_Vav._ I do not love the world. My darling sister found her sorrow there-- The world is naught to me. This tiny isle, But half a league in girth holds all _I_ love. _My_ world is where thou art--there let me stay For the few months that yet remain to me! I think my time on earth will be but brief. _Hil._ Hush, hush, Vavir. I will not hear these things. _Vav._ My life has been a very happy life, So free from pain and sorrow of its own That, but that I have shared my sister’s grief, I had not known what pain and sorrow are-- Yet even this calm rest--this changeless peace, Saps my poor fragile fabric day by day, And the first shaft that sorrow aims at it, May shake its puny structure to the ground! _Hil._ Why, what sad silly fancy’s this, Vavir? Thou hast no pain, my child? _Vav._ No pain, indeed; But a calm happiness so strangely still, It comes not of this world. I am to die Ere very long. Pray Heaven I be prepared! _Hil._ It’s well for me and well for both of us I do not share these foolish fantasies! Why, silly child, believest thou that Time Will see the fruit that ripens on those cheeks, And note the dainty banquet of those lips, And not preserve such rich and radiant fare, For his own feasting in his own good time? Trust the old Epicure! [_Exeunt HILDA and VAVIR together._ _Enter FLORIAN. He comes down, looking around him in admiration._ _Flor._ All men who say I’m five-and-twenty, lie. I was born but to-day! An hour ago! Yes--this must be the World. The distant land In which I’ve passed so many years, and which I, in my puppy-blindness, called “The World,” Is but its antechamber. _Enter MOUSTA (with book)._ Born to-day, And by a process which is new to me, My faculties are scarcely wide awake, But if my memory serves me faithfully, This twisted thing and I have met before. _Mous._ The ladies are at supper. Now’s my time To master, undisturbed by curious eyes, The ghostly secrets of my spirit book! Where was I? Oh! (_reads_) “_Take scammony and rue, With henbane gathered_--” _Flor._ (_coming behind and taking book from him_). Pardon me--that’s mine. _Mous._ Oh, Heaven and Earth--a Man! Thou hardy fool, What dost thou on this isle? (_Draws knife._) Come, answer me. _Flor._ Give me that knife. (_Twists it out of his hand._) That’s well! Now, what’s your will? _Mous._ Go--get thee hence at once. _Flor._ No, not just yet. This Paradise--if Rumour tells the truth-- Is ruled by six fair ladies. I prefer To take my sailing orders from _their_ lips. _Mous._ Their lips are mine! _Flor._ Then you’re a lucky dog!