Swift Lady Eunice ran, her farthingale,
Unnoticed, tangling in a fallen rake.
XXXI
She gave a little cry and fell quite prone In
the long grass, and lay there very still.
Gervase leapt from the tree at her soft moan, And kneeling
over her, with clumsy skill
Unloosed her bodice, fanned her with his hat, And his unguarded
lips pronounced his heart.
Eunice, my Dearest Girl, where are you hurt? His
trembling fingers dart
Over her limbs seeking some wound. She strove
To answer, opened wide her eyes, above
Her knelt Sir Everard, with face alert.
XXXII
Her eyelids fell again at that sweet sight, My
Love! she murmured, Dearest! Oh, my Dear!
He took her in his arms and bore her right And tenderly to
the old seat, and Here
I have you mine at last, she said, and swooned Under his kisses. When
she came once more
To sight of him, she smiled in comfort knowing Herself
laid as before
Close covered on his breast. And all her glowing
Youth answered him, and ever nearer growing
She twined him in her arms and soft festooned
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