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AURORA LEIGH.

‘She knew of knowledge,—aye, of knowledge, knew,
‘That Romney Leigh had loved her formerly.
‘And she loved him, she might say, now the chance
‘Was past . . but that, of course, he never guessed,—
‘For something came between them . . something thin
‘As a cobweb . . catching every fly of doubt
‘To hold it buzzing at the window-pane
‘And help to dim the daylight. Ah, man’s pride
‘Or woman’s—which is greatest? most averse
‘To brushing cobwebs? Well, but she and he
‘Remained fast friends; it seemed not more than so,
‘Because he had bound his hands and could not stir:
‘An honorable man, if somewhat rash;
‘And she, not even for Romney, would she spill
‘A blot . . as little even as a tear . .
‘Upon his marriage-contract,—not to gain
‘A better joy for two than came by that!
‘For, though I stood between her heart and heaven,
‘She loved me wholly.’’
Did I laugh or curse?
I think I sat there silent, hearing all,
Ay, hearing double,—Marian’s tale, at once,
And Romney’s marriage vow, ‘I’ll keep to THEE,’
Which means that woman-serpent. Is it time
For church now?
‘Lady Waldemar spoke more,’
Continued Marian, ‘but, as when a soul
Will pass out through the sweetness of a song
Beyond it, voyaging the uphill road,—
Even so mine wandered from the things I heard,