face
To cheat my husband, as most wenches do,
Without confessing aught: for I am honest
If ever woman was.

FLERIDA. Go in, go in.

NURSE. Seest thou not I go? Can I make haste
With these poor aching joints? Thou think'st thee safe?
Remember Ulric in his dungeon plans
Vengeance upon you, and his friends abroad
Hatch plans for his deliverance. Thou a maid,
An orphan, friendless, with these ill-paid men
Guarding thy walls, what dost thou fading here?
Who knows but he is dead, thy pretty knight?
His time is up. Were he alive and true
He had spurred home, hearing thy father's death,
To claim thee and make good his heritage.
Fie on this fondness, girl! It had been wiser
To yield to Ulric. Was it not his place
To guard thee? Led he not thy father's men?
Ah, better be his wife, rich, safe, and loved,
Than wait for ever among enemies
For what will never come.

FLERIDA. Poor soul, go in.

The five years are not passed, and if they were
And I had ocular proof that he was dead,
Ulric should not be master in these walls.
But I should open arches in the tower
For bells to swing in, and the grass should grow
Upon the buried hinges of the draw.
Veiled we should walk within the garden-close,
And in the dimmed hall chant our psalmodies
With the frail voice of nuns. So get thee gone,
And summon better counsel to thy heart
Than quavers on thy lips. Go light thy taper,
And pray for the safe-coming of thy liege.

NURSE. I go. But thou, sweet lady, linger not.
The victuals will grow cold, as many a night
They have, since summer makes the twilight long
And thou com'st late to supper.—Ah, poor bones!

[Exit.

FLERIDA.

Day wanes: full summer's hanging in the air.
Oh, tarry not, my own.
See! the first withered leaf is fallen there
And I am here alone.
Hath not my sorrow magic o'er thy breast?
Hath not my weary plight
The wings of love to fly into thy nest
And reach thee in the night?
Come to me, Palmerin. Thy trial's o'er,
Thy knightly vow fulfilled.
Come before winter chokes the ways, before
My inmost soul is chilled.
Where dost thou wander? From what lonely moor
Dost thou salute this sun?
Forget'st thou in gay courts what I endure?
Lov'st thou some happier one?
Weak woman! Can my doubting heart not wait
While his true heart can fight?
Why should I falter while he fronts his fate,
Or mourn while he doth right?
Keep him, great world, till the white shield he bore
Be blazoned rich in pride.
Fear not to echo, deserts, he's no more,
If he have nobly died.

Re-enter NURSE; later HUGH, a page.

NURSE. Run hither quickly, mistress. Hasten in
And bid them raise the bridge. Some horsemen climb
The western hill. Make haste, or all is lost.
Young Hugh espied them from the northern tower,
And gave us warning.

FLERIDA. Heaven hears my prayer.

NURSE. Madness. Come in. I prithee hasten, Hugh.
She 'll take thy word, though she mistrusts my oath
Who never lied to her in all these years
That I have served her, and her mother, too,
Long before she was thought of. Speak, boy, speak.
Assure thy mistress that a host arrives.

HUGH. A single knight, my lady, clad in arms.

FLERIDA. Young, with fair locks?

HUGH. He had his helmet on.

FLERIDA. Saw'st thou his shield?.

HUGH. It bore a rich device.
But what I know not.

FLERIDA. Came he mounted well?

HUGH. Right well, on a white steed. But at the turn
Dismounted, and now leads the charger up.

NURSE. O God, 't is he! I know him by that sign.
He always did so. [A bugle is heard in the distance.

FLERIDA. God be my strength! Answer the bugle, Hugh.
Thy master's call. It is Sir Palmerin.
Again, again.—Summon the men-at-arms
And fetch my father's sword, his helm and shield,
That, with the great keys, I deliver them
To him whose right they are.

[Exit HUGH.

The day is come,
Merciful God, the day is come at last.

NURSE. Runnest thou not to meet him? Flyest thou not?
Oh, if I could, I'd rush to kiss his hands
Full half-way down the steep. Alas! these bones.

FLERIDA. I, who have waited for him five long years,
May well be patient now. Here let him find me
Where last we parted, at the castle gate.

Re-enter HUGH, men-at-arms, and attendant, bearing some pieces of armour.

NURSE. Oh, I must weep for joy! See, where he comes,
Not so much changed but I should know him still
Among a thousand. Such a pretty child
As the knight was, and such a roguish boy!
Can this be Palmerin? Who could have fancied
That he should ever be this stalwart man?

Enter SIR PALMERIN, who, seeing the lady FLERIDA, who remains motionless, goes to kneel before her.

PALMERIN. Lady, hast thou forgotten Palmerin?

FLERIDA. Were memory dead, that voice would waken it.

PALMERIN. What mean these weeds, these arms?

FLERIDA. That thou, my liege,
Art master in this castle.

PALMERIN. Ah, thy father—
How long have we been orphaned, Flerida?

FLERIDA. Ten moons have shed their light upon his grave.

PALMERIN. Oh, more than father—

FLERIDA. And thou more than son
Wast ever to him. He remembered thee
With his last breath, and bade me, when thou earnest,
Render his arms, his vassals, and his towers
Into thy hand. My lord, receive the keys. [Kneels.

PALMERIN [raising her].
How gladly, if these keys unlock thy heart,
Dear lady. For my prize is not these walls,
Nor these stout men and honourable arms.
'T was not for them I served the Emperor
In many a battle waged in heathen lands.
'T was in the hope of what no strength of arm
Nor kingly favour, without grace of thine,
Could win for any man. If thou canst love me,
I take all else to do thee homage with;
But if thy heart, in my