Amelotte gathered herself back
Into the wide recess

That the sun flooded : it o'erspread
Like flame the hair upon her head
And fringed her face with burning red.

All things seemed shaken and at change:
A silent place o' the hills

She knew, into her spirit came :
Within herself she said its name
And wondered was it still the same.

The bride (whom silence goaded) now
Said strongly, her despair

By stubborn will kept underneath :-
"Sister, 'twere well thou didst not breathe
That curse of thine. Give me my wreath."

"Sister," said Amelotte, "abide

In peace. Be God thy judge,
As thou hast said-not I. For me,
I merely will thank God that he
Whom thou hast loved loveth thee."

Then Aloyse lay back, and laughed
With wan lips bitterly,

Saying, "Nay, thank thou God for this,-
That never any soul like his

Shall have its portion where love is."

Weary of wonder, Amelotte

Sat silent: she would ask

No more, though all was unexplained:
She was too weak; the ache still pained
Her eyes, her forehead's pulse remained.

The silence lengthened. Aloyse
Was fain to turn her face
Apart, to where the arras told
Two Testaments, the New and Old,
In shapes and meanings manifold.

One solace that was gained, she hid.
Her sister, from whose curse
Her heart recoiled, had blessed instead !
Yet would not her pride have it said
How much the blessing comforted.

Only, on looking round again
After some while, the face

Which from the arras turned away
Was more at peace and less at bay
With shame than it had been that day.

She spoke right on, as if no pause

Had come between her speech :

"That year from warmth grew bleak and pass'd," She said; "the days from first to last

How slow,-woe's me! the nights how fast!

"From first to last it was not known:

My nurse, and of my train

Some four or five, alone could tell

What terror kept inscrutable :

There was good need to guard it well.

"Not the guilt only made the shame,
But he was without land

And born amiss. He had but come
To train his youth here at our home,
And, being man, depart therefrom.

“Of the whole time each single day

Brought fear and great unrest :

It seemed that all would not avail

Some once, that my close watch would fail, And some sign, somehow, tell the tale.

"The noble maidens that I knew,
My fellows, oftentimes

Midway in talk or sport, would look
A wonder which my fears mistook,
To see how I turned faint and shook.

"They had a game of cards, where each
By painted arms might find

What knight she should be given to.
Ever with trembling hand I threw
Lest I should learn the thing I knew.

"And once it came. And Aure d'Honvaulx Held up the bended shield

And laughed: 'Gramercy for our share — If to our bridal we but fare

To smutch the blazon that we bear!'

"But proud Denise de Villenbois

Kissed me, and gave her wench

The card, and said: 'If in these bowers
You women play at paramours,
You must not mix your game with ours.'

"And one upcast it from her hand: 'Lo! see how high he'll soar!' But then their laugh was bitterest; For the wind veered at fate's behest And blew it back into my breast.

"Oh ! if I met him in the day

Or heard his voice,—at meals
Or at the Mass or through the hall,—
A look turned towards me would appal
My heart by seeming to know all.

"Yet I grew curious of my shame,
And sometimes in the church,
On hearing such a sin rebuked,
Have held my girdle-glass unhooked
To see how such a woman looked.

"But if at night he did not come,
I lay all deadly cold

To think they might have smitten sore
And slain him, and as the night wore,
His corpse be lying at my door.

"And entering or going forth,

Our proud shield o'er the gate

Seemed to arraign my shrinking eyes.
With tremors and unspoken lies
The year went past me in this wise.

"About the spring of the next year
An ailing fell on me ;

(I had been stronger till the spring ;)
'Twas mine old sickness gathering,
I thought; but 'twas another thing.

"I had such yearnings as brought tears, And a wan dizziness:

Motion, like feeling, grew intense;

Sight was a haunting evidence

And sound a pang that snatched the sense.

"It now was hard on that great ill
Which lost our wealth from us
And all our lands. Accursed be
The peevish fools of liberty

Who will not let themselves be free!

"The Prince was fled into the west :
A price was on his blood,

But he was safe. To us his friends
He left that ruin which attends
The strife against God's secret ends.

"The league dropped all asunder,—lord,

Gentle and serf.

Was marked to fall.

Our house

And a day came

When half the wealth that propped our name

Went from us in a wind of flame.

"Six hours I lay upon the wall

And saw it burn. But when It clogged the day in a black bed Of louring vapour, I was led Down to the postern, and we fled.

"But ere we fled, there was a voice
Which I heard speak, and say
That many of our friends, to shun
Our fate, had left us and were gone,
And that Lord Urscelyn was one.

"That name, as was its wont, made sight
And hearing whirl. I gave

No heed but only to the name :
I held my senses, dreading them,
And was at strife to look the same.