The Lady Eunice with her tambour-frame
Kept herself sighing company. The flame
Of the birch fire glittered on the walls.
LVII
A letter was brought to her as she sat, Unsealed,
unsigned. It told her that his wound,
The writers, had so well recovered that To join his regiment
he felt him bound.
But would she not wish him one short Godspeed, He asked no
more. Her greeting would suffice.
He had resolved he never should return. Would
she this sacrifice
Make for a dying man? How could she read
The rest! But forcing her eyes to the deed,
She read. Then dropped it in the fire
to burn.
LVIII
Gervase had set the river for their meeting As
farthest from the farms where Everard
Spent all his days. How should he know such cheating Was
quite expected, at least no dullard
Was Everard Frampton. Hours by hours he hid Among
the willows watching. Dusk had come,
And from the Manor he had long been gone. Eunice
her burdensome
Task set about. Hooded and cloaked, she slid
Over the slippery paths, and soon amid
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