The chieftain throws his arm round her slight form, and looking anxiously toward the gallery, says: 'Speak and tell me while it is yet time.'
With low, reproachful tone, she answers: 'Can it be possible that thou dost not know? And yet there is no room for doubt—it is Death! So long as I remain on earth, I am the wife of the foreigner. Thou canst regain me only in the land of spirits; but the way is short—look! it is only the length of thy sword!'
The word 'wife' falls from the soft lips like a stone on the heart of the chief, awakening him from the last dream he will ever dream on this earth. Yes. His sword would protect her from the pursuit of father and husband, but he cannot save her from the condemnation of the church, its excommunication; for what the priest of God has bound, that man may not unloose! It grows cold and dark in his sinking heart. A single moment of happiness, alas, now forever past! has robbed him of strength, of hope; he shivers with awe; he sees the long skeleton finger of the pale Phantom of Terror touch the young heart of the faithful maiden. But that will be impossible—he cannot take her life—he will fly, and fall on the morrow with his braves in battle—she shall live—the loveliest of human forms shall still remain on earth. He groans, and breaks away from her—the walls seem crumbling before him, breaking into tears of blood—he flies—but his sister overtakes him at the threshold.
'Where dost thou fly, unfaithful? Didst thou not come to release me? Wouldst thou brand me with dishonor—with infamy and shame? Betray me not. O God! canst thou think of deserting me now! Listen! The foreigner is already on his way to sully with his hot and pestilential breath the purity of thy beloved. And what would be my future fate shouldst thou deliver me into the hands of mine enemy, to his hated embraces? He will force me to the court of the King of the South. I must there bear my part amid strange faces, surrounded by falsehood and pride, and learn to smile on those I loathe. He will lead me to the court that he may boast of my beauty, that he may show his king he has gathered the pale flower of the ancient House. And what will be the course of the king, what that of the prince, my husband? Look at the old, and learn! They curse in old age what they worshipped in youth; they love what they once scorned. What has thus transformed them? Time. Time, the murderer, who in his reckless culture plants fresh roses on the ruined wall, will draw and thicken the veil of delusion over my face until my true features shall be stifled behind it. I shall be utterly alone—alone forever! Thou wilt be afar, on the mountains, rocks, or in the deserts; temptation will surround me, and disgust possess my soul. Thou mayst be brought in chains to the land of the King of the South, thine enemies may name me there over their beaded cups of ruby wine, jeers and scandals may reach thine ears, and thou wilt curse thyself that thou didst not kill me! Thrust thy sword into my heart! Tear me from the grasp of the monster!'
As if in sudden madness, she wildly stretches out her hands as if to push away the thronging phantoms which appal her.
'Look! his forehead sparkles—a word is written there in blazing diamonds—read it—it is INFAMY! Hell glitters in his eyes; his writhing arms are hissing vipers; they crawl to me, they touch me, wind around me, bury their heads in my bosom, and poison as they drink my pure blood from the virginal cup of my heart!'
She falls exhausted on the floor, washing his feet with her tears as her long tresses stream around them.
He lifts her like a feather from the ground.
'By the Holy Mother of our Lord, such fate shall not be thine! Like the flame of incense burning on the sacred altar, purest among the pure, thou shalt ascend to God!'
His heart breaks, his manly features flicker and quiver like the mist; strange spasms distort them; he bows his head in anguish, and with every tear from her eyes mingle the bitter drops only shed by man.