She stood a moment silent in her place; Then, turning toward me, very slow and cold— —‘And you,—what say you?—will you blame me much, If, careful for that outcast child of mine, I catch this hand that’s stretched to me and him, Nor dare to leave him friendless in the world Where men have stoned me? Have I not the right To take so mere an aftermath from life, Else found so wholly bare? Or is it wrong To let your cousin, for a generous bent, Put out his ungloved fingers among briars To set a tumbling bird’s-nest somewhat straight? You will not tell him, though we’re innocent We are not harmless?... and that both our harms Will stick to his good smooth noble life like burrs, Never to drop off though you shake the cloak? You’ve been my friend: you will not now be his? You’ve known him, that he’s worthy of a friend; And you’re his cousin, lady, after all, And therefore more than free to take his part, Explaining, since the nest is surely spoilt, And Marian what you know her,—though a wife, The world would hardly understand her case Of being just hurt and honest; while for him, ’Twould ever twit him with his bastard child And married harlot. Speak, while yet there’s time: You would not stand and let a good man’s dog Turn round and rend him, because his, and reared Of a generous breed,—and will you let his act, Because it’s generous? Speak. I’m bound to you, And I’ll be bound by only you, in this.’ The thrilling, solemn voice, so passionless, Sustained, yet low, without a rise or fall, As one who had authority to speak, And not as Marian. I looked up to feel If God stood near me, and beheld his heaven As blue as Aaron’s priestly robe appeared To Aaron when he took it off to die. And then I spoke—‘Accept the gift, I say, My sister Marian, and be satisfied. The hand that gives, has still a soul behind Which will not let it quail for having given, Though foolish worldlings talk they know not what, Of what they know not. Romney’s strong enough For this: do you be strong to know he’s strong: He stands on Right’s side; never flinch for him, As if he stood on the other. You’ll be bound By me? I am a woman of repute; No fly-blow gossip ever specked my life; My name is clean and open as this hand, Whose glove there’s not a man dares blab about, As if he had touched it freely:—here’s my hand To clasp your hand, my Marian, owned as pure! As pure,—as I’m a woman and a Leigh!— And, as I’m both, I’ll witness to the world That Romney Leigh is honoured in his choice, Who chooses Marian for his honoured wife.’