[Nurse goes.]
My treasure-room! how little then I thought,
Glad in my secret, one day it would hold
A treasure unto which I dared not come.
Perhaps she'd love me now—a very little!—
But not with even a heavenly gift would I
Go begging love; that should be free as light,
Cleaving unto myself even for myself.
I have enough to brood on, joy to turn
Over and over in my secret heart:—
She lives, and is the better that I live!
Re-enter Nurse.
Nurse.
My lord, her mind is wandering; she is raving;
She's in a dreadful fever. We must send
To Arli for the doctor, else her life
Will be in danger.
Julian
(rising disturbed).
Go and fetch your daughter.
Between you, take her to my room, yours now.
I'll see her there. I think you can together!
Nurse.
O yes, my lord; she is so thin, poor child!
[Nurse goes.]
Julian.
I ought to know the way to treat a fever,
If it be one of twenty. Hers has come
Of low food, wasting, and anxiety.
I've seen enough of that in Prague and Smyrna!
SCENE IX.—The Abbot's room in the monastery. The Abbot.
Abbot.
'Tis useless all. No trace of him found yet.
One hope remains: that fellow has a head!