The Complete Poetical Works of George MacDonald. George MacDonaldЧитать онлайн книгу.
Servants with a carriage and pair.
1st Serv. Heavens, what a cloud! as big as Aetna! There! That gust blew stormy. Take Juno by the head, I'll stand by Neptune. Take her head, I say; We'll have enough to do, if it should lighten.
2nd Serv. Such drops! That's the first of it. I declare She spreads her nostrils and looks wild already, As if she smelt it coming. I wish we were Under some roof or other. I fear this business Is not of the right sort.
1st Serv. He looked as black As if he too had lightning in his bosom. There! Down, you brute! Mind the pole, Beppo!
SCENE VI.—Julian's room. JULIAN standing at the window, his face pressed against a pane. Storm and gathering darkness without.
Julian. Plague on the lamp! 'tis gone—no, there it flares! I wish the wind would leave or blow it out. Heavens! how it thunders! This terrific storm Will either cow or harden him. I'm blind! That lightning! Oh, let me see again, lest he Should enter in the dark! I cannot bear This glimmering longer. Now that gush of rain Has blotted all my view with crossing lights. 'Tis no use waiting here. I must cross over, And take my stand in the corner by the door. But if he comes while I go down the stairs, And I not see? To make sure, I'll go gently Up the stair to the landing by her door.
[He goes quickly toward the door.]
Hostess (opening the door and looking in). If you please, sir—
[He hurries past]
The devil's in the man!
SCENE VII.—The landing.
Voice within. If you scream, I must muffle you.
Julian (rushing up the stair). He is there! His hand is on her mouth! She tries to scream!
[Flinging the door open, as NEMBRONI springs forward on the other side.]
Back!
Nembroni. What the devil!—Beggar!
[Drawing his sword, and making a thrust at JULIAN, which he parries with his left arm, as, drawing his dagger, he springs within NEMBRONI'S guard.]
Julian (taking him by the throat). I have faced worse storms than you.
[They struggle.]
Heart point and hilt strung on the line of force,
[He stabs him.]
Your ribs will not mail your heart!
[NEMBRONI falls dead. JULIAN wipes his dagger on the dead man's coat.]
If men will be devils, They are better in hell than here.
[Lightning flashes on the blade.]
What a night
For a soul to go out of doors! God in heaven!
[Approaches the lady within.]
Ah! she has fainted. That is well. I hope
It will not pass too soon. It is not far
To the half-hidden door in my own fence,
And that is well. If I step carefully,
Such rain will soon wash out the tell-tale footprints.
What! blood? He does not bleed much, I should think! Oh, I see! it is mine—he has wounded me. That's awkward now.
[Takes a handkerchief from the floor by the window.]
Pardon me, dear lady;
[Ties the handkerchief with hand and teeth round his arm.]
'Tis not to save my blood I would defile
Even your handkerchief.
[Coming towards the door, carrying her.]
I am pleased to think
Ten monkish months have not ta'en all my strength.
[Looking out of the window on the landing.]
For once, thank darkness! 'Twas sent for us, not him.
[He goes down the stair]
SCENE VIII.—A room in the castle. JULIAN and the Nurse.
Julian. Ask me no questions now, my dear old nurse. You have put your charge to bed?
Nurse. Yes, my dear lord.
Julian. And has she spoken yet?
Nurse. After you left, Her eyelids half unclosed; she murmured once: Where am I, mother?—then she looked at me, And her eyes wandered over all my face, Till half in comfort, half in weariness, They closed again. Bless her, dear soul! she is As feeble as a child.
Julian. Under your care She'll soon be well again. Let no one know She is in the house:—blood has been shed for her.
Nurse. Alas! I feared it; blood is on her dress.
Julian. That's mine, not his. But put it in the fire. Get her another. I'll leave a purse with you.
Nurse. Leave?
Julian. Yes. I am off to-night, wandering again Over the earth and sea. She must not know I have been here. You must contrive to keep My share a secret. Once she moved and spoke When a branch caught me, but she could not see me. She thought, no doubt, it was Nembroni had her; Nor would she have known me. You must hide her, nurse. Let her on no pretense guess where she is, Nor utter word that might suggest the fact. When she is well and wishes to be gone, Then write to this address—but under cover
[Writing.]
To the Prince Calboli at Florence. I
Will see to all the rest. But let her know
Her father is set free; assuredly,
Ere you can say it is, it will be so.
Nurse. How shall I best conceal her, my good lord?
Julian. I have thought of that. There's a deserted room In the old west wing, at the further end Of the oak gallery.
Nurse. Not deserted quite. I ventured, when you left, to make it mine, Because you loved it when a boy, my lord.
Julian. You do not know, nurse, why I loved it though: I found a sliding panel, and a door Into a room behind. I'll show it you. You'll find some musty traces of me yet, When you go in. Now take her to your room, But get the other ready. Light a fire, And keep it burning well for several days. Then, one by one, out of the other rooms, Take everything to make it comfortable; Quietly, you know. If you must have your daughter, Bind her to be as secret as yourself. Then put her there. I'll let her father know She is in safety.—I must change attire, And be far off or ever morning break.
[Nurse goes.]
My treasure-room! how little then I thought,
Glad in my secret, one day it would hold
A treasure unto which I dared not come.
Perhaps she'd love me now—a very little!—
But not with even a heavenly gift would I
Go begging love; that should be free as light,
Cleaving unto myself even for myself.
I have enough to brood on, joy to turn
Over and over in my secret heart:—
She lives, and is the better that I live!
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