But the sorrow has sped like an evil dream, and you will perhaps not regret it, for your action today binds me to you with hoops of steel.

And you, too, uncle.

You traveled thousands of miles to help and comfort me in my anguish.

Were I as bad as I was painted, your kind old heart still pitied me; you were prepared to pluck me from the depths of despair and degradation.

Why should I hate Lord Ventnor?
What man could have served me as he did?
He has given me Iris.