Theodora. When reason bids be calm.Is reason in it?
Ostyn.Yes, yes.
Theodora. Ostyn.Yes, yes.Where does the reason dwell then—here,
Or here?
Ostyn. Or here? Come, my dear mistress, this is vain.
You work yourself to it.
(She looks around.)
Theodora. You work yourself to it.Where is the wind that blew?
What is this silence?—Ah! I dare not speak!
Each leaf here hangs its head at seeing me.