BEATRICE.
That voice!
Oh heavens! Where shall I fly!
DON MANUEL.
Know'st thou that voice?
No! thou hast never heard it; to thine ear
'Tis strange——
BEATRICE.
Oh, come—delay not——
DON MANUEL.
Wherefore I fly?
It is my brother's voice! He seeks me—how
He tracked my steps——
BEATRICE.
By all the holy saints!
Brave not his wrath! oh quit this place—avoid him—
Meet not thy brother here!
DON MANUEL.
My soul! thy fears
Confound; thou hear'st me not; our strife is o'er.
Yes! we are reconciled.
BEATRICE.
Protect me, heaven,
In this dread hour!
DON MANUEL.
A sudden dire presage
Starts in my breast—I shudder at the thought:
If it be true! Oh, horror! Could she know
That voice! Wert thou—my tongue denies to utter
The words of fearful import—Beatrice!
Say, wert thou present at the funeral rites
Of my dead sire?
BEATRICE.
Alas!
DON MANUEL.
Thou wert!