bags of gold,
Or a straight-featured mask. Nor will it be
Any you name, though you should name him right.
Must it not lie--how many fathom deep--
The secret of a woman's foolish heart?
ANNICCA.
Kiss me, Maria. You are still a child.
You cannot vex me, wilful as you be.
Your choice, I fear not, doubtless 't will prove wise,
Despite your wild wit, for your heart is pure,
And you will pause with sure deliberate judgment
Before you leave our father.
MARIA.
Does love steal
So gently o'er our soul? What if he come
A cloud, a fire, a whirlwind, to o'erbear
The feeble barriers wherewith we oppose him,
And blind our eyes and wrest from us our reason?
Fear not, Annicca, for in no such guise
He visits my calm breast; but yet you speak
Somewhat too sagely. Did such cautious wisdom
Guide your own fancy?
ANNICCA.
Jest no more, Maria.
Since I became a wife, is much made clear,
Which a brief year ago was dark and vague.
Tommaso loves me--we are happier
Then I had dreamed; yet matching now with then,
I see his love is not that large, rich passion
Our father bore us.
MARIA.
You regret your home?
ANNICCA.
No, no! I have no wish and no regret.
I speak for you. His is a sovereign soul,
And all his passions loom in huger shape
Than lesser men's. He brooks no rivalry
With his own offspring, and toward me his love
Hath ebbed, I mark, to a more even flow,
While deeper, stronger, sets the powerful current
Toward you alone. Consider this, Maria,
Nor wantonly discrown that sacred head
Of your young love to wreathe some curled boy's brow.
MARIA.
Think you his wish were that I should not wed?
ANNICCA.
Nay, that I say not, for his pride aspires
To see you nobly mated.
MARIA (after a pause).
Him will I wed
Whose name is ancient, fair, and honorable,
As the Ribera's is illustrious--
Him who no less than I will venerate
That white, divine old head. In art his pupil,
In love his son; tender as I to watch,
And to delay the slow extinguishing
Of that great light.
ANNICCA.
There spake his darling child!
MARIA.
What is't o'clock? If he should sleep
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