Or hopeless love will be thy doom for blighting loving hearts.”
Thus far had Maud unchecked reproved when Gertrude coldly said:
“I care not for the living dupes, why blame me for the dead?
Thy lover, sure, is naught to me, so quell thy jealous fears;
When seeking game I ever strive to strike among my peers.”
“Tis not my lover,” Maud replied, while blushes bathed her brow,
“But brother Paul I fain would save—for him I’m pleading now.
Of kin, he’s all I have on earth—so noble, brave and pure—
Too good, alas, to sacrifice—defeat he’d ne’er endure.”
But Gertrude rose and took the hand that claimed her for the dance,