"Go from this place; it chokes me," she replied. "This place has branded me; I must regain My truth that I have soiled, my faith, my pride, It is all poison and it leaves a stain. I cannot stay nor be your wife again. Never. You did your best, though; you were kind. I have grown old to-night and left all that behind.
"Goodbye." She turned. Old Occleve faced his son. Wrath at the woman's impudence was blent, Upon his face, with wrath that such an one Should stand unthrashed until her words were spent. He stayed for Lion's wrath; but Mary went Unchecked; he did not stir. Her footsteps ground The gravel to the gate; the gate-hinge made a sound
Like to a cry of pain after a shot. Swinging, it clicked, it clicked again, it swung Until the iron latch bar hit the slot. Mary had gone, and Lion held his tongue. Old Mother Occleve sobbed; her white head hung Over her sewing while the tears ran down Her worn, blood-threaded cheeks and splashed upon her gown.
"Yes, it is true," said Lion, "she must go. Michael is back. Michael was always first, I did but take his place. You did not know. Now it has happened, and you know the worst. So passion makes the passionate soul accurst And crucifies his darling. Michael comes And the savage truth appears and rips my life to thrums."
Upon Old Occleve's face the fury changed First to contempt, and then to terror lest Lion, beneath the shock, should be deranged. But Lion's eyes were steady, though distressed. "Father, good-night," he said, "I'm going to rest. Good-night, I cannot talk. Mother, good-night." He kissed her brow and went; they heard him strike a light,
And go with slow depressed step up the stairs, Up to the door of her deserted bower; They heard him up above them, moving chairs; The memory of his paleness made them cower. They did not know their son; they had no power To help, they only saw the new-won bride Defy their child, and faith and custom put aside.
After a time men learned where Mary was: Over the hills, not many miles away, Renting a cottage and a patch of grass Where Michael came to see her. Every day Taught her what fevers can inhabit clay, Shaking this body that so soon must die. The time made Lion old: the winter dwindled by.