University of Virginia Library

Scene XV.

—Malpas.—Interior of the Cathedral. Candles burning and altars decked as for a service of thanksgiving. A corpse lies on a bier in the transept, and the chaunting of a service for the dead is heard at intervals from a side-chapel. Monks enter in procession, and lastly Dunstan.
Dunstan.
So flee the works of darkness. Sing ye the psalm
“Quid gloriaris.”—Stop: a hasty step
Rings in the cloister.

Enter a Soldier.
Soldier.
I am bid, my Lord,
To seek the Lord Harcather, for his son
Ruold is slain.

Dunstan.
Silence! no more of that;
Harcather is gone forth to meet the Dane;
Let him not know it yet.
Enter Bridferth.
Well, Bridferth, well?

Bridferth.
Athulf and Sidroc have escaped, my Lord,
The prisoners say, and as I learn elsewhere,
Doing much havoc in their desperate flight.

Dunstan.
'Tis true. I thought no less.—What corse is this?

A Monk.
The Queen's, my Lord, awaiting burial.

Dunstan.
Hers?—
Withdraw the winding-sheet, that once again
I may behold her.—Art thou she indeed!
The blankness of mortality in thee
Seems more than in another. Where be now
The flushings of the fervent cheek, the fires
That lightened from those eyes! Oh, rueful sight!
Methinks that thou dost look reproachfully.
Not me—not me—upbraid not me, pale Queen!
I slew thee not, nor yet desired thy death;
I would have willed thee to repent and live,
But lo! the will of God hath mastered mine.

Chaunt from the side-chapel.

Dunstan
—Better be so than be the living cause
Of death eternal and a nation's lapse
To mortal sin. Nor sin nor sorrow now
Hath power upon thee; nor canst thou, fair mask,
Be ever more their minister.

Enter an Attendant.
Attendant.
My Lord,
The King, so please you—

Dunstan.
What, Sir, of the King?

Attendant.
He is again delirious, and hath torn
The bandage from his wound. He bleeds amain.

Chaunt again.

Enter another Attendant.
Attendant.
My Lord, the King, the King!

Dunstan.
What! comes he hither?

Enter Edwin, followed by a Physician and Attendants.
Edwin.
Where art thou, my beloved? Come to me!
Art thou not here? They said so, but 'twas false—
Thou art not here, for if thou wert, I know
Thou'dst fly to meet me.—Ha! I see thee now—
And yet thou mov'st not. What! in chains again!
Not so, Elgiva—thou art free, my love—
I smote them with the sword. Oh, come to me!
Give me thy hand.

Dunstan.
Doctor, thou mad'st report
The fever had abated.

The Physician.
Had, my Lord;
But rages now afresh.

Dunstan.
How came he hither?

Attendant.
He asked us if the Queen were buried yet,
Or where the body lay; we told him, here;
And he commanded we should bring him.

Dunstan.
See!

Edwin.
Thy hand is very cold.—Come, come, look up.
Hast not a word to say to so much love?
Well—as thou wilt—but 'twas not always thus.
So soon to be forgotten! Oh, so soon!
And I have loved so truly all this while!—
I dream—I do but dream—I think.—What's here?
'Tis not the dress that thou wert wont to wear.
This is a corpse! Attendance, here! What, ho!
Who was so bold to bring a stone-cold corpse
Into the King's apartment? Stop—be still—
I know not that. Give me but time, my friends,
And I will tell you.

The Physician.
Draw him from the corpse:
This loss of blood that drains the fever off
Anon will bring him to himself.

A Monk.
My Lord,
I hear a shout as of a multitude
In the north suburb.

Dunstan.
Bridferth, mount the tower
And look abroad.

Edwin.
That was a voice I knew—
It came from darkness and the Pit—but hark!
An Angel's song . . . 'Tis Dunstan that I see!
Rebellious monk! I lay my body down
Here at thy feet to die, but not my soul,
Which goes to God. The cry of innocent blood
Is up against thee, and the Avenger's cry
Shall answer it. Support me, Sirs, I pray;
Be patient with me . . . there was something still . . .
I know not what . . . under your pardon . . . yes . . .
Touching my burial . . . did I not see but now
Another corpse . . . I pray you, Sirs, . . . there . . . there . . .

[Dies.
Bridferth
(from the tower).
My Lord, my Lord, Harcather flies; the Danes
Are pouring through the gate. Harcather falls.

Dunstan.
Give me the crucifix. Bring out the relics.
Host of the Lord of Hosts, forth once again!