MARIAN. He calls me; I must go; restrain me not. LADY ELLRINGTON. Nay! I will hold thee firmly as grim death. Thou need’st not struggle, for my grasp is strong. Thou shalt not go: Lord Arthur shall come here, And I will gain the rose despite of thee! Now for my hour of triumph: here he comes. [LORD ARTHUR _advances from among the trees, exclaiming on seeing_ LADY ELLRINGTON. LORD ARTHUR. Zenobia! How com’st thou here? What ails thee? Thy cheek is flushed as with a fever glow; Thine eyes flash strangest radiance; and thy frame Trembles like to the wind-stirred aspen-tree! LADY ELLRINGTON. Give me the rose, Lord Arthur, for methinks I merit it more than my girlish rival; I pray thee now grant my request, and place That rose upon my forehead, not on hers; Then will I serve thee all my after-days As thy poor handmaid, as thy humblest slave, Happy to kiss the dust beneath thy tread, To kneel submissive in thy lordly presence. Oh! turn thine eyes from her and look on me As I kneel here imploring at thy feet, Supremely blest if but a single glance Could tell me that thou art not wholly deaf To my petition, earnestly preferred. LORD ARTHUR. Lady, thou’rt surely mad! Depart, and hush These importunate cries. They are not worthy Of the great name which thou hast fairly earned. LADY ELLRINGTON. Give me that rose, and I to thee will cleave Till death. Hear me, and give it me, Lord Arthur! LORD ARTHUR [_after a few minutes’ deliberation_]. Here, take the flower, and keep it for my sake. [MARIAN _utters a suppressed scream, and sinks to the ground_. LADY ELLRINGTON [_assisting her to rise_]. Now I have triumphed! But I’ll not exult; Yet know, henceforth, I’m thy superior. Farewell, my lord; I thank thee for thy preference! [_She plunges into the wood and disappears._ LORD ARTHUR. Fear nothing, Marian, for a fading flower Is not symbolical of constancy. But take this sign; [_Gives her his diamond ring_] enduring adamant Betokens well affection that will live Long as life animates my faithful heart. Now let us go; for, see, the deepening shades Of twilight darken our lone forest-path; And, lo! thy dove comes gliding through the murk, Fair wanderer, back to its loved mistress’ care! Luna will light us on our journey home: For, see, her lamp shines radiant in the sky, And her bright beams will pierce the thickest boughs. [_Exeunt, and curtain falls._ From an unpublished manuscript by Charlotte Brontë, entitled ‘Visits in Verreopolis,’ vol. i., completed December 11th, 1880. THE FAIRY GIFT