“I mean,” and the tall beautiful one blinked,

Twitching the green selvage of her skirt,

“The foster father. He is young for that;

Yet he is to be, my child, the chosen one

Who saves you, and saves it—the life you carry.

Your husband. Nothing less. And not in dream.”

Bruce turned his head in fear that old Darius

Listened—was it he among the hemlocks,

Stepping so lightly?

But the foliage opened