The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume I Part 9

_Nurse_.

Bless her white face, she looks just like my daughter, That's now a saint in heaven! Just those thin cheeks, And eyelids hardly closed over her eyes!-- Dream on, poor darling! you are drinking life From the breast of sleep. And yet I fain would see Your shutters open, for I then should know Whether the soul had drawn her curtains back, To peep at morning from her own bright windows.

Ah! what a joy is ready, waiting her, To break her fast upon, if her wild dreams Have but betrayed her secrets honestly!

Will he not give thee love as dear as thine!

SCENE XI.--_A hilly road_. STEPHEN, _trudging alone, pauses to look around him_.

_Stephen_.

Not a footprint! not a trace that a blood-hound would nose at! But Stephen shall be acknowledged good dog and true. If I had him within stick-length--mind thy head, brother Julian! Thou hast not hair enough to protect it, and thy tonsure shall not.

Neither shalt thou tarry at Jericho.--It is a poor man that leaves no trail; and if thou wert poor, I would not follow thee.

[_Sings_.]

Oh, many a hound is stretching out His two legs or his four, And the saddled horses stand about The court and the castle door, Till out come the baron, jolly and stout, To hunt the bristly boar!

The emperor, he doth keep a pack In his antechambers standing, And up and down the stairs, good lack!

And eke upon the landing: A straining leash, and a quivering back, And nostrils and chest expanding!

The devil a hunter long hath been, Though Doctor Luther said it: Of his canon-pack he was the dean, And merrily he led it: The old one kept them swift and lean On faith--that's devil's credit!

Each man is a hunter to his trade, And they follow one another; But such a hunter never was made As the monk that hunted his brother!

And the runaway pig, ere its game be played, Shall be eaten by its mother!

Better hunt a flea in a woolly blanket, than a leg-bail monk in this wilderness of mountains, forests, and precipices! But the flea _may_ be caught, and so _shall_ the monk. I have said it. He is well spotted, with his silver crown and his uncropped ears. The rascally heretic! But his vows shall keep him, though he won't keep his vows. The whining, blubbering idiot! Gave his plaything, and wants it back!--I wonder whereabouts I am.

SCENE XII.--_The Nurse's room_. LILIA _sitting up in bed_. JULIAN _seated by her; an open note in his hand_.

_Lilia_.

Tear it up, Julian.

_Julian_.

No; I'll treasure it As the remembrance of a by-gone grief: I love it well, because it is _not_ yours.

_Lilia_.

Where have you been these long, long years away?

You look much older. You have suffered, Julian!

_Julian_.

Since that day, Lilia, I have seen much, thought much, Suffered a little. When you are quite yourself, I'll tell you all you want to know about me.

_Lilia_.

Do tell me something now. I feel quite strong; It will not hurt me.

_Julian_.

Wait a day or two.

Indeed 'twould weary you to tell you all.

_Lilia_.

And I have much to tell you, Julian. I Have suffered too--not all for my own sake.

[_Recalling something_.]

Oh, what a dream I had! Oh, Julian!-- I don't know when it was. It must have been Before you brought me here! I am sure it was.

_Julian_.

Don't speak about it. Tell me afterwards.

You must keep quiet now. Indeed you must.

_Lilia_.

I will obey you, will not speak a word.

_Enter_ Nurse.

_Nurse_.

Blessings upon her! she's near well already.

Who would have thought, three days ago, to see You look so bright! My lord, you have done wonders.

_Julian_.

My art has helped a little, I thank G.o.d.-- To please me, Lilia, go to sleep a while.

[JULIAN _goes_.]

_Lilia_.

Why does he always wear that curious cap?

_Nurse_.

I don't know. You must sleep.

_Lilia_.

Yes. I forgot.

SCENE XIII.--_The Steward's room_. JULIAN _and the_ Steward. _Papers on the table, which_ JULIAN _has just finished examining_.

_Julian_.

Thank you much, Joseph; you have done well for me.

You sent that note privately to my friend?

_Steward_.

I did, my lord; and have conveyed the money, Putting all things in train for his release, Without appearing in it personally, Or giving any clue to other hands.

He sent this message by my messenger: His hearty thanks, and G.o.d will bless you for it.

He will be secret. For his daughter, she Is safe with you as with himself; and so G.o.d bless you both! He will expect to hear From both of you from England.