Cha. We'll think upon this matter.
Meanwhile thou mayst retire.
[They withdraw.
Joan. Yet dost thou doubt me?
Cha. And now, sweet maid, we must evince
Our sense of kindness such—(takes her hand.)
Joan. Thou dost mistake me.
Cha. (aside, Oh! majesty of virtue! I stand abashed
Before the simple form thou hast assumed,
Still lower than the lowly who reproves me.)
Forgive the offence.
Joan. It is forgotten;
Thou hast not injured me.
Cha. Thou sayst aright.
The assailer not assailed sustains the injury,
When vice would sully purity. Speak thy wishes.
Joan. I dare not trust the air with such a secret
As that which trembles here. (Approaches and whispers.)
Cha. Who told thee this?
Can Death then ope his mouldy jaws, and speak
Without a tongue?