With a swift step, and with disorder'd mind, Through which one purpose still its clue could find, Lord Ruthven sought his home. "Yes, mine no more," So mused his soul, "to hope or to deplore; No more to watch the heart's Aurora break O'er that loved face, the light to life to speak-- No more, without a weakness that degrades, Can Fancy steal from Truth's eternal shades! Yes, we must part! But if one holier thought Still guards that shrine my fated footstep sought, Perchance, at least, I yet her soul may save, And leave her this one hope--a husband's grave!" X. Home gain'd, he asks--they tell him--her retreat: He winds the stairs, and midway halts to meet His rival passing from that mystic room, With a changed face, half sarcasm and half gloom. Writhed Ruthven's lip--his hands he clench'd;--his breast Heaved with man's natural wrath; the wrath the man supprest. "Her name, at least, I will not make the gage Of that foul strife whose cause a husband's rage." So, with the calmness of his lion eye, He glanced on Harcourt, and he pass'd him by. XI. And now he gains, and pauses at the door-- } Why beats so loud the heart so stern before? } He nerved his pride--one effort, and 'tis o'er. } Thus, with a quiet mien, he enters:--there Kneels Constance yonder--can she kneel in prayer? What object doth that meek devotion chain In yon dark niche? Before his steps can gain Her side, she starts, confused, dismay'd, and pale, And o'er the object draws the curtain veil. But there the implements of art betray What thus the conscience dare not give to day. A portrait? whose but his, the loved and lost, Of a sweet past the melancholy ghost? So Ruthven guess'd--more dark his visage grown, And thus he spoke:--"Once more we meet alone. Once more--be tranquil--hear me! not to upbraid, And not to threat, thy presence I invade; But if the pledge I gave thee I have kept, If not the husband's rights the wife hath wept, If thou hast shared whatever gifts be mine-- Wealth, honour, freedom, all unbought, been THINE, Hear me--O hear me, for thy father's sake! For the full heart that thy disgrace would break! By all thine early innocence--by all The woman's Eden--wither'd with her fall-- I, whom thou hast denied the right to guide, Implore the daughter, not command the bride; Protect--nor only from the sin and shame, Protect from _slander_--thine, my Mother's--name! For hers thou bearest now! and in her grave Her name thou honourest, if thine own thou save! I know thou lov'st another! Dost thou start? From him, as me--the time hath come to part; And ere for ever I relieve thy view-- The one thou lov'st must be an exile too. Be silent still, and fear not lest my voice Betray thy secret--Flight shall seem _his_ choice; A fair excuse--a mission to some clime,