[Nurse _goes_.]

My treasure-room! how little then I thought,
Glad in my secret, one day it would hold
A treasure unto which I dared not come.
Perhaps she'd love me now--a very little!--
But not with even a heavenly gift would I
Go begging love; that should be free as light,
Cleaving unto myself even for myself.
I have enough to brood on, joy to turn
Over and over in my secret heart:--
She lives, and is the better that I live!

_Re-enter_ Nurse.

_Nurse_.
My lord, her mind is wandering; she is raving;
She's in a dreadful fever. We must send
To Arli for the doctor, else her life
Will be in danger.

_Julian_
(_rising disturbed_).
Go and fetch your daughter.
Between you, take her to my room, yours now.
I'll see her there. I think you can together!

_Nurse_.
O yes, my lord; she is so thin, poor child!