"
For a moment he did not reply.
Through the drear
And dim light between them, she saw that his face
Was disturb'd. To and fro he continued to pace,
With his arms folded close, and the low restless stride
Of a panther, in circles around her, first wide.
Then narrower, nearer, and quicker. At last
He stood still, and one long look upon her he cast.
"Lucile, dost thou dare to look into my face?
Is the sight so repugnant? ha, well! canst thou trace
One word of thy writing in this wicked scroll,
With thine own name scrawl'd through it, defacing a soul?"
In his face there was something so wrathful and wild,
That the sight of it scared her.
He saw it, and smiled,
And then turn'd him from her, renewing again
That short restless stride; as though searching in vain
For the point of some purpose within him.
"Lucile,
You shudder to look in my face: do you feel
No reproach when you look in your own heart?"
"No, Duke,
In my conscience I do not deserve your rebuke:
Not yours!" she replied.
"No," he mutter'd again,
"Gentle justice! you first bid Life hope not, and then
To Despair you say, 'Act not!'"
V.
He watch'd her awhile
With a chill sort of restless and suffering smile.
They stood by the wall of the garden.
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