Long. A guiltless end that flighted yesterday hath reached. O! that the morrow found as clear a tomb! When the next midnight tolls, Eugenia, thou wilt rest in blessedness, whilst thy murderer—Ah! what charmed couch shall bring the sweet forgetful slumber at that hour to me? Midnight, the welcome sabbath of unstained souls, O, to the murderer thou art terrible—silence and darkness that with the innocent make blessed time, to him bring curses, for then through sealed ears and close-veiled eyes, strange sounds and sights will steal their way, that in the hum and glare of day-light dare not stir: then o’er the wretch’s forehead ooze cold beads of dew—-in feverish, brain-sick dreams, with starts and groans: on beds of seeming down he feels the griding rack, and finds himself a hell more fierce, than fiends can show hereafter.
Sang. How now, my lord? unmanned by conscience? Nay, then, let Eugenia live.
Long. Not for an angel’s birthright! think’st thou I would deign to breathe on wretched sufferance? No, no; her death is necessary to my honor and my peace. Come on! my hand may falter, but my heart’s resolved; ’tis sworn, inexorably sworn: Eugenia dies.
Exeunt.
[ SCENE IV.]—The river-bank—the Rhine flows across the stage at distance—on one side a pavilion extends obliquely, through the lower windows of which lights appear—nearly opposite is a small bower of lattice-work.—The moon at full, has just risen above the German bank, and pours its radiance upon the water. Bertrand is discovered watching the pavilion.
Bert. I watch in vain; all means of access to the prisoner are debarred: her chamber now is dark and silent: still tapers glare and voices murmur from the hall beneath: the baron and Sanguine are there: ’tis against life these midnight plotters stir. Oh! that this heart might bleed to its last guilty drop in ransom for Eugenia! Soft! does not the dashing of a distant oar disturb the silence of the tide? Yes; just where the moonlight gleams a boat now crosses rapidly; it rows towards this bank; it pauses now in stillness—what may this mean? the hour so late, the spot so unfrequented and remote. (A bugle is sounded three times) Ha! a bugle sounded thrice! too sure the omen of some fatal deed. I will not quit this spot—no, Eugenia, I will preserve or perish with thee! Soft, the pavilion opens. Bower, receive me to thy friendly shades! watch with me blessed spirits.
He retires into the bower fronting the pavilion. Longueville advances cautiously from the pavilion.
Long. ’Twas the signal! the boat has reached the bank, Ho! Lenoire! advance: no eye observes thy step.
Enter Lenoire along the bank by an entrance between the bower and the river.
Len. All is prepared: your orders are fulfilled.