But lo, as I spoke, the lad took his leave. He could stand the arraignment no longer, and hot tears welled his eyes.
“You were too hard on him,” a voice within me cried, “he did not mean to do what he did. It was not to his interest to ruin you. Do you not recall those lines he read in adolescence, and predicted that each syllable would come true of himself. He has not lied. He knew.”
“What were the lines?” I asked.
“Here they are:
‘Even so it was when I was young.
If ever we are nature’s, these are ours; this thorn
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
Our blood to us, this to our blood is born.
It is the show and seal of nature’s truth,
Where love’s strong passion is impress’d in youth;