Gentleman.
Oh, yes; no doubt!
But what of that?—a poor half-crazy creature!
Bern.
Something quite different, I assure you, Harry.
Last week I saw him—never to forget him—
Ranging through Seaford's house, like the questing beast.
Gentleman.
Better please two than one, he thought—and wisely.
'Tis not for me to blame him: she is a prize
Worth sinning for a little more than little.
Lily
(whispering).
Why don't you ask them whether it was mother?
I am sure it was. I am quite sure of it.
Gentleman.
Look what a lovely child!
Bern.
Harry! Good heavens!
It is the Count Lamballa. Come along.
SCENE XVII.—Julian's room. JULIAN. LILY asleep.
Julian.
I thank thee. Thou hast comforted me, thou,
To whom I never lift my soul, in hope
To reach thee with my thinking, but the tears
Swell up and fill my eyes from the full heart
That cannot hold the thought of thee, the thought
Of him in whom I live, who lives in me,
And makes me live in him; by whose one thought,
Alone, unreachable, the making thought,
Infinite and self-bounded, I am here,
A living, thinking will, that cannot know
The power whereby I am—so blest the more
In being thus in thee—Father, thy child.
I cannot, cannot speak the thoughts in me.
My being shares thy glory: lay on me
What thou wouldst have me bear. Do thou with me
Whate'er thou wilt. Tell me thy will, that I
May do it as my best, my highest joy;
For thou dost work in me, I dwell in thee.
Wilt thou not save my wife? I cannot know
The power in thee to purify from sin.
But Life can cleanse the life it lived alive.
Thou knowest all that lesseneth her fault.
She loves me not, I know—ah, my sick heart!—
I will love her the more, to fill the cup;
One bond is snapped, the other shall be doubled;
For if I love her not, how desolate
The poor child will be left! he loves her not.
I have but one prayer more to pray to thee:—
Give me my wife again, that I may watch
And weep with her, and pray with her, and tell
What loving-kindness I have found in thee;
And she will come to thee to make her clean.
Her soul must wake as from a dream of bliss,
To know a dead one lieth in the house:
Let me be near her in that agony,
To tend her in the fever of the soul,
Bring her cool waters from the wells of hope,
Look forth and tell her that the morn is nigh;
And when I cannot comfort, help her weep.
God, I would give her love like thine to me,
Because I love her, and her need is great.
Lord, I need her far more than thou need'st me,
And thou art Love down to the deeps of hell:
Help me to love her with a love like thine.