San. But now—a minute back.
Bert. I never spoke.
San. I’ll swear I heard a voice—no doubt then but ’twas he that—
Bert. From what quarter did the cry proceed?
San. I thought it sounded hereabouts, but the storm kept such a confounded patter at the time—
Bert. Well—let us take the left-hand path; and if we hear the call repeated—
San. Ay!—our daggers meet all questions with a keen reply.
Exeunt to the left.
Flor. (extricating himself cautiously from the tree.) Eternal Providence, what have I heard! Murderers then are upon the watch for me! no, no—not for me. I cannot be the destined victim. I never yet offended a human being, and fiends themselves would not destroy without a cause for hatred. Heaven guard the threatened one, whoe’er he be! Well, Prudence at least admonishes me to avoid the left-hand path; faith any turn but that must prove the right for me. Ha! unless my eyes are cheated by a Will-o’-th’-Wisp, a friendly light now peeps out through yonder coppice. (looking out) Perhaps some woodman’s hut, with a fresh faggot just crackling on the hearth. Oh, for a seat in such a chimney corner. (Whistle again at a distance) I hear you, gentlemen, a pleasant ramble to you. Adieu, Messieurs! space be between us! yours is a left-handed destiny; I’ll seek mine to the right. Exit.