Cha. I long to greet him. O,
Such walking of the dead renews the earth
And makes it habitable! I have heard
It was Famette who saved him,—added that
To array of deeds that must unlaurel all
The heroines of time.
Señ. There'll be an hour
To talk of that. Now you must see the princess.
Cha. Hernda is with you? Here!
Señ. And Hudibrand.
No danger there. He wants you now, and says
You'll find good grass if you will leap the stile.
Cha. [Answering her smile] So blind as that? Poor mole, he's been in th' ground
Too long. Will never get his eyes.
Señ. Ay, he'll
Deny the sun till 't bakes him in his burrow.
But Hernda,—O, what welcome waits you, friend!
The ivory-crusted temple, shut and sealed
To eternal airs, is now a fane of rose,
Whose cloistral stairs, that wound so futilely,
Will now through fragrant twilight lead you up
To windowed Heaven. Come! Come, take your own!
Cha. No! Wait....
Señ. A lover speaks that word?
Cha. Señora,——
Señ. That wound she gave you here is open yet?
But you were wrong, and with your wretched doubts
Assailed her in the hour she lay on rack
To save you.