us regard!... Oft, how oft,
Had his heart flash'd this hope out, whilst watching aloft
The dim battle that plume dance and dart--never seen
So near till this moment! how eager to glean
Every stray word, dropp'd through the camp-babble in praise
Of his hero--each tale of old venturous days
In the desert! And now... could he speak out his heart
Face to face with that man ere he died!

XXXIII.

With a start
The sick soldier sprang up: the blood sprang up in him,
To his throat, and o'erthrew him: he reel'd back: a dim
Sanguine haze fill'd his eyes; in his ears rose the din
And rush, as of cataracts loosen'd within,
Through which he saw faintly, and heard, the pale nun
(Looking larger than life, where she stood in the sun)
Point to him and murmur, "Behold!" Then that plume
Seem'd to wave like a fire, and fade off in the gloom
Which momently put out the world.

XXXIV.

To his side
Moved the man the boy dreaded yet loved... "Ah!"... he sigh'd,
"The smooth brow, the fair Vargrave face! and those eyes,
All the mother's! The old things again!
"Do not rise.
You suffer, young man?"

THE BOY.

Sir, I die.

THE DUKE.

Not so young!

THE BOY.

So young? yes! and yet I have tangled among
The fray'd warp and woof of this brief life of mine
Other lives than my own. Could my death but untwine
The vext skein... but it will not. Yes, Duke, young--so young!
And I knew you not? yet I have done you a wrong
Irreparable!... late, too late to repair.
If I knew any means... but I know none!... I swear,
If this broken fraction of time could extend
Into infinite lives of atonement, no end
Would seem too remote for my grief (could that be!)
To include it! Not too late, however, for me
To entreat: is it too late for you to forgive?

THE DUKE.

You wrong--my forgiveness--explain.

THE BOY.

Could I live!
Such a very few hours left to life, yet I shrink,
I falter... Yes, Duke, your forgiveness I think
Should free my soul hence.