In that old tower?
[He again approaches her—she falls on her knees.
Mor. So young, and thus to die!
Mercy—have mercy! In your own far land
If there be love that weeps and watches for you,
And follows you with prayer—even by that love
Spare me—for it is woman’s! If light steps
Have bounded there to meet you, clinging arms
Hung on your neck, fond tears o’erflow’d your cheek,
Think upon those that loved you thus, for thus