Scene II. A Prison.
Christine seated on a bench; her appearance betrays grief and despair.
Christine. At length the weary night has passed away, and day dawns, but brings no joy or comfort to my aching heart. Alas! alas! Christine, where are all the bright visions thy fond fancy painted? where is that content and love which gleamed through the casement of our cottage, when my dear father smiled on his child, and entwined around her his protecting arms: when the false Lenox, too, with honeyed lips, and tones soft as zephyrs, vow'd eternal love? Let me not think of them, or I shall go mad. Oh, what a contrast! pent up in a vile prison, and in disguise! condemned to die, and perishing unknown and unprotected. On the one side, my grave yawns for me; and on the other, a false lover, and a cruel father, drive me to despair. My brain is on fire! [Hurries about with rapid strides. Music loud and violent.] Ha! what is this? [Tears the miniature from around her neck.] Lenox, these are thy features! thy mild looks beam hope and joy upon me. [Kisses it.] Could such a face be false? Away with it! even now he weds another. [Throws the miniature indignantly from her.] So, 'tis gone, and I am left alone in darkness and despair. [She stands transfixed with grief—muffled drum rolls—she starts.] Ha! they come for me! Be firm, my heart!
Enter an Officer and a file of Soldiers.
Officer. Young man, your hour has arrived; the detachment waits without to receive you.
Christine. [Faintly.] I am ready.
Officer. Can I serve you in any manner? Is there no letter—no remembrance that you would wish sent to father or friend?
Christine. Oh, forbear!
Soldier. [Picking up the miniature.] See, sir, here is a miniature.