Part 7 (1/2)

Adrian. I have saved her once again,--but oh, this deathlike faintness stealing o'er me robs me of my strength. Thou art safe, Leonore, and I am content. [_Falls fainting._]

[_Enter_ Leonore.

Leonore. They are gone. Ah, what has chanced? I heard his voice, and now 'tis still as death. Where is my friend? G.o.d grant he be not hurt! I'll venture forth and seek him [_sees_ Adrian _unconscious before her_]. Oh, what is this? Adrian, kind friend, dost thou not hear me? There is blood upon his hand! Can he be dead? No, no! he breathes, he moves; this mask, I will remove it,--surely he will forgive.

[_Attempts to unmask him; he prevents her._

Adrian [_reviving_]. Nay, nay; it must not be. I am better now. The blow but stunned me,--it will pa.s.s away. And thou art safe?

Leonore. I feared not for myself, but thee. Come, rest thee here, thy wound is bleeding; let me bind it with my kerchief, and bring thee wine.

Let me serve thee who hath done so much for me. Art better now! Can I do aught else for thee?

Adrian. No more, dear lady. Think not of me, and listen while I tell thee of the dangers that surround thee. Count Rodolpho knows thou art here, and may return with men and arms to force thee hence. My single arm could then avail not, though I would gladly die for thee. Where then can I lead thee,--no place can be too distant, no task too hard for him whose joy it is to serve thee.

Leonore. Alas! I know not. I dare not seek my home while Count Rodolpho is my foe; my servants would be bribed,--they would betray me, and thou wouldst not be there to save. Adrian, I have no friend but thee. Oh, pity and protect me!

Adrian. Most gladly will I, dearest lady. Thou canst never know the joy thy confidence hath wakened in my heart. I will save and guard thee with my life. I will guide thee to a peaceful home where no danger can approach, and only friends surround thee. Thy Louis dwelt there once, and safely mayst thou rest till danger shall be past. Will this please thee?

Leonore. Oh, Adrian, thou kind, true friend, how can I tell my grat.i.tude, and where find truer rest than in _his_ home, where gentle memories of him will lighten grief. Then take me there, and I will prove my grat.i.tude by woman's fondest friends.h.i.+p, and my life-long trust.

Adrian. Thanks, dear lady. I need no other recompense than the joy 'tis in my power to give thee. I will watch faithfully above thee, and when thou needest me no more, I'll leave thee to the happiness thy gentle heart so well deserves. Now rest, while I seek out old Norna, and prepare all for our flight. The way we have to tread is long and weary.

Rest thee, dear lady.

Leonore. Adieu, dear friend. I will await thee ready for our pilgrimage, and think not I shall fail or falter, though the path be long, and dangers gather round us. I shall not fear, for thou wilt be there. G.o.d bless thee, Adrian.

[_Tableau._

CURTAIN.

SCENE TWELFTH.

[_Room in the castle of_ Louis.

Leonore _singing to her lute._]

The weary bird mid stormy skies, Flies home to her quiet nest, And 'mid the faithful ones she loves, Finds shelter and sweet rest.

And thou, my heart, like to tired bird, Hath found a peaceful home, Where love's soft sunlight gently falls, And sorrow cannot come.

Leonore. 'Tis strange that I can sing, but in this peaceful home my sorrow seems to change to deep and quiet joy. Louis seems ever near, and Adrian's silent acts of tenderness beguile my solitary hours, and daily grow more dear to me. He guards me day and night, seeking to meet my slightest wish, and gather round me all I hold most dear. [_Enter a_ Page.] Angelo, what wouldst thou?

Page. My master bid me bring these flowers and crave thee to accept them lady.

Leonore. Bear him my thanks, and tell him that his gift is truly welcome. [_Exit_ Page.] These are the blossoms he was gathering but now upon the balcony; he hath sent the sweetest and the fairest [_a letter falls from the nosegay_]. But what is here? He hath never sent me aught like this before [_opens and reads the letter_].

Dearest Lady,--Wilt thou pardon the bold words I here address to thee, and forgive me if I grieve one on whom I would bestow only the truest joy. In giving peace to thy heart I have lost mine own. I was thy guide and comforter, and soon, unknown to thee, thy lover. I love thee, Leonore, fondly and truly; and here I ask, wilt thou accept the offering of a heart that will forever cherish thee. If thou canst grant this blessed boon, fling from the cas.e.m.e.nt the white rose I send thee; but if thou canst not accept my love, forgive me for avowing it, and drop the cypress bough I have twined about the rose. I will not pain thee to refuse in words,--the mournful token is enough. Ask thine own heart if thou, who hast loved Louis, can feel aught save friends.h.i.+p for the unknown, nameless stranger, who through life and death is ever Thy loving Adrian.

Oh, how shall I reply to this,--how blight a love so tender and so true?

I have longed to show my grat.i.tude, to prove how I have revered this n.o.ble friend. The hour has come when I may make his happiness, and prove my trust. And yet my heart belongs to Louis, and I cannot love another.