[Enter Rodolpho.
Rod. Not here? Can he have failed? Here is blood—it may be his. I'll call. Hugo, good Hugo, art thou here?
Hugo [stealing from the trees]. Ay, my lord, I am here. All is safely done: the love-sick boy lies yonder in the thicket, dead as steel can make him. And here is the token if you doubt me, and the ring I just took from his hand [gives letter].
Rod. Nay, nay, I do not doubt thee; keep thou the ring. I am content with this. Tell me, did he struggle with thee when thou dealt the blow?
Hugo. Nay, my lord; he fell without a groan, and murmuring something of revenge on thee, he died. Hast thou the gold?
Rod. Yes, yes, I have it. Take it, and remember I can take thy life as easily as thou hast his, if thou shouldst whisper what hath been this day done. Now go; I've done with thee.
Hugo. And I with thee. Adieu, my lord.
[Exit Hugo.
Rod. Now am I safe,—no mortal knows of Theresa's death by my hand, and Leonore is mine.
Voice [within the wood]. Never—never!