For some hours, weak against the sun,
• Had simmered in white dust ash. From One
• 720The second quarter was begun.

• They had not heard the stroke. The air,
• Though altered with no wind,
• Breathed now by pauses, so to say:
• Each breath was time that went away,—
• Each pause a minute of the day.

• I'the almonry, the almoner,
• Hard by, had just dispensed
• Church-dole and march-dole. High and wide
• Now rose the shout of thanks, which cried
• 730On God that He should bless the bride.

• Its echo thrilled within their feet,
• And in the furthest rooms
• Was heard, where maidens flushed & gay
• Wove with stooped necks the wreaths alway
• Fair for the virgin's marriage-day.

• The mother leaned along, in thought
• After her child; till tears,
• Bitter, not like a wedded girl's,
• Fell down her breast along her curls,
• 740And ran in the close work of pearls.

• The speech ached at her throat heart. She said:
• “Sweet Mary, do thou plead
• This hour with thy most blessed Son
• To let these shameful words atone,
• That I may die when I have done.”

• “Aye, and I sought revenge by spells;
• For wert And vainly many a time
• Have I laid my face into the lap
• Added TextOf a wise woman, and heard clap
• Her juggling thunder far & hap.
  Added TextHer thunder, the fiend's juggling trap.

• The thought ached at her soul. Yet now:—
• “Itself—that life” (she said,)
• Out of my weary life—when sense
• Unclosed, was gone. What evil men's
• 750Most evil hands had borne it thence

• “ I guessed not, knowing. I knew, and cursed them. Still in sleep
• I have my child; and pray
• To know if he it indeed do seem appear
• Such as he therewith in my dream,
  Added TextAs in my dream's perpetual sphere,
• That I—death past reached— may speak to him seek for seek it there..

• “Sleeping, I wept; though until dark
• A fever dried mine eyes
• Kept open; save when a tear might
• Be forced from the mere ache of sight.
• 760And I nursed hatred day and night.

• “At times length I feared to curse them, lest
• From evil lips the curse
• Should be a blessing; and would sit
• Rocking myself to and stifl e ing it,
• With And babbled jargon of no wit.

• “But this was not at first: the days
• And weeks made wearied frenzied months
• Before this came. My curses, pil e 'd
• Then with each hour unreconcil'd,
• 770Still wait for those who took my child.”

• She stopped, grown paler fainter. “Amelotte,
• Surely”, she said, “this sun
• Added Text Is Hell's own fire in the fierce south:
  Burns the whole day from south to south:
  Added TextSheds judgment-fire from the fierce south:
• It does not let me breathe: the drouth
• Is like spread sand within my mouth.”

• She rose now; and the outside glare Her sister
  Added TextThe bridesmaid rose. I' the outer glare
  glare outside
• Crossed her Gleamed her pale cheeks, and eyes
• Still Sore troubled; and her face was made
• Dizzy, just lifted out of shade;
• 800And the light jarred within her head.

• Among the flowers, a vessel stood
  Added Text'Mid flowers fair-heaped there stood a bowl
• With water. Amelotte. She therein
• Took it and poured it in the cup,
  Added TextThrough eddying bubbles slid a cup,
• And offered it, being risen up,
• Close to her sister's mouth, to sup.

Deleted Text
”I was still ailing when we left
That sojourn. How the day's
Sick lull of speed returns on me
Even now! —and the long night-journey,
And the last acrid taste of the sea!

• The freshness dwelt upon her sense,
• Yet did not the bride drink;
• But she dipped in her hand anon
• And cooled her temples; and with all wan
• 810 Lids what-ever With lids that held their ache, went on.

• “Through those dark watches of my woe,
• Time, an ill plant, had waxed
• Apace. That year was finished. Dumb
• And blind, life's wheel with earth's had come
• Round also: we might seek our home.

• “Our wealth was rendered back, with wealth
• Snatched from our foes. The house
• Had more than its old strength & fame:
• But still 'neath the fair outward claim
• 820 I rankled,—a fierce core of shame.

• “It chilled me from their eyes and lips
• Upon a night of those
• First days of triumph, as I gazed
• Listless and sick, or scarcely raised
• My face to mark the sports they praised.

• “The endless changes of the dance
• Bewildered me: they hung
• The sound shrunk from me, and my sense
• Seemed to go with it, wandering thence
• Around some blind sick circumference.
• Of lute and cithern the tones struggled tow'rds
• Some sense; and still in the last chords
• The music seemed to sing wild words.

• “My shame possessed me in the light
• And pageant, till I swooned.
• But from that hour I put my shame
• From me, and cast it over them
• 830By God's command and in God's name

• “For my child's bitter sake. O thou
• Once felt against my heart
• With longing of the eyes,—a pain
• M Since to my heart for ever,—then
• Beheld not, and not felt again!”

• She scarcely paused, continuing:—
• “That year fell ripe in March;
• And April, finding the streams dry,
• Choked, with no rain, in dust: the sky
• 840Shall not be fainter this July.

• “Men sickened; beasts lay without strength;
• The year died in the land.
• But I, already desolate,
• Said merely, sitting down to wait,—
• ‘The seasons change and Time wears late.’

• “For I had my hard secret told,
• In secret, to a priest;
• he was much with me; and he said
• The world , because of sin, was dead, 's soul, for its sins, was sped,
• And the sun's courses numberèd.

• “The year slid like a corpse afloat:
• None trafficked,—who had bread
• Did eat. That year our legions, come
• Thinned from the place of war, at home
• 850Found busier death, more burdensome.

• “Tidings and rumours came with them,
• The first for months. The chiefs
• Sat daily at our board, and in
• Their speech were names of friend & kin:
• One day they spoke of E Urscelyn.

• “The words were light, among the rest:
• Quick glance my brothers gave sent
• To sift the speech; and I, struck through,
• Sat sick and giddy in full view:
• 860Yet did none gaze, so many knew.

• “Because in the beginning, much
• Had caught abroad, through them
• That heard my clamour on the coast:
• But two were hanged; and then the most
• Held silence wisdom, as thou know'st.

• “That year the convent yielded thee
• Back to our home; and thou
• Then knew'st not how I shuddered cold
• To kiss thee, seeming to enfold
• 890 With guilty arms To my changed heart myself of old.

• “Then there was showing thee the house,
• So many rooms and doors;
• Thinking the while how thou wouldst start
• If once I flung the doors apart
• Of one dull chamber in my heart.

• “And yet I longed to open it;
• And often in that year
• Of plague and want, when side by side
• We've knelt to pray with them that died,
• 900My prayer was, “Show her what I hide!”