Читать книгу The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1 - George MacDonald - Страница 13

  Julian.

  Nembroni? Count Nembroni?—I remember:

  A man about my height, but stronger built?

  I have seen him at her father's. There was something

  I did not like about him:—ah! I know:

  He had a way of darting looks at you,

  As if he wished to know you, but by stealth.

  Nurse.

  The same, my lord. He is the creditor.

  The common story is, he sought the daughter,

  But sought in vain: the lady would not wed.

  'Twas rumoured soon they were in grievous trouble,

  Which caused much wonder, for the family

  Was always reckoned wealthy. Count Nembroni

  Contrived to be the only creditor,

  And so imprisoned him.

  Julian.

                        Where is the lady?

  Nurse.

                     Down in the town.

  Julian.

          But where?

  Nurse.

                                    If you turn left,

  When you go through the gate, 'tis the last house

  Upon this side the way. An honest couple,

  Who once were almost pensioners of hers,

  Have given her shelter: still she hopes a home

  With distant friends. Alas, poor lady! 'tis

  A wretched change for her.

  Julian.

                      Hm! ah! I see.

  What kind of man is this Nembroni, nurse?

  Nurse.

  Here he is little known. His title comes

  From an estate, they say, beyond the hills.

  He looks ungracious: I have seen the children

  Run to the doors when he came up the street.

  Julian.

  Thank you, nurse; you may go. Stay—one thing more:

  Have any of my people seen me?

  Nurse. None

  But me, my lord.

  Julian.

                                 And can you keep it secret?—

  know you will for my sake. I will trust you.

  Bring me some supper; I am tired and faint. [Nurse goes.]

  Poor and alone! Such a man has not laid

  His plans for nothing further! I will watch him.

  Heaven may have brought me hither for her sake.

  Poor child! I would protect thee as thy father,

  Who cannot help thee. Thou wast not to blame;

  My love had no claim on like love from thee.—How

  the old tide comes rushing to my heart!

  I know not what I can do yet but watch.

  I have no hold on him. I cannot go,

  Say, I suspect; and, Is it so or not?

  I should but injure them by doing so.

  True, I might pay her father's debts; and will,

  If Joseph, my old friend, has managed well

  During my absence. I have not spent much.

  But still she'd be in danger from this man,

  If not permitted to betray himself;

  And I, discovered, could no more protect.

  Or if, unseen by her, I yet could haunt

  Her footsteps like an angel, not for long

  Should I remain unseen of other eyes,

  That peer from under cowls—not angel-eyes—

  Hunting me out, over the stormy earth.

   No; I must watch. I can do nothing better.