She died the maiden died!

O still more happy maiden who couldst die!

Jacinta!

(JACINTA returns no answer, and LALAGE presently resumes)

Again, — a similar tale

Told of a beauteous dame beyond the sea.

Thus speaketh one Ferdinand in the words of the

Seemed to have years too many.”—Ah, luckless lady! Jacinta! (still no answer)

Here's a far sterner story,

But like oh, very like in its despair,

Of that Egyptian queen, winning so easily

A thousand hearts losing at length her own.

She died. Thus endeth the history, and her maids
Lean over her and weep, two gentle maids
With gentle names Eiros and Charmion:

Rainbow and Dove!

Jacinta!

JACINTA (pettishly)

LALAGE

Madam, what is it?

Wilt thou, my good Jacinta, be so kind
As go down in the library and bring me
The Holy Evangelists?

LALAGE

If there be balm

For the wounded spirit in Gilead, it is there.
Dew in the night-time of my bitter trouble
Will there be found," dew sweeter far than that
Which hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill.”
(re-enter JACINTA, and throws a volume on the table)

JACINTA

There, ma'am, 's the book. (aside) Indeed, she is very troublesome.

LALAGE (astonished)

What did'st thou say, Jacinta? Have I done aught
To grieve thee or to vex thee? — I am sorry.
For thou hast served me long and ever been
Trustworthy and respectful. (resumes her reading),

What didst thou say, Jacinta? Now I bethink me,
Thou hast not spoken lately of thy wedding.
How fares good Ugo, and when is it to be?
Can I do aught, is there no further aid

Thou needest, Jacinta?

JACINTA (aside)

"Is there no further aid?"

That's meant for me. (aloud) I'm sure, madam, you

need not

Be always throwing those jewels in my teeth.

LALAGE

Jewels, Jacinta! Now, indeed, Jacinta,
I thought not of the jewels.

JACINTA

Oh! perhaps not!

But then I might have sworn it. After all,
There's Ugo says the ring is only paste,
For he's sure the Count Castiglione never
Would have given a real diamond to such as you;
And at the best I'm certain, madam, you cannot
Have use for jewels now. But I might have sworn it.

[exit.

(LALAGE bursts into tears and leans her head upon the table; after a short pause raises it)

LALAGE

Poor Lalage! and is it come to this?

Thy servant maid! - but courage!— 't is but a viper Whom thou hast cherished to sting thee to the soul! (taking up the mirror)

Ha! here at least 's a friend- too much a friend

In earlier days — a friend will not deceive thee.
Fair mirror and true! now tell me (for thou canst),
A tale, a pretty tale and heed thou not

Though it be rife with woe. It answers me.
It speaks of sunken eyes and wasted cheeks,
And Beauty long deceased-remembers me
Of Joy departed— Hope, the seraph Hope,
Inurnèd and entombed:
now, in a tone

Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible,

Whispers of early grave untimely yawning

For ruined maid. Fair mirror and true, thou liest not: Thou hast no end to gain, no heart to break;

Castiglione lied who said he loved;

Thou true he false, false, false!

(while she speaks, a monk enters her apartment, and approaches unobserved)

MONK

Refuge thou hast,

Sweet daughter, in Heaven. Think of eternal things, Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray!

LALAGE (arising hurriedly)

I cannot pray! My soul is at war with God!
The frightful sounds of merriment below
Disturb my senses go! I cannot pray;

The sweet airs from the garden worry me;

Thy presence grieves me go! thy priestly raiment Fills me with dread, thy ebony crucifix

With horror and awe!

MONK

Think of thy precious soul!

LALAGE

Think of my early days! think of my father
And mother in Heaven; think of our quiet home,
And the rivulet that ran before the door;

Think of my little sisters think of them!

And think of me! think of my trusting love
And confidence his vows

think

think· my ruin

Of my unspeakable misery!-begone!

Yet stay, yet stay!-what was it thou saidst of prayer And penitence? Didst thou not speak of faith

And vows before the throne?

MONK

I did.

LALAGE

"T is well.

There is a vow were fitting should be made,
A sacred vow, imperative and urgent,

A solemn vow!

MONK

Daughter, this zeal is well.

LALAGE

Father, this zeal is anything but well.
Hast thou a crucifix fit for this thing,
A crucifix whereon to register

Not that! Not that!-I tell thee, holy man,
Thy raiments and thy ebony cross affright me.
Stand back! I have a crucifix myself,-

I have a crucifix! Methinks 't were fitting
The deed, the vow, the symbol of the deed,

And the deed's register should tally, father!
(draws a cross-handled dagger and raises it on high)

Behold the cross wherewith a vow like mine

Is written in Heaven!

MONK

Thy words are madness, daughter, And speak a purpose unholy -thy lips are lividThine eyes are wild-tempt not the wrath divine! Pause ere too late!

oh, be not - be not rash!

Swear not the oath — oh, swear it not!

LALAGE

"T is sworn