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The heir of Rookwood.
Sideways to hide a smile.
+1>I could not stoop
To doubt my plighted wife. 'Twas natural—
Strangers were rare at Rookwood. Arthur told
Gay tales of foreign courts—had wandered far.
His traveller's magic held her in its spell.
Well might she weary of my side, and long,
Poor child, for wider ranging—thus I reasoned.
But as the weeks wore on, my pride spoke louder,
And every morn flung back the coiled suspicion
I nightly tore, indignant, from my breast.
Ernestine's cold smile and attentive glance,
Lilia's dropt eyes, flushed cheek, and faltering tongue,
Arthur's calm gaze for ever following Lilia,
Angered me all alike.
'Twas after midnight.
Too bright the moon across my pillow shone—
I rose to drop the curtain and looked forth.
'Twas after midnight. Lilia's lamp still burning?
Her shadow flitted o'er the turret wall,
Returned and paused. She stood before her mirror.
There she was gathering up her hair and buckling
+1>I could not stoop
To doubt my plighted wife. 'Twas natural—
Strangers were rare at Rookwood. Arthur told
Gay tales of foreign courts—had wandered far.
His traveller's magic held her in its spell.
Well might she weary of my side, and long,
Poor child, for wider ranging—thus I reasoned.
But as the weeks wore on, my pride spoke louder,
And every morn flung back the coiled suspicion
I nightly tore, indignant, from my breast.
Ernestine's cold smile and attentive glance,
Lilia's dropt eyes, flushed cheek, and faltering tongue,
Arthur's calm gaze for ever following Lilia,
Angered me all alike.
'Twas after midnight.
Too bright the moon across my pillow shone—
I rose to drop the curtain and looked forth.
'Twas after midnight. Lilia's lamp still burning?
Her shadow flitted o'er the turret wall,
Returned and paused. She stood before her mirror.
There she was gathering up her hair and buckling
