[Snatches his purse. Lewis hides his face.]
Ah, God! what’s here? A new crusader’s cross?
Whose? Nay, nay—turn not from me; I guess all—
You need not tell me; it is very well—
According to the meed of my deserts:
Yes—very well.
Lewis. Ah, love!—look not so calm—
Eliz. Fear not—I shall weep soon.
How long is it since you vowed?
Lewis. A week or more.
Eliz. Brave heart! And all that time your tenderness
Kept silence, knowing my weak foolish soul. [Weeps.]
O love! O life! Late found, and soon, soon lost!
A bleak sunrise,—a treacherous morning gleam,—
And now, ere mid-day, all my sky is black
With whirling drifts once more! The march is fixed
For this day month, is’t not?
Lewis. Alas, too true!
Eliz. Oh break not, heart!
[Conrad enters.]
Ah! here my master comes.
No weeping before him.