on the sudden coming of your guests.

Eliz. No moment! 'Tis enough to have driven him forth--
And that's enough to damn me: I'll not chide you--
I can see nothing but my loss; I'll to him--
I'll go in sackcloth, bathe his feet with tears--
And know nor sleep nor food till I am forgiven--
And you must with me, ladies. Come and find him.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE V

A Hall in the Castle. In the background a Group of diseased and
deformed Beggars; Conrad entering, Elizabeth comes forward to meet
him.

Con. What dost thou, daughter?

Eliz. Ah, my honoured master!
That name speaks pardon, sure.

Con. What dost thou, daughter?

Eliz. I have been washing these poor people's feet.

Con. A wise humiliation.

Eliz. So I meant it--
And use it as a penance for my pride;
And yet, alas, through my own vulgar likings
Or stubborn self-conceit, 'tis none to me.
I marvel how the Saints thus tamed their spirits:
Sure to be humbled by such toil, but proves,
Not cures, our lofty mind.

Con. Thou speakest well--
The knave who serves unto another's needs
Knows himself abler than the man who needs him;
And she who stoops, will not forget, that stooping
Implies a height to stoop from.

Eliz. Could I see
My Saviour in His poor!

Con. Thou shall hereafter:
But now to wash Christ's feet were dangerous honour
For weakling grace; would you be humble, daughter,
You must look up, not down, and see yourself
A paltry atom, sap-transmitting vein
Of Christ's vast vine; the pettiest joint and member
Of His great body; own no strength, no will,
Save that which from the ruling head's command
Through me, as nerve, derives; let thyself die--
And dying, rise again to fuller life.
To be a whole is to be small and weak--
To be a part is to be great and mighty
In the one spirit of the mighty whole--
The spirit of the martyrs and the saints--
The spirit of the queen, on whose towered neck
We hang, blest ringlets!

Eliz. Why! thine eyes flash fire!

Con. But hush! such words are not for courts and halls--
Alone with God and me, thou shalt hear more.

[Exit Conrad.]

Eliz. As when rich chanting ceases suddenly--
And the rapt sense collapses!--Oh that Lewis
Could feed my soul thus! But to work--to work--
What wilt thou, little maid? Ah, I forgot thee--
Thy mother lies in childbed--Say, in time
I'll bring the baby to the font myself.
It knits them unto me, and me to them,
That bond of sponsorship--How now, good dame