Part 20 (2/2)

Zuleika. This very hour. Soon it will be too late.

Ha.s.san. Thou knowest not the way,--soldiers guard every turn. Oh, tarry till the dawn, I do implore thee.

Zuleika. The darkness shall be my guide, Allah my guard; shrouded in yon dark mantle none will deem me other than a slave. Again I ask thee, Wilt thou go?

Ha.s.san. I go. I were no true man to tremble when a woman fears not. I will guide thee, and may Allah in his mercy s.h.i.+eld us both. Say thy prayers, Ha.s.san, for thy head no longer rests in safety.

Zuleika. Come, let us on! The moments speed. The darkening gloom befriends us. First to the tent of the young prince, and while I in brief speech do acquaint him with mine errand, thou shalt keep guard without. Then will we guide him to his father, and unto Allah leave the rest [_shrouds herself in dark mantle and veil_]. Lead on, good Ha.s.san.

Let us away!

Ha.s.san. Fold thy veil closer, that none may know the daughter of Mohammed walks thus late abroad. Come, and Allah grant we sleep not in paradise to-morrow!

[_Exit, leading_ Zuleika.

CURTAIN.

SCENE FOURTH.

[Ion's _tent_.

Ion _chained, in an att.i.tude of deep despair, upon a miserable couch. He does not see the entrance of_ Zuleika _and_ Ha.s.san.]

Zuleika. Stand thou without as watch, good Ha.s.san, and warn me if any shall approach. [_Exit_ Ha.s.san.] Young Greek, despair not; hope is nigh.

Ion [_starting up_]. Bright vision, whence comest thou? Art thou the phantom of a dream, or some blest visitant from that better land, come to bear me hence? What art thou?

Zuleika. I am no vision, but a mortal maiden, come to bring thee consolation.

Ion. Consolation! ah, then indeed thou art no mortal; for unto grief like mine there is no consolation, save that which cometh from above.

Zuleika. Nay, believe it not. Human hearts are at this moment hoping, and human hands are striving earnestly to spare thee the agony thou dost dread.

Ion. Are there then hearts to feel for the poor Greek? I had thought I was alone,--alone 'mid mine enemies. Sure, those fetters are no dream, this dark cell, the words ”Thy father dies!” No, no! it is a dread reality. The words are burned into my brain.

Zuleika. Is death, then, so dread a thing unto a warrior? I had thought it brought him fame and glory.

Ion. Death! Oh, maiden! To the soldier on the battle-field, fighting for his father-land 'mid the clash of arms, the fierce blows of foemen, the shouts of victory; 'neath the banner of his country, the grat.i.tude of a nation, the glory of a hero round his brow,--death were a happy, ay, a welcome friend. But alone, 'mid foes, disgraced by fetters, dragged to a dishonored grave, with none to whisper of hope or comfort, death is a cruel, a most bitter foe.

Zuleika. Mine errand is to take from that death the bitterness thou dost mourn, to give a parting joy to the life now pa.s.sing.

Ion. Oh, hast thou the power to save my father's life! Oh, use it now, and Greece shall bless thee for thy mercy!

Zuleika. Oh, that the power _were_ mine, how gladly would I use it in a cause so glorious! I am but a woman, and tho' the heart is strong, the arm is very weak. I cannot save thy father, but trust I may still cheer the parting hours with a brief happiness.

Ion. Lady, thy words of kindly sympathy fall like sweet music on my troubled heart, and at thy magic call hope springeth up anew. Thou art unknown, and yet there is that within that doth whisper I may trust thee.

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