‘Oh, Imogene! for thee what would I not venture?’ was the hushed reply.
‘For the sake of all our hopes, wild though they be, I counsel caution.’
‘Fear naught. The priest, flattered by my confession, is fairly duped. Let me employ this golden moment to urge what I have before entreated. Your father, Imogene, can never be appeased. Fly, then, my beloved! oh, fly!’
‘Oh, my Lothair! it never can be. Alas! whither can we fly?’
‘Sweet love! I pray thee listen:—to Italy. At the court of my cousin, the Duke of Milan, we shall be safe and happy. What care I for Branchimont, and all its fortunes? And for that, my vassals are no traitors. If ever the bright hour arrive when we may return in joy, trust me, sweet love, my flag will still wave on my father’s walls.’
‘Oh, Lothair! why did we meet? Why, meeting, did we not hate each other like our fated race? My heart is distracted. Can this misery be love? Yet I adore thee———’
‘Lady!’ said the page, advancing, ‘the priest approaches.’
The Lady Imogene rose, and crossed herself before the altar.
‘To-morrow, at this hour,’ whispered Lothair.
The Lady Imogene nodded assent, and, leaning on her page, quitted the shrine.