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LI
He whispered her that if she had forgiven His
startling her that afternoon, the clock
Marked early bed-time. Surely it was Heaven He entered
when she opened to his knock.
The hours rustled in the trailing wind Over the chimney. Close
they lay and knew
Only that they were wedded. At his
touch Anxiety she threw
Away like a shed garment, and inclined
Herself to cherish him, her happy mind
Quivering, unthinking, loving overmuch.
LII
Eunice lay long awake in the cool night After
her husband slept. She gazed with joy
Into the shadows, painting them with bright Pictures of all
her future life's employ.
Twin gems they were, set to a single jewel, Each shining with
the other. Soft she turned
And felt his breath upon her hair, and prayed Her
happiness was earned.
Past Earls of Crowe should give their blood for fuel
To light this Frampton's hearth-fire. By no cruel
Affrightings would she ever be dismayed.
LIII
When Everard, next day, asked her in joke What
name it was that she had called him by,
She told him of Gervase, and as she spoke She hardly realized
it was a lie.
Her vision she related, but she hid The fondness into which
she had been led.
Sir Everard just laughed and pinched her ear, And
quite out of her head
The matter drifted. Then Sir Everard chid
Himself for laziness, and off he rid
To see his men and count his farming-gear.
LIV
At supper he seemed overspread with gloom, But
gave no reason why, he only asked
More questions of Gervase, and round the room He walked with
restless strides. At last he tasked
Her with a greater feeling for this man Than she had given. Eunice
quick denied
The slightest interest other than a friend Might
claim. But he replied
He thought she underrated. Then a ban
He put on talk and music. He'd a plan
To work at, draining swamps at Pickthorn End.
LV
Next morning Eunice found her Lord still changed, Hard
and unkind, with bursts of anger. Pride
Kept him from speaking out. His probings ranged All
round his torment. Lady Eunice tried
To sooth him. So a week went by, and then His anguish
flooded over; with clenched hands
Striving to stem his words, he told her plain Tony
had seen them, "brands
Burning in Hell," the man had said. Again
Eunice described her vision, and how when
Awoke at last she had known dreadful pain.
LVI
He could not credit it, and misery fed Upon
his spirit, day by day it grew.
To Gervase he forbade the house, and led The Lady Eunice such
a life she flew
At his approaching footsteps. Winter came Snowing
and blustering through the Manor trees.
All the roof-edges spiked with icicles In
fluted companies.
The Lady Eunice with her tambour-frame
Kept herself sighing company. The flame
Of the birch fire glittered on the walls.
LVII
A letter was brought to her as she sat, Unsealed,
unsigned. It told her that his wound,
The writer's, had so well recovered that To join his regiment
he felt him bound.
But would she not wish him one short "Godspeed", He asked no
more. Her greeting would suffice.
He had resolved he never should return. Would
she this sacrifice
Make for a dying man? How could she read
The rest! But forcing her eyes to the deed,
She read. Then dropped it in the fire
to burn.
