Long she lookt and grave,

Pondering his face and searching. "Not so brave

My lord as that would prove him. Nay, and I know

[26]

He would not do it." And the truth was so;

And well he knew the reason: better she.

Yet for a little in that vacancy

Of silence and unshadowing light they stood,

Those long-divided, speechless. His first mood

With bitter grudge was choked, but hers was mild,

As fearing his. At last she named the child,

Asking, Was all well? Short he told her, Yes,

The child was well. She fingered in her dress

And watched her hand at play there.

"Here," she said,

"There is no child," and sighed. Into his dead

And wasted heart there leaped a flame and caught

His hollow eyes. "Rememberest thou naught,

Nothing regrettest, nothing holdst in grief

Of all our joy together ere that thief

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