[The man seizes her arm.]
Keep thine hands off—
I’ll not be shamed—Lead on. Farewell, my Ladies.
Follow not! There’s want to spare on earth already;
And mine own woe is weight enough for me.
Go back, and say, Elizabeth has yet
Eternal homes, built deep in poor men’s hearts;
And, in the alleys underneath the wall,
Has bought with sinful mammon heavenly treasure,
More sure than adamant, purer than white whales’ bone,
Which now she claims. Lead on: a people’s love shall right me. [Exit with Servant.]
Guta. Where now, dame?
Isen. Where, but after her?
Guta. True heart!
I’ll follow to the death. [Exeunt.]
SCENE II
A street. Elizabeth and Guta at the door of a Convent. Monks in the porch.
Eliz. You are afraid to shelter me—afraid.
And so you thrust me forth, to starve and freeze.
Soon said. Why palter o’er these mean excuses,
Which tempt me to despise you?
Monks. Ah! my lady,
We know your kindness—but we poor religious
Are bound to obey God’s ordinance, and submit
Unto the powers that be, who have forbidden
All men, alas! to give you food or shelter.
Eliz. Silence! I’ll go. Better in God’s hand than man’s.
He shall kill us, if we die. This bitter blast
Warping the leafless willows, yon white snow-storms,
Whose wings, like vengeful angels, cope the vault,
They are God’s,—We’ll trust to them.