That you will thwart our hopes, our plans for you?—
And shut away, away from all of us,
This face, this form, so cherish’d all these years?—
True?—Is it true?—I would not frighten you:
Poor girl, God knows that you will have enough
To shudder for.—Yet, it bewilders me:
How could you, you who had been wont to be
So trustful and considerate and calm,
How could you do a thing so rash, so wrong,
Nor once consult me?—Tell me this, my child: