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'How could she bear it?'--'Laura!' 'Yes, Ronald.' 'Let that matter rest.
You might give your name to my father's child?' 'My father's name. Ay,

X.
Who died before it was soiled.' 'You mutter.' 'Why, love, are you here?'
'Because my mother fled forth to the West, her trouble to hide,
And I was so small, the lone pine forest, and tier upon tier,
Far off Mexican snowy sierras pushed England aside.'

XI.
'And why am I here?' 'But what did you mutter?' 'O pardon, sweet.
Why came I here and--my mother?' In truth then I cannot tell.'
'Yet you drew my ring from your finger--see--I kneel at your feet.'
'Put it on. 'T was for no fault of mine.' 'Love! I knew that full well.'

XII.
'And yet there be faults that long repented, are aye to deplore,
Wear my ring, Laura, at least till I choose some words I can say,
If indeed any word need be said.' 'No! wait, Ronald, no more;
What! is there respite? Give me a moment to think "nay" or "ay."

XIII.
I know not, but feel there is.


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