Long. Laggard! too many precious moments have been wasted in their execution: the moon has risen high, and casts a brightness round scarce feebler than the day: your course may be observed.
Len. Dismiss that fear: nothing that lives hath voice or motion: now, not e’en the solitary fisher spreads his nets upon the stream.
Long. Where have you left the boat?
Len. Under the bank in shade, fastened to the roots of yon tall willow.
Long. Sanguine shall accompany you; then when you reach the middle of the current—
Len. Ay, where it flows deep and strong; Eugenia’s funeral rites are few and brief.
Long. To-morrow, I shall report she has been conveyed in safety to her friends upon the German bank—thus all inquiry stands forever barred.
Bertrand, who watches from the bower, clasps his hands in despair and groans aloud.
Long. Ha! what sound was that?
Len. (looking cautiously round.) Some tree moaning to the blast—no more.