FAUCONSHAWE 



Across the floor, through the opening door, 



Where standeth a stately knight, 

 The lamplight streams, and flickers, and 

 gleams, 

 On his features stern and white — 

 'Tis Sir Hugh de Vere, and he cometh more 

 near, 

 And the lady standeth upright. 



*'^Tis little," he said, ''that I know or care 



Of the guilt (if guilt there be) 

 That lies 'twixt thee and yon dead man there, 



Nor matters it now to me ; 

 I thought thee pure, thou art only fair, 



And to-morrow I cross the sea. 



" He perish'd ! I ask not why or how ? 



I come to recall my troth ; 

 Take back, my lady, thy broken vow. 



Give back my allegiance oath ; 

 Let the past be buried between us now 



For ever — 'tis best for both. 



''Yet, Mabel, I could ask, dost thou dare 



Lay hand on that corpse's heart, 



67 



