Ter. My soul is full of visions all as wild!

Alh. There is no room in this heart for puling lovetales.

Teresa (lifts up her veil, and advances to Alvar). Stranger, farewell! I guess not who you are, Nor why you so address'd your tale to me. Your mien is noble, and I own, perplex'd me With obscure memory of something past, Which still escaped my efforts, or presented Tricks of a fancy pamper'd with long wishing. If, as it sometimes happens, our rude startling Whilst your full heart was shaping out its dream, Drove you to this, your not ungentle wildness— You have my sympathy, and so farewell! But if some undiscover'd wrongs oppress you, And you need strength to drag them into light, The generous Valdez, and my Lord Ordonio, Have arm and will to aid a noble sufferer; Nor shall you want my favorable pleading.

[Exeunt Teresa and Alhadra. Alv. (alone). 'T is strange! It cannot be ! my Lord Ordonio!

Her Lord Ordonio! Nay, I will not do it!

I cursed him once-and one curse is enough!

How bad she look'd, and pale! but not like guilt-
And her calm tones-sweet as a song of mercy!
If the bad spirit retain'd his angel's voice,
Hell scarce were Hell. And why not innocent?
Who meant to murder me, might well cheat her?
But ere she married him, he had stain'd her honour;
Ah! there I am hamper'd. What if this were a lie
Framed by the assassin? Who should tell it him,
If it were truth? Ordonio would not tell him.
Yet why one lie? all else, I know, was truth.
No start, no jealousy of stirring conscience?

And she referr'd to me-fondly, methought!
Could she walk here if she had been a traitress?
Here, where we play'd together in our childhood?
Here, where we plighted vows? where her cold cheek
Received my last kiss, when with suppress'd feelings
She had fainted in my arms? It cannot be !
"T is not in Nature! I will die, believing
That I shall meet her where no evil is,

No treachery, no cup dash'd from the lips.
I'll haunt this scene no more! live she in peace!
Her husband-ay, her husband! May this angel
New mould his canker'd heart! Assist me, Heaven,
That I may pray for my poor guilty brother! [Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-A wild and mountainous country. Ordonio and Isidore are discovered, supposed at a little distance from Isidore's house.

Ord. Here we may stop: your house distinct in view, Yet we secured from listeners.

1si.

Now indeed

My house! and it looks cheerful as the clusters
Basking in sunshine on yon vine-clad rock,
That over-brows it! Patron! Friend! Preserver!
Thrice have you saved my life. Once in the battle
You gave it me: next rescued me from suicide,
When for my follies I was made to wander,
With mouths to feed, and not a morsel for them

Now, but for you, a dungeon's slimy stones
Had been my bed and pillow.

Ord.

Good Isidore

Why this to me? It is enough, you know it.

Isi. A common trick of Gratitude, my Lord, Seeking to ease her own full heart

Ord.

A debt repaid ceases to be a debt.

Enough,

You have it in your power to serve me greatly.

Isi. And how, my Lord? I pray you to name the thing.

I would climb up an ice-glaz'd precipice

To pluck a weed you fancied !

Ordonio (with embarrassment and hesitation). Why -that-Lady

Isi. 'Tis now three years, my Lord, since last J saw you.

Have you a son, my Lord?

Ord.

O miserable

Isidore! you are a man, and know mankind.

[Aside

I told you what I wish'd-now for the truth!—
She lov'd the man you kill'd.

Isidore (looking as suddenly alarmed). You jest, my Lord!

Ord. And till his death is proved, she will not

wed me.

Isi. You sport with me, my Lord!

Ord. Come, come! this foolery Lives only in thy looks: thy heart disowns it!

Isi. I can bear this, and any thing more grievous From you, my Lord-but how can I serve you here? Ord. Why, you can utter with a solemn gesture Oracular sentences of deep no-meaning, Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious antics— Isi. I am dull, my Lord! I do not comprehend

you.

Ord. In blunt terms, you can play the sorcerer.
She hath no faith in Holy Church, 't is true:
Her lover school'd her in some newer nonsense!

Yet still a tale of spirits works upon her.
She is alone enthusiast, sensitive,

Shivers, and cannot keep the tears in her eye:
And such do love the marvellous too well

Not to believe it. We will wind up her fancy
With a strange music, that she knows not of--
With fumes of frankincense, and mummery,
Then leave, as one sure token of his death,
That portrait, which from off the dead man's neck
I bade thee take, the trophy of thy conquest.
Isi. Will that be a sure sign?

Ord.
Beyond suspicion.
Fondly caressing him, her favor'd lover

(By some base spell he had bewitch'd her senses),
She whisper'd such dark fears of me, forsooth,
As made this heart pour gall into my veins,
And as she coyly bound it round his neck,
She made him promise silence; and now holds
The secret of the existence of this portrait,
Known only to her iover and herself.

But I had traced her, stolen unnoticed on them,
And unsuspected saw and heard the whole.

Isi. But now I should have cursed the man who

told me

You could ask aught, my Lord, and I refuse

But this I cannot do.

Ord. Where lies your scruple?

Isi. (with stammering).

Why-why, my Lord! you,

You know you told me that the lady loved

Had loved you with incautious tenderness ;
That if the young man, her betrothed husband,
Returned, yourself, and she, and the honor of both
Must perish. Now, though with no tender scruples
Than those which being native to the heart,

Than those, my Lord, which merely being a man-

Ordonio (aloud, though to express his contempt he speaks in the third person).

This fellow is a Man-he kill'd for hire

One whom he knew not, yet has tender scruples!

[Then turning to Isidore. These doubts, these fears, thy whine, thy stammer

ing

Pish, fool! thou blunder'st through the book of guilt, Spelling thy villany.

Isi.

My Lord-my Lord,

I can bear much—yes, very much from you!

But there's a point where sufferance is meanness :
I am no villain-never kill'd for hire-

My gratitude

Ord.

O ay-your gratitude!

'Twas a well-sounding word-what have you done

with it?

Isi. Who proffers his past favours for my virtueOrd. (with bitter scorn).

Virtue!

Isi. Tries to o'erreach me-is a very sharper, And should not speak of gratitude, my Lord.

I knew not 't was your brother!

Ord. (alarmed).

Isi. He himself told me.

Ord.

And who told you?

Ha! you talked with him!

And those, the two Morescoes who were with you?

Isi. Both fell in a night-brawl at Malaga.

Ord. (in a low voice).

My brother

Isi. Yes, my Lord. I could not teli you!
I thrust away the thought-it drove me wild.
But listen to me now--

--I pray you listen

Ord. Villain! no more! I'll hear no more of it. Isi. My Lord, it much imports your future safety That you should hear it.