HaeMON: Mistake me not, my lord.

CHARLES: I could not: you Have come at midnight--a most honest hour.

Enter this postern--a most honest way, And seem most honest--Why, I could not, sir!

HaeMON: You wrong me, and have wronged me. I but come To loose my sister.

CHARLES: As to-day you would Have loosed her with a piercing--into death?

HaeMON: Rather, could I! Antonio--yet neither.

Since you, not he, are here, my pa.s.sion melts Into a plea. Humbly as manhood may--

CHARLES: This fever still?

HaeMON: This fever! Must I be As ice while soiling flames leap out at her?

And pa.s.sionless--as one cold in a trance?

Rigid while she in stealth is drugged to shame?

Be voiceless and be vain, unstung, and still?

I must wait softly while her innocence Is drained as virgin freshness from the morn?-- Though he were twice Antonio and your son, An emperor and a G.o.d, I would not!

CHARLES: Ever, And ever bent upon Antonio?

Be not a torrent, boy, of rush and foam.

Be not, of roar!--Yet--look: Antonio?

You said Antonio?

HaeMON: Yes.

CHARLES (_troubled_): You did ill To say it! He's my son.

HaeMON: I care not.

CHARLES: Have You cause--a ground--some reason? Men should when Suspicions curve their lips.

HaeMON: Cause! reason!

CHARLES: No: He is my son. His flesh has memories That would cry out and curdle him to madness, Palsy and strangle every pregnant wish, Or bring in him compa.s.sion like a flood.

HaeMON (_contemptuous_): O----?

CHARLES: Never!--Yet, a lurking at my brain!

_Enter PAULA, hurriedly._

PAULA: My lord Antonio! my lady! (_Seeing CHARLES._) O!

CHARLES (_strangely_): Come here.

PAULA: O, sir!

CHARLES (_taking her wrist_): Were you not in a haste?

PAULA: I--I--I do not know.

CHARLES: Girl!--Why do you Drop fearful to your knees?

PAULA: 'Tis late, sir, late, Let me go in!

CHARLES: You have a mistress who Keeps quick temptation in her eyes and hair.

A shy mole too lies pillowed on her cheek-- Does she rest well?

PAULA: My lord----

CHARLES: Ah, you would say She sometimes walks asleep: and you have come To fetch her?

PAULA: Loose me, sir!

CHARLES: Or she has left Her kerchief in some nook: you seek it?

PAULA: O, Your eyes! your eyes!

CHARLES: I have a son: are his Not like them?

PAULA: My wrist, sir!

CHARLES: It was night, then--night?

You could not see him clearly?

PAULA: Mercy!

CHARLES (_looking about_): Yet Perchance he too walks in his sleep. Were it Quite well if they have met--these two that walk?

PAULA: My lady, my sweet lady!

CHARLES (_releasing her_): Go, for she Still wonderful may lie upon her couch, One arm dropt whitely. If you prayed for her-- If you should pray for her--Something may chance: There is so much may chance--we cannot know!

(_PAULA goes._ (_Disturbed._) This child who hath but dwelt about her, touched And coiled the mystery of her hair, has might Almost too much!

HaeMON: You cloud me with these words.

Were they Antonio's----

CHARLES: If I but think "Helena" must you link "Antonio" to it!

Can they not be, yet be apart? Will winds Not bear them, and not sound them separate!

If angels cry one at the stars will they But echo back the other?--This is froth-- The froth and fume of folly. You are thick In falsity, and in disquietude.

Another rapture rules Antonio's eye, Not Helena.

HaeMON: You know it--yet have led Her to his arms?

CHARLES: His arms! Ah, mole to burrow Thus under blind and muddy misbelief!

To mine is she come here. (_Terribly._) Were he a seraph, And did from Paradise desire to fold her-- No mercy!--But, I will speak as a child, As he who woke with Ruth fair at his feet; Long have I gleaned amid the years and lone.

She shall glean softly now beside me--softly, Till sunset fail in me and I am night.