Amaury (moved). Lady—?
Vittia. I will bear it.
Amaury. ... Thus?
[Struggles.
Then it shall be. And grateful I'll await
The issue's utterance. And stay, wear this—
[Takes off a ring.
From her dead father's hand—
As a proof to her of any tie soever.
But now—for the sails make home along the sea—
Now of my mother.
Vittia. More, my lord?
[Smarda glides in.
Amaury. This only.
To-morrow when again she ... Scythian!