O hard， when love and duty clash！ I fear My conscience will not count me fleckless； yet--Hear my conditions： promise (otherwise You perish) as you came， to slip away Today， tomorrow， soon： it shall be said， These women were too barbarous， would not learn；They fled， who might have shamed us： promise， all.'
What could we else， we promised each； and she， Like some wild creature newly-caged， commenced A to-and-fro， so pacing till she paused By Florian； holding out her lily arms Took both his hands， and smiling faintly said：
'I knew you at the first： though you have grown You scarce have altered： I am sad and glad To see you， Florian. ~I~ give thee to death My brother！ it was duty spoke， not I.
My needful seeming harshness， pardon it.
Our mother， is she well？'
With that she kissed His forehead， then， a moment after， clung About him， and betwixt them blossomed up From out a common vein of memory Sweet household talk， and phrases of the hearth， And far allusion， till the gracious dews Began to glisten and to fall： and while They stood， so rapt， we gazing， came a voice， 'I brought a message here from Lady Blanche.'
Back started she， and turning round we saw The Lady Blanche's daughter where she stood， Melissa， with her hand upon the lock， A rosy blonde， and in a college gown， That clad her like an April daffodilly (Her mother's colour) with her lips apart， And all her thoughts as fair within her eyes， As bottom agates seen to wave and float In crystal currents of clear morning seas.
So stood that same fair creature at the door.
Then Lady Psyche， 'Ah--Melissa--you！
You heard us？' and Melissa， 'O pardon me I heard， I could not help it， did not wish：
But， dearest Lady， pray you fear me not， Nor think I bear that heart within my breast， To give three gallant gentlemen to death.'
'I trust you，' said the other， 'for we two Were always friends， none closer， elm and vine：
But yet your mother's jealous temperament--Let not your prudence， dearest， drowse， or prove The Dana飀 of a leaky vase， for fear This whole foundation ruin， and I lose My honour， these their lives.' 'Ah， fear me not'
Replied Melissa； 'no--I would not tell， No， not for all Aspasia's cleverness， No， not to answer， Madam， all those hard things That Sheba came to ask of Solomon.'
'Be it so' the other， 'that we still may lead The new light up， and culminate in peace， For Solomon may come to Sheba yet.'
Said Cyril， 'Madam， he the wisest man Feasted the woman wisest then， in halls Of Lebanonian cedar： nor should you (Though， Madam， ~you~ should answer， ~we~ would ask)Less welcome find among us， if you came Among us， debtors for our lives to you， Myself for something more.' He said not what， But 'Thanks，' she answered 'Go： we have been too long Together： keep your hoods about the face；They do so that affect abstraction here.
Speak little； mix not with the rest； and hold Your promise： all， I trust， may yet be well.'
We turned to go， but Cyril took the child， And held her round the knees against his waist， And blew the swollen cheek of a trumpeter， While Psyche watched them， smiling， and the child Pushed her flat hand against his face and laughed；And thus our conference closed.
And then we strolled For half the day through stately theatres Benched crescent-wise. In each we sat， we heard The grave Professor. On the lecture slate The circle rounded under female hands With flawless demonstration： followed then A classic lecture， rich in sentiment， With scraps of thunderous Epic lilted out By violet-hooded Doctors， elegies And quoted odes， and jewels five-words-long That on the stretched forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever： then we dipt in all That treats of whatsoever is， the state， The total chronicles of man， the mind， The morals， something of the frame， the rock， The star， the bird， the fish， the shell， the flower， Electric， chemic laws， and all the rest， And whatsoever can be taught and known；Till like three horses that have broken fence， And glutted all night long breast-deep in corn， We issued gorged with knowledge， and I spoke：
'Why， Sirs， they do all this as well as we.'
'They hunt old trails' said Cyril 'very well；But when did woman ever yet invent？'
