'And why am I here?' 'But what did you mutter?' 'O pardon, sweet.
Why came I here and--my mother?' In truth then I cannot tell.'
'Yet you drew my ring from your finger--see--I kneel at your feet.'
'Put it on. 'T was for no fault of mine.' 'Love! I knew that full well.'


XII.

'And yet there be faults that long repented, are aye to deplore,
Wear my ring, Laura, at least till I choose some words I can say,
If indeed any word need be said.' 'No! wait, Ronald, no more;
What! is there respite? Give me a moment to think "nay" or "ay."


XIII.

I know not, but feel there is. O pardon me, pardon me,--peace.
For nought is to say, and the dawn of hope is a solemn thing,
Let us have silence. Take me back, Ronald, full sweet is release.'
'Laura! but give me my troth kiss again.' 'And give me my ring.'




THE WHITE MOON WASTETH.


The white moon wasteth,
And cold morn hasteth
Athwart the snow,