_Julian_.

I have fought, my Lilia.

I have been down among the horses' feet; But strange to tell, and harder to believe, Arose all sound, unmarked with bruise, or blood Save what I lifted from the gory ground.

[_Sighing_.]

My wounds are not of such.

[LILIA, _loosening her arms, and drawing back a little with a kind of shrinking, looks a frightened interrogation_.]

No. Penance, Lilia; Such penance as the saints of old inflicted Upon their quivering flesh. Folly, I know; As a lord would exalt himself, by making His willing servants into trembling slaves!

Yet I have borne it.

_Lilia_ (_laying her hand on his arm_).

Ah, alas, my Julian, You have been guilty!

_Julian_.

Not what men call guilty, Save it be now; now you will think I sin.

Alas, I have sinned! but not in this I sin.-- Lilia, I have been a monk.

_Lilia_.

A monk?

[_Turningpale_.]

I thought--

[_Faltering_.]

Julian,--I thought you said.... did you not say...?

[_Very pale, brokenly_.]

I thought you said ...

[_With an effort_.]

I was to be your wife!

[_Covering her face with her hands, and bursting into tears_.]

_Julian_ (_speaking low and in pain_).

And so I did.

_Lilia_ (_hopefully, and looking up_).

Then you've had dispensation?

_Julian_.

G.o.d has absolved me, though the Church will not.

He knows it was in ignorance I did it.

Rather would he have men to do his will, Than keep a weight of words upon their souls, Which they laid there, not graven by his finger.

The vow was made to him--to him I break it.

_Lilia_ (_weeping bitterly_).

I would ... your words were true ... but I do know ...

It never can ... be right to break a vow; If so, men might be liars every day; You'd do the same by me, if we were married.

_Julian_ (_in anguish_).

'Tis ever so. Words are the living things!

There is no spirit--save what's born of words!

Words are the bonds that of two souls make one!

Words the security of heart to heart!

G.o.d, make me patient! G.o.d, I pray thee, G.o.d!

_Lilia_ (_not heeding him_).

Besides, we dare not; you would find the dungeon Gave late repentance; I should weep away My life within a convent.

_Julian_.

Come to England, To England, Lilia.

_Lilia_.

Men would point, and say: _There go the monk and his wife_; if they, in truth, Called me not by a harder name than that.

_Julian_.

There are no monks in England.

_Lilia_.

But will that Make right what's wrong?

_Julian_.

Did I say so, my Lilia?

I answered but your last objections thus; I had a different answer for the first.

_Lilia_.

No, no; I cannot, cannot, dare not do it.

_Julian_.

Lilia, you will not doubt my love; you cannot.

--I would have told you all before, but thought, Foolishly, you would feel the same as I;-- I have lived longer, thought more, seen much more; I would not hurt your body, less your soul, For all the blessedness your love can give: For love's sake weigh the weight of what I say.

Think not that _must_ be right which you have heard From infancy--it may----

[_Enter the_ Steward _in haste, pale, breathless, and bleeding_.]

_Steward_.

My lord, there's such an uproar in the town!

They call you murderer and heretic.

The officers of justice, with a monk, And the new Count Nembroni, accompanied By a fierce mob with torches, howling out For justice on you, madly cursing you!

They caught a glimpse of me as I returned, And stones and sticks flew round me like a storm; But I escaped them, old man as I am, And was in time to bar the castle-gates.-- Would heaven we had not cast those mounds, and shut The river from the moat!

[_Distant yells and cries_.]