_Mar._ O, my love, How can I leave thee now? If thou wert held By softest sleep on pillows of content I could no less than weep to go from thee, And yet these tears are all I have when thou Art left to sad, despairing watch. I'll stay, For I've no words to part with, none to tell How breaks my heart in going. _Kent._ Nay, I must work, And you will call my wits to otherwheres; Then in the morn these eyes, undewed with sleep, Will show me not the light that must be mine. _Mar._ Dost toy with words to me? Not in my eyes, But in my heart burns thy unfailing torch, And if you find it dim it is thy secret Casts shade between us, not a lack in me. _Kent._ If I should speak then oaths were straws in fire. _Mar._ O, no, I would not have thee speak. That's past. 'Tis our misfortune that we are divided In this most pitchy hour that in itself Were nothing if our hearts could meet and melt In unreserved touch. In every life There comes a watch the soul must keep alone. The hour has struck for thine. And mine I feel Is not so far away. Now, now I go, My lord. Because I help you best in going. Our hearts would rush together, and the pain Grows in them baffled. Dearer than life, good night. I leave my prayers like candles set about you, And as they fail think of me on my knees Renewing them from Heaven. [_Exit, right_] _Kent._ Margaret! [_Pauses, slowly takes up the light and goes off, left, leaving the room in darkness. Curtain_] SCENE 2. _The same room in darkness. Margaret enters, right, carrying a taper._ _Mar._ I'll look upon her. When sleep slips the rein The soul plays in the face unguarded. Then The conscious warder holding up the mask Before the secret self bares all defence Unheedful of approach. I'll look, and pray To find the lineaments so pure by day Still guileless fair. O, that 'twere yesterday--Sweet yesterday--when I knew not nor guessed The sad division 'tween my soul and Hubert's! O, knowledge, rude defiler of our dreams, How oft we'd give thy hard, substantial store To build again with bright illusion's eye Our happy towers on the inconstant clouds: [_Sees a light through curtains_] She's up! No ... who is there? [_Veils her taper. Kent comes from the inner room. He carries a candle_] _Kent._ She does not move. O, Eleanor, how could thy heart give blood To one so pure that he who loves her best Would send her back to Heaven? _Mar._ [_Unheard by Kent_] Eleanor! Her child! Her child! _Kent._ Fair Glaia, may'st thou rest, Not ever wake till angels call thee up. [_Looking back_] Ay, ay, she sleeps. [_Exit, left_]