So Shame came in, and cower'd upon the floor, And face to face with Shame, he sate to hear The groan above bring torture to his ear. In that sad night, when the young mother slept, Forth from his door the elder mourner crept; Absent for days, none knowing whither bent, Till back return'd abruptly as he went. With a swift tremulous stride he climb'd the stair, } Through the closed chamber gleam'd his silver hair, } And Mary heard his voice soft--pitying--as in prayer! } 'Child, child, I was too hard!--But woe is wild; Now I know all!--again I clasp my child!' Within his arms, upon his heart again His Mary lay, and strove for words in vain; She strove for words, but better spoke through tears The love the heart through silence vents and hears. "All this I gather'd from the nurse, who saw The scene, which dews from hireling eyes could draw; So far;--her sob the pastor heard, and turn'd, Waved his wan hand, nor what more chanced she learn'd. "Next morn in death the happier father lay, From sleep to Heaven his soul had pass'd away; He had but lived to pardon and to bless His child;--emotion kills in its excess, And that task done, why longer on the rack Stretch the worn frame?--God's mercy call'd him back. The day they buried him, while yet the strife Of sense and memory raged for death and life In Mary's shatter'd brain, her father's friend, Whose hand, perchance, had sped him to his end, Whose zeal officious had explored, reveal'd My name, the half, worse half, of all conceal'd, Sought her, and saw alone: When gone, a change Came o'er the victim, terrible and strange; All grief seem'd hush'd--a stern tranquillity Calm'd the wan brow and fix'd the glassy eye; She spoke not, moved not, wept not,--on her breast Slept Earth's new stranger--not more deep its rest. They fear'd her in that mood--with noiseless tread Stole from the room; and, ere the morn, she fled. Gone the young Mother with her babe!--no trace; As the wind goes, she vanish'd from the place; They search'd the darkness of the wood, they pried Into the secrets of the tempting tide, In vain,--unseen on earth as in the wave, Where life found refuge or despair a grave." "And is this all?" said Morvale-- "No, my thought Guess'd at the clue; her father's friend I sought, A stern hard man, of Calvin's iron mould, And yet I moved him, and his tale he told. It seem'd (by me unmark'd), amidst the rest, My uncle's board had known this homely guest. Our evil star had led the guest, one day, Where through the lone glade wound our lovers' way, To view, with Age's hard, suspecting eyes, The high-born courtier in the student's guise. Thus, when the father, startled to vague fears, By his child's waning cheek and unrevealing tears, First to his brother priest for counsel came, He urged stern question--track'd the grief to shame,