"Then the two men went back and left me there,
With all my part to do. It was an hour
Or more before the time when my poor dupe
Had fixed to meet me. Wandering thus alone
Through the old streets, seeing the common sights
Of every day, the innocent child-faces
Homing from school, so like my little ones,
I seemed to lose all count of time. At length,
Because it was the Ascension Feast, there came
A waft of music from the open doors
Of a near church, and, entering in, I found
The incensed air, all I remembered well—
The lights, the soaring chants, the kneeling crowds,
When I believed and knelt. They seemed to soothe
My half bewildered fancy, and I thought—
What if a woman, who mayhap had sinned
But lightly, wishing to repair her wrong,
And bound thereby to some dark daring deed
Of peril, should come here, and kneel awhile,
And ask a blessing for the deed, of her
Who is Heaven's Queen and knows our weaknesses
Being herself a woman! So I knelt
In worship, and the soaring voices clear
And the dim heights and worship-laden air
Filled me with comfort for my soul, and nerved
My failing heart, and winged time's lagging flight,
Till lo the hour was come when I should go
To meet him for the last time.
"When we left
The city far behind, the sweet May night
Was falling on the quiet village street;
There was a scent of hawthorn on the air
As we passed on with feint of loving words,—
Passed slow like lovers to the appointed place,
Passed to the place of punishment and doom.
"But when we reached the darkling avenue
Of sycamores, which to the silent house
Led through a palpable gloom, I felt him shudder
With some blind vague presentiment of ill,
And he would go no further; but I clung
Around him close, laughed all his fear to scorn,
Whispered words in his ear, and step by step,
My soul on reparation being set,
Drew him reluctant to the fated door
Where lay my spouse in ambush, and swift death.
"I think I hear the dreadful noise of the key,
Turning within the disused lock, the hall
Breathing a false desertion, the loud sound
Of both our footsteps echoing through the house.
I could not choose but tremble. Yet I knew
'Twas but a foolish weakness. Then I struck
A match, and in the burst of sudden light
I saw the ruddy cheek grown ashy pale,
And as he doffed his hat, I marked the curls
On his white forehead, and the boyish grace
Which hung around him still, and almost felt
Compassion. Then the darkness came again,
And hid him, and I groped to find his hand,
Clutched it with mine, and led him to the door.
"But when within the darkling room we were
Where swift death waited him, not dalliance,
Three times my trembling fingers failed to wake
The twinkling light which scarce could pierce the gloom
Which hid my husband. Oh, to see his face
When the dark aspect and the furious eyes
Glared out on him! 'I am lost!' he cried, 'I am lost!'
And then the sound of swift and desperate fight
And a death struggle. Listening, as I stood
Without, with that mean craven hound, our brother,
I heard low cries of rage, and knew despair
And youth had nerved the unarmed in such sort
As made the conflict doubtful. Then I rushed
Between them, threw my arms around him, clogged
His force and held him fast, crying the while,
'Wretch, would you kill my husband!'—held him fast,
As coils a serpent round the escaping deer,
Until my husband, hissing forth his hate,
'Villain, I pierce thy heart as thou hast mine,'
Stabbed through and through his heart.
"But oh, but oh
The lonely road, beneath the dreadful stars!
To the swift stream, we three—nay, nay, we four—
One on the child's poor carriage covered o'er,
And three who drew him onward, on the road,
That dead thing, having neither eye nor ear,
Which late was full of life, and strife, and hate.
On that dumb silence, came no wayfarer,
And once the covering which concealed our load
Slipped down, and left the ghastly blood-stained thing
Open to prying eyes, but none were there;
And then the darkling river, and the sound
When, with lead coiled around it, the dead corpse
Sank with a sullen plunge within the deep,
And took with it the tokens of our crime.
"Then with a something of relief, as those
Who have passed through some great peril all unharmed,
We went and burned the blood-stained signs of death,
And left the dreadful place, and once more sped
To Paris and to sleep, till the new day,
Now risen to high noon, touched our sad dreams.
"And that day, since we could not work as yet,
We to the Picture Gallery went, and there
We took our fill of nude voluptuous limbs,
Mingled with scenes of horror bathed in blood,
Such as our painters love. So week by week,
Careless and unafraid, we spent our days,
Till when that sad night faded; swift there rose,
Bursting the weights that kept it, the pale corpse,
A damning witness from the deep, and brought
The dreadful past again, and with it doom.
"You know how we were tried, and how things went,
The cozening speeches, the brow-beating judge,
The petty crafts which make the pleader's art,
The dolts who sit in judgment, when the one
Who knows all must be silent; but you know not
The intolerable burden of suspense,
The hard and hateful gaze of hungry eyes
Which gloat upon your suffering. When doom came
It was well to know the worst, and hear no more
The half-forgotten horrors. But I think
The sense of common peril, common wrong,
Knits us in indissoluble unity,
Closer than years of converse. When my husband,
Braving his doom, embraced me as he went;
'Wife, so thou live I care not,' all my heart
Went out to him for a moment, and I cried,
'Let me die too, my guilt is more than his.'
"Some quibble marred the sentence, and once more
The miserable tale was told afresh:
Once more I stood before those hungry eyes,
And when 'twas done we went forth slaves for life,
Both with an equal doom, and ever since
We suffer the same pains in solitude,
Slaves fettered fast, whom only death sets free.