And I will gain the rose despite of thee!
Now for my hour of triumph: here he comes.
[Lord Arthur advances from among the trees, exclaiming on seeing Lady Ellrington.
Lord Arthur.
Zenobia! How com’st thou here? What ails thee?
Thy cheek is flushed as with a fever glow;
Thine eyes flash strangest radiance; and thy frame
Trembles like to the wind-stirred aspen-tree!
Lady Ellrington.
Give me the rose, Lord Arthur, for methinks