Is it the tardiness of cold aversion?
'T is more than that; some damned conference
Elsewhere detains her. Ay, that airy fool
Wore at the supper-board a conscious look,
Glancing in concert with the half-check'd smile
That moved his quivering cheek, too well betraying
His inward triumph: 't was a cursed smile;
I would have cast my javelin at his throat,
But shame withheld me.—She the while did sit
With pensive fearful eye, that always fell,
Beneath my keen inquiring look, reproved.
Is virtue thus demure, restrain'd, mysterious?
She, too, who was as cheerful as the light,
Courting the notice of my looks! no, no!
Some blasting change is here. What can be done?
For something must be done. (A pause and listening.)Ho there without!
Who walks at this late hour?—A heavy step;
Have they their emissaries on the watch
To give them notice of my movements? Ho!
Ho there without!
Enter Servant.
SERVANT.
