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WITHIN AND WITHOUT: A Dramatic Poem PART II SCENE XV.—The Nurse's room. JULIAN and LILIA standing near the window

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  Julian.

  But do you really love me, Lilia?


  Lilia.

  Why do you make me say it so often, Julian?

  You make me say I love you, oftener far

  Than you say you love me.


  Julian.

                    To love you seems

  So much a thing of mere necessity!

  I can refrain from loving you no more

  Than keep from waking when the sun shines full

  Upon my face.


  Lilia.

             And yet I love to say

  How, how I love you, Julian!


  [Leans her head on his arm. JULIAN winces a little. She raises her head and looks at him.]

                              Did I hurt you?

  Would you not have me lean my head on you?


  Julian.

  Come on this side, my love; 'tis a slight hurt

  Not yet quite healed.


  Lilia.

                      Ah, my poor Julian! How—

  I am so sorry!—Oh, I do remember!

  I saw it all quite plain! It was no dream!

  I saw you fighting!—Surely you did not kill him?


  Julian

  (calmly, but drawing himself up).

  I killed him as I would a dog that bit you.


  Lilia

  (turning pale, and covering her face with her

  hands.)

  Oh, that was dreadful! there is blood on you!


  Julian.

  Shall I go, Lilia?


  Lilia.

                      Oh no, no, no, do not.—

  I shall be better presently.


  Julian.

                 You shrink

  As from a murderer!


  Lilia.

                           Oh no, I love you—

  Will never leave you. Pardon me, my Julian;

  But blood is terrible.


  Julian

  (drawing her close to him).

  My own sweet Lilia,

  'Twas justly shed, for your defense and mine,

  As it had been a tiger that I killed.

  He had no right to live. Be at peace, darling;

  His blood lies not on me, but on himself;

  I do not feel its stain upon my conscience.


[A tap at the door.]

Enter Nurse.

Nurse. My lord, the steward waits on you below.


[JULIAN goes.]

  You have been standing till you're faint, my lady!

  Lie down a little. There!—I'll fetch you something.


The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1

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