PIETRO.

His head bends to the ground, and o'er his eyes His hood is drawn: would I could see his face! He is the cousin of our seneschal,

I'll speak to him.

Enter a Friar, walking hastily across the Stage. Good father! give your blessing:

How is your penitent?

[Friar waves him off with his hand, and exit.

GOMEZ.

He motions with his hand, and will not speak.

PIETRO.

In so much haste to go! this is not well.

(Shaking his head.) No, no! it hath a dark and rueful look.

Well;

God be praised! these hands are free from blood.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Apartment of the Countess; she is discovered pacing to and fro with slow, thoughtful steps, then stops short, and stands in a musing posture some time before she speaks aloud.

'Tis often thus; so are we framed by nature. How oft the fitful wind or sullen bell

Will utter to the ear distinctive words,

According with the fancy's wild conceptions!
So are the brains of sick and frenzied men
Stored with unreal and strange imaginations.
(After a short pause.) Am I become a maniac?
Oh! have words,

To which the firm conviction of my mind
So strongly stands opposed, the baleful power
To fix this misery on me?

This is madness!

Enter SOPHERA behind.

Is't thee, Sophera?

SOPHERA.

Yes, 'tis only me.

COUNTESS.

Is every decent office of respect

Done to the corse?

SOPHERA.

Yes, nought has been omitted.

COUNTESS.

'Tis well; but what detains the good confessor? I wish'd to see him.

SOPHERA.

He stay'd but till his wretched penitent

Had breath'd his last, and quickly left the castle.

COUNTESS.

He is in haste, methinks; 'tis somewhat strange. Why look'st thou on me with that fearful eye?

Think'st thou the ravings of a frenzied mind
Have power to move me?

SOPHERA.

I only thought I fear'd-you wisely judge; Why should they move you? Well, the dismal

story

Of that most dismal murder, here committed
By hands unknown, might to a sickly brain
Such thoughts create of nothing.

COUNTESS.

What say'st thou? here committed!

SOPHERA.

Did not your hapless brother in this castle

Come to his end?

COUNTESS.

Yes, but a natural end.

SOPHERA.

So grant it were, it is not so reported.

COUNTESS.

Ha! what is else reported?

SOPHERA.

The peasants round, all idle stories credit
And
say that in his castle, by his servants,

He was discover'd in the eastern tower

Murder'd. But, doubtless, 'tis a tale of falsehood,

Since 'tis to thee unknown.

COUNTESS (sinking back into a chair).

It was to me unknown.

(After a long pause.) Dear, dear! the friend,

the brother of my heart,

The playmate of my early, happy days,
Could such a fate be thine!

It makes me weep to think it possible,
Yet I believe it not.

SOPHERA.

You tremble much.

COUNTESS.

I'm cold and chill: 'tis weariness of body;

He is not in these parts; it cannot be.

SOPHERA.

He is upon his march with some gay troops
To join the army, and hath made a halt

Here in our nearest town to rest his men.

So said his servant, whom 'I found this morning Lurking within the castle; and I guess

His warlike lord is come.

COUNTESS,

I cannot see him.

Go thou; plead my excuse: I am unwell;
Say what thou wilt, but let me be excused.

Enter ROVANI.

Rovani here! O, how is this? My lord?

ROVANI.

He is not far behind. I am, fair lady,
The vanguard of his band; and, as I trust,
Bearing no dismal tidings.

COUNTESS.

O no! they should, indeed, be joyful, if -
And, as in truth I trust my lord is well!

ROVANI.

Yes; from the wars, unhurt and strong in

health,

Garcio returns! where he has done the service

Of an undaunted powerful combatant,

To that of a right skilful leader join'd.

He is not one of your reserved chiefs,

Who, pointing with their dainty fingers, thus, Say, "Go, my friends, attack yon frowning ranks."

No, by my faith! with heavy cimeter

He closes to the bloody work himself,

And to the carnage of each grizly field
Brings his full tale of death.