[She withdraws.
Val. [After a pause.] What drew down this on me?—on me, dead once,
She thus bids live,—since all I hitherto
Thought dead in me, youth's ardors and emprise,
Burst into life before her, as she bids
Who needs them. Whither will this reach, where end?
Her hand's print burns on mine ... Yet she 's above—
So very far above me! All 's too plain:
I served her when the others sank away,
And she rewards me as such souls reward—