Chapter 8

Night in RIBERA'S Garden. DON JOHN alone.

DON JOHN. In any less than she, so swift a passion, So unreserved, so reckless, had repelled. In her 't is godlike. Our mutual love Was born full-grown, as we gazed each on each. Nay, 't was not born, but like a thing eternal, It WAS ere we had consciousness thereof; No growth of slow development, but perfect From the beginning, neither doomed to end. Her garden breathes her own warm, southern beauty, Glowing with dewy and voluptuous bloom. Here I am happy--happy to dream and wait In rich security of bliss. I know How brief an interval divides us now. She hastes to meet me with no less impatience Than mine to clasp her in my arms, to press Heart unto heart, and see the love within The unfathomable depths of her great eyes. She comes. Maria!

Enter MARIA, half timid, half joyous.

MARIA. My lord! you have been waiting?

DON JOHN. Darling, not long; 't was but my restless love That drove me here before the promised hour. So were I well content to wait through ages Upon the threshold of a joy like this, Knowing the gates of heaven might ope to me At any moment.

MARIA. Your love is less than mine, For I have counted every tedious minute Since our last meeting.

DON JOHN. I had rather speak Less than the truth to have you chide me thus; Yet if you enter in the lists with me, Faith match with faith, and loyal heart with heart, I warrant you, the jealous god of love, Who spies us from yon pomegranate bush, Would crown me victor.

MARIA. Why should we compete? Who could decide betwixt two equal truths, Two perfect faiths?

DON JOHN. The worship of my life Will be slight payment for your boundless trust. Look we nor forth nor back, are we not happy? Heaven smiles above our heads with all her stars. The envious day forced us apart, the wing Of obscure night protects and shelters us. Now like a pure, night-blooming flower, puts forth The perfect blossom of our love. Oh, lean Thy royal head upon my breast; assure me That this unheard-of bliss is no fond dream. Cling to me, darling, till thy love's dear burden Take root about my heart-strings.

MARIA (after a pause). Did you not hear A sound, a cry? Oh, God! was it my father?

DON JOHN. Naught save the beating of our hearts I heard. Be calm, my love; the very air is hushed. Listen, the tinkle of the fountain yonder,

The sleepy stir of leaves, the querulous pipe Of some far bird--no more.

MARIA. I heard, I heard! A rude voice called me. Wherefore did it come To snatch me from that dream of restful love? Oh, Juan, you will save me, you will help,-- Tell me you will--I have lost all for you!

DON JOHN. To-morrow you will laugh at fears like these. You have lost naught--you have but won my love. Lose not your faith in that--your shield and weapon.

MARIA. I tremble still in every limb. Good-night, I must be gone. To-morrow when you come, Be wary with my father; he is fierce In love and hatred. Listen and look, my lord. If one dared say to me but yester-morn That I would meet at night a stranger youth In mine own garden, talk with him of love, And hint a thought against the Spagnoletto, I had smitten with this bauble such a one. [Pointing to a jewelled poniard in her belt.] Kiss me, my Juan, once again. Good-night. [Exit MARIA.]