RIBERA.
Ah, mine angel-child!
I cannot choose but dread it, though I wait
Expectant of the hour when you fulfil
Your woman s destiny. You have full freedom;
Yet I rejoice at this reprieve, and thank thee
For thy brave truthfulness. Be ever thus,
Withholding naught from him whose heart reflects
Only thine image. Thou art still my pride,
Even as last night when all eyes gazed thy way,
Thy bearing equal in disdainful grace
To his who courted thee—thy sovereign’s son.
MARIA.
Yea, so ? And yet it was not pride I felt,
Nor consciousness of self, nor vain delight
In the world’s envy; something more than these,
Far deeper, sweeter What have I said? My brain
Is dull with sleep. T is only now I feel
The weariness of so much pleasure.
RIBERA (rising).
Well,
Go we within. Yes, I am late to work ;
We squander precious moments. Thou, go rest,
And waken with fresh roses in thy cheeks,
To greet our royal guest.
