"And it started a hope like a lightning-streak That I might go to him--say for a week -
And afford you right To put me away, and your vows unspeak.
"To be sure you have said, as of dim intent, That marriage is a plain event Of black and white, Without any ghost of sentiment, "And my heart has quailed.--But deny it true That you will never this lock undo!
No God intends To thwart the yearning He's father to!"
The husband hemmed, then blandly bowed In the light of the angry morning cloud.
"So my idyll ends, And a drama opens!" he mused aloud;
And his features froze. "You may take it as true That I will never this lock undo For so depraved A passion as that which kindles you."
Said she: "I am sorry you see it so;
I had hoped you might have let me go, And thus been saved The pain of learning there's more to know."
"More? What may that be? Gad, I think You have told me enough to make me blink!
Yet if more remain Then own it to me. I will not shrink!"
"Well, it is this. As we could not see That a legal marriage could ever be, To end our pain We united ourselves informally;
"And vowed at a chancel-altar nigh, With book and ring, a lifelong tie;
A contract vain To the world, but real to Him on High."
"And you became as his wife?"--"I did." -
He stood as stiff as a caryatid, And said, "Indeed! . . .
No matter. You're mine, whatever you ye hid!"
"But is it right! When I only gave My hand to you in a sweat to save, Through desperate need (As I thought), my fame, for I was not brave!"
"To save your fame? Your meaning is dim, For nobody knew of your altar-whim?"
"I mean--I feared There might be fruit of my tie with him;
"And to cloak it by marriage I'm not the first, Though, maybe, morally most accurst Through your unpeered And strict uprightness. That's the worst!
"While yesterday his worn contours Convinced me that love like his endures, And that my troth-plight Had been his, in fact, and not truly yours."
"So, my lady, you raise the veil by degrees . . .
I own this last is enough to freeze The warmest wight!
Now hear the other side, if you please:
"I did say once, though without intent, That marriage is a plain event Of black and white, Whatever may be its sentiment.
"I'll act accordingly, none the less That you soiled the contract in time of stress, Thereto induced By the feared results of your wantonness.
"But the thing is over, and no one knows, And it's nought to the future what you disclose.
That you'll be loosed For such an episode, don't suppose!
"No: I'll not free you. And if it appear There was too good ground for your first fear From your amorous tricks, I'll father the child. Yes, by God, my dear.
"Even should you fly to his arms, I'll damn Opinion, and fetch you; treat as sham Your mutinous kicks, And whip you home. That's the sort I am!"
She whitened. "Enough . . . Since you disapprove I'll yield in silence, and never move Till my last pulse ticks A footstep from the domestic groove."
"Then swear it," he said, "and your king uncrown."
He drew her forth in her long white gown, And she knelt and swore.
"Good. Now you may go and again lie down "Since you've played these pranks and given no sign, You shall crave this man of yours; pine and pine With sighings sore, 'Till I've starved your love for him; nailed you mine.
"I'm a practical man, and want no tears;
You've made a fool of me, it appears;
That you don't again Is a lesson I'll teach you in future years."
She answered not, but lay listlessly With her dark dry eyes on the coppery sea, That now and then Flung its lazy flounce at the neighbouring quay.
1910.
