On the dark floor! He slew the Paynim bride.
Was it not well? (He looks at them attentively, and as he goes out exclaims—)
My brother must not fall!
Scene II.—A deserted Turkish burying-ground in the city—tombs and stones overthrown—the whole shaded by dark cypress-trees.
Mor. (leaning over a monumental pillar, which has been lately raised.)
He is at rest;—and I!—is there no power
In grief to win forgiveness from the dead?
When shall I rest? Hark! a step—Aymer’s step!
The thrilling sound!
[She shrinks back as reproaching herself.