Or, Henry, I'll not wrong you--you believe
That I was ignorant. I scarce grieve o'er
The past. We'll love on; you will love me still.

MERTOUN. Oh, to love less what one has injured! Dove,
Whose pinion I have rashly hurt, my breast--
Shall my heart's warmth not nurse thee into strength?
Flower I have crushed, shall I not care for thee?
Bloom o'er my crest, my fight-mark and device!
Mildred, I love you and you love me.

MILDRED. Go!
Be that your last word. I shall sleep to-night.

MERTOUN. This is not our last meeting?

MILDRED. One night more.

MERTOUN. And then--think, then!

MILDRED. Then, no sweet courtship-days,
No dawning consciousness of love for us,
No strange and palpitating births of sense
>From words and looks, no innocent fears and hopes,
Reserves and confidences: morning's over!

MERTOUN. How else should love's perfected noontide follow?
All the dawn promised shall the day perform.

MILDRED. So may it be! but--