Mel. [dashing him to the other end of the stage]. Pauline—look up, Pauline! thou art safe.
Beau. [levelling his pistol]. Dare you thus insult a man of my birth, ruffian?
Pauline. Oh, spare him—spare my husband!—Beauseant—Claude—no—no [faints].
Mel. Miserable trickster! shame upon you! brave devices to terrify a woman! Coward!—you tremble—you have outraged the laws—you know that your weapon is harmless—you have the courage of the mountebank, not the bravo!—Pauline, there is no danger.
Beau. I wish thou wert a gentleman—as it is, thou art beneath me.— Good day, and a happy honeymoon.—[Aside.] I will not die till I am avenged. [Exit.
Mel. I hold her in these arms—the last embrace
Never, ah never more, shall this dear head
Be pillow’d on the heart that should have shelter’d
And has betray’d!—Soft—soft! one kiss—poor wretch!
No scorn on that pale lip forbids me now!
One kiss—so ends all record of my crime!
It is the seal upon the tomb of hope,
By which, like some lost, sorrowing angel, sits
Sad memory evermore; she breathes—she moves
She wakes to scorn, to hate, but not to shudder
Beneath the touch of my abhorred love.
Places her on a seat. There—we are strangers now!
Pauline. All gone—all calm
Is every thing a dream? thou art safe, unhurt
I do not love thee;—but—but I am woman,
And—and—no blood is spilt?
Mel. No, lady, no; My guilt hath not deserved so rich a blessing As even danger in thy cause.
Enter WIDOW.
Widow. My son, I have been everywhere in search of you; why did you send for me?
Mel. I did not send for you.