Chapter II

Old Becker crawling in the night
From his grave at the stair-foot,
Labours up the long flight,
Feeble, dribbling, black as soot,
Quakes at his own ghostly fright.

A cat goes past with lantern eyes
Shooting splendour through the dark.
Murder! Help! a voice cries
In nightmare; the son dreams that stark
In lead his vanished father lies.

A stair-top glimmer points the goal.
Becker goes wavering up, tongue-tied,
Stoops, with eye to keyhole....
There, a tall candle by her side,
Delilah sits, serene and whole.

Her fingers turn the prayer-book leaves,
Her forehead hints no mental strife:
Soft and calm her breast heaves:
_So calmly, with his cobbling knife
She stabbed him through_ ... now never grieves.

Baffled, aghast with hate, mouse-poor,
He glares and clatters the brass knob ...
_Through his heart it slid sure:
He bowed, he died with never a sob,
Again she stabbed_, now sits secure.

Praying as she has always prayed
For great Victoria's Majesty,
Droning prayer for God's aid
To succour long dead Royalty,
The Consort Prince, Queen Adelaide....

She falls asleep, the clocks chime two;
Old Becker sinks to unquiet rest.
Loud and sad the cats mew:
Lead weighs cruelly on his breast:
His bones are tufted with mildew.