Should yesternight absolve my right of coming? Have you then changed? Did you not e’en refuse The solitary kiss for which I begged As though you sat, the lily in your hand, Beneath the plane as in the olden time? RHOD. You’ll live to thank me for it. KAN. Nay, but fear not. True, I was drawn to you as on the morning After our wedding; but a hint, a wave Of hand, and I am gone even as I came. Ay, swifter from your presence would I hasten Than if in search of drink I neared a fountain With noiseless tread, and in the very act Espied a shrinking Naiad leave her bath. RHOD. Remain! KAN. No--not a breathing-span’s delay, If it distress you; and it does distress, I feel it deep. This is the hour for that Which has been christened in your lovely phrase Your “inmost self-communing.” I will not Sully its sanctitude. Though Aphrodite, Kind-smiling on this oversoon approach, Threw me for your delight the golden girdle She never gives away and scarcely lends, I’d come some other time and hand it you. RHOD. No more. That sounds too sweet and gives me fear; For aye my nurse would tell me, “When a man Draws near his wife with over-fond approach Be sure he’s done her feelings secret hurt.” KAN. There too I’m touched. I’ve done your feelings hurt. I know your nature and as well I know You cannot change your ways. Your father rules Where Greek and Indian manners are immingled; Your veil’s a portion of your Being’s self, Yet must I ever pull and pluck at it And would have wrenched it bodily yesterday. Come then, I rue it, and I swear to you-- This drove me here--’twill not be done again. [RHODOPE _laughs_. For ne’er I longed as now that I might ward Not just the grief that burrows to the bone And leaves its scars to sharp the after-sting, Nay, but to scare the tiniest shadow hence That might o’ercast your soul with its annoy, Though such a shadow’s source should be myself. I will watch o’er you as the trusty lashes Watch o’er your eye; down comes their latch and bars Not only sand-grains but the sunny beam When over-ardent and too swiftly come. RHOD. Too late! Too late! KAN. What is too late, dear wife? RHOD. I--No, I will not say it--I cannot say it; Mayhap he’ll guess it, and if he should guess, I’ll seek my knees, dumb, stripped of speech before him, Pointing upon his sword-blade and my breast. KAN. Some dream has given you fright? RHOD.