Hæmon: Not there is trust!
She is aware and aids in his deceit.
This writing says it of her.
Charles: Fulvia? No!
No, no!—Though she had sudden whispers for him!
A lie—Yet fast belief fixes its fangs
On me and will not loose me—for against
My hope she set a coldness and a doubt!
O woman woven through all fibres of me!
(Starting up.) But he——!
Hæmon: Ah then, it runs in you, the rush
And pang that answer mine?
Charles (quietly): If they are still——
Hæmon: Under these shades?
Charles: And—lips to lips——
Hæmon: Ah, God!
You will?—you will?
Charles: Hush! something—No, it was
But fate cried out in me, not any voice.
Hæmon: We must be swift.
Charles: It cries again. I will
Not listen! He's not flesh of me—not flesh!
A traitor is no son, nor was nor shall be!
Though it shriek desolation utterly
I will not listen!