REUBEN
And you with a ‘Thank God’?”
He rose and went,
Not speaking, to the window, like a man
That wakes, and after darkness would have light.
Next moment, he was gripping at her arm,
Face bloodless, eyes on fire—“Give me your word,
Woman, ere yon man come! Promise me! Say
You'll bury her. You must bury her. I’ve nought.”
“Reuben!” she cried in fierce resentment: then
The memory of their late watch side by side,
The sense of that new ending, coming back,
Rebuked and gentlier moved her. “He is crazed,”
She said: “Poor soul, the trouble’s ta’en his wits.
Come, Reuben! pluck up heart.” “Nay, not my wits,
It’s taken all the money,” he replied.
Then, strong suspicion seiz’d her. Not one word
She spoke, but stood there facing him, and probed
His face with piercing eyes. His eyes, but now
So urgent, were dropp’d down; his head hung down;
His body seem’d to dwindle as it stood,
And not one limb or line or hair of him
But mean it look’d and shamed. With strong disgust
Her decent heart was shaken. “Coin’s made flat:
That’s cause enough, for you, to pile it up!
Miser! at your old tricks again, and she
Not cold!” He straighten’d up and raised his head;
As if the taunt put strength in him. His eyes,
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