From the hour Of their first flash of eloquence, some power, Some most persistent and ingenious fate Of idle tongues had held them separate, Griselda and the Prince--him in his part Of host, with cares not wholly of the heart Demanding his attention, while on her Friends fastened more than dull and less than dear. In vain they stopped, and loitered, and went on, Leaving no trick untried, unturned no stone; In vain they waited. Still their hope deferred Failed of its object, one consoling word, One little sigh as of relief thus given: "Well, they are gone at last, and thanked be Heaven." But hour on hour went by, and accident Seemed still at pains to frustrate their intent, Piling up grief for them and poor Lord L., On whom, in fault of foes, their vengeance fell. 'Twas worst for her. She knew not whom to strike, Lord L., her friends, the Prince--'twas now alike. She had lost in fact her temper, if I dare Thus speak of one so wise and one so fair, And to the point that now there was no room For other thought, but L. should take her home, Away and speedily. The Prince, who knew No word of what a storm Fate held in brew, And who had sought, in innocence of all, Griselda's hand to lead the opening ball, And sought in vain, now found, to his despair, My lady cloaked and standing on the stair. She was alone. "Lord L. had gone," she said, "To bid the Prince good night. Her foolish head Had played her false, and ached with the new heat Of the May sun (even L. complained of it). They must be home betimes. Next day was Sunday, And they had much to do 'twixt that and Monday, In view of their departure." "Whither? whence? In Heaven's name," exclaimed the astounded Prince. "Why, home to England, she had thought he knew: She must have told him. L. was more than due In London, where his place in Parliament Required his presence. He had missed the Lent, And dared not miss the Easter session. She Thought he was right, altho',"--and suddenly She burst in tears. The Prince, in dire distress, Besought her to be calm. But she, with face Hid in both hands, and turning from the light, Broke from his arms, and rushed into the night. Across the hall, beneath the portico, And down the steps she fled, to where below The garden lay all dim with starlit shade, And the white glimmer of the main façade. Here Belgirate found her on a seat, Crouched in an angle of the parapet, And sobbing as in terror. His surprise Was changed to resolution. To his eyes The world became transfigured. "Lady L.," He whispered, "what is this? You love me? Well, Why do you weep?"