SCENE FOURTH.
[Zara's chamber. Enter Bernardo.]
Ber. [unfolding a scroll]. At length 't is done, and here I hold the doom of those proud lords who have so scorned my race. The hour has come, and Bernardo is revenged. What, ho! Zara, where art thou?
[Enter Zara.
Zara. Dear father, what hath troubled thee, and how can Zara cheer and comfort thee?
Ber. 'Tis joy, not sorrow, Zara, gives this fierce light to mine eye. I have hated, and am avenged. This one frail scroll is dearer far to me than all the wealth of Spain, for 'tis the death-knell of the English lords.
Zara. Must they all die, my father?
Ber. Ay, Zara,—all; ere to-morrow's sun shall set they will sleep forever, and a good deed will be well done. I hate them, and their paltry lives can ill repay the sorrow they have wrought.
Zara. Let me see the fatal paper. [Takes the scroll; aside.] Yes, his name is here. Ah, how strange that these few lines can doom brave hearts to such a death! [Aloud.] Father, 'tis a fearful thing to hold such power over human life. Ah, bid me tear the scroll, and win for thee the thanks of those thy generous pity saves.
Ber. [seizing the paper]. Not for thy life, child! Revenge is sweet, and I have waited long for mine. The king hath granted this; were it destroyed, the captives might escape ere I could win another. Nay, Zara, this is dearer to me than thy most priceless gems. To-night it shall be well guarded 'neath my pillow. Go to thy flowers, child. These things are not for thee,—thou art growing pale and sad. Remember, Zara, thou art nobly born, and let no foolish pity win thee to forget it.