ANNICCA (eagerly).
What news? What cheer, Tommaso?
DON TOMMASO.
Meagre cheer,
But tidings that break through our slow suspense,
Like the first thunder-clap in sultry air.
Don John sets sail from Sicily, to wed
A Princess chosen by the King. Maria—
ANNICCA.
Talk not of her—I know her not; her name
Will sear thy tongue. Think'st thou, in truth this news
Will draw my father from his hiding-place?
No—teach me not to hope. Within my heart
A sure voice tells me he is dead. Not his
The spirit to drag out a shameful life,
To shrink from honest eyes, to sink his brow
Unto the dust, here where he wore his crown.
Thou knowest him. Have I not cause to mourn
Uncomforted, that he, the first of fathers,
Self-murdered—nay, child-murdered—Oh, Tommaso,
I would fare barefoot to the ends of the earth
To look again upon his living face,
See in his eyes the light of love restored—
Not blasting me with lightnings as before—
To kneel to him, to solace him, to win
For mine own head, yoked in my sister's curse
The blessing he refused me.
DON TOMMASO.
Well, take comfort;
This grace may yet be thine.
SCENE II.
Palermo. A Nunnery. Enter ABBESS, followed by a Lay-Sister.
ABBESS.
Is the poor creature roused?
LAY-SISTER.
Nay, she still sleeps.
'T would break your pious heart to see her, mother.
She begged our meanest cell, though 't is past doubt
She has been bred to delicate luxury.
I deemed her spent, had not the soft breast heaved
As gently as a babe's and even in dreams
Two crystal drops oozed from her swollen lids,
And trickled down her cheeks. Her grief sleeps not,
Although the fragile body craves its rest.
ABBESS.
Poor child! I fear she hath sore need of prayer.
Hath she yet spoken?
LAY-SISTER.
Only such scant words
Of thanks or answer as our proffered service
Or questionings demand. When we are silent,
Even if she wake, she seemeth unaware
Of any presence. She will sit and wail,
Rocking upon the ground, with dull, wide eyes,
Wherefrom the streaming tears unceasing course;
The only sound that then escapes her lips
Is, "Father, Father!" in such piteous strain
As though her rent heart bled to utter it.
ABBESS.
Still she abides then by her first request
To take the black veil and its vows to-morrow?