Part 14 (1/2)

Hark! the tramp again; Again the ring of mail. I wonder much If she shall hear it first, or first the eye Shall slay her love within her.

_Enter_ GYCIA.

_Gycia._ Thou dost ask My presence; wherefore is it?

_Ire._ Gycia, Thou dost not love me, yet would I requite Thy wrong with kindness. That thy love was false To thee, thou knowest, but it may be still There is a deeper falsehood than to thee, And thou shalt know it. Dost thou hear that sound?

[The tramp of men again heard.

What means it, think you?

_Gycia._ Nay, I cannot tell.

'Tis like the tramp of armed men.

_Ire._ It is; And who are they?

_Gycia._ Young citizens of Cherson, Maybe, rehearsing for to-morrow's pageant And the procession.

[_Going._

_Ire._ Stay, thou stubborn woman, Canst bear to see, though the sight blight thy life?

_Gycia._ I know not what thou wouldst, but I can bear it.

_Ire._ Though it prove thy love a traitor?

_Gycia._ That it will not!

_Ire._ Then, make no sound, but see what I will show thee.

Look now! Behold thy love!

[_Draws back panel, and discovers_ ASANDER _with the soldiers of Bosphorus marching._ ASANDER'S _voice heard._

_Asan._ At stroke of midnight To-morrow night be ready.

_Soldiers._ Ay, my lord.

[GYCIA _tottering back._ IRENE _slides back the panel, and_ GYCIA _sets her back against it, half fainting_; IRENE _regarding her with triumph._

_Gycia._ Was that my husband? and those men around him Soldiers of Bosphorus, to whom he gave Some swift command? What means it all, ye saints?

What means it? This the husband of my love, Upon whose breast I have lain night by night For two sweet years--my husband whom my father Loved as a son, whose every thought I knew, Or deemed I did, lurking in ambush here Upon the eve of our great festival, Scheming some b.l.o.o.d.y treachery to take Our Cherson in the toils? Oh, 'tis too much; I cannot trust my senses! 'Twas a dream!

_Ire._ No dream, but dreadful truth!

_Gycia._ Thou cruel woman How have I harmed thee, thou shouldst hate me thus?

But 'twas no dream. Why was it else that he, But for some hateful treachery, devised This festival? Why was it that he grew So anxious to go hence and take me with him, But that guilt made him coward, and he feared To see his work? Oh, love for ever lost, And with it faith gone out! what is't remains But duty, though the path be rough and trod By bruised and bleeding feet? Oh, what is it Is left for me in life but death alone, Which ends it?

_Ire._ Gycia, duty bids thee banish Thy love to his own State, and then disclose The plot thou hast discovered. It may be That thou mayst join him yet, and yet grow happy.

_Gycia._ Never! For duty treads another path Than that thou knowest. I am my father's daughter.

It is not mine to pardon or condemn; That is the State's alone. 'Tis for the State To banish, not for me, and therefore surely I must denounce these traitors to the Senate, And leave the judgment theirs.