I am too ill! Look at me! See the fever

That burns upon my cheek! I must go hence.
I am too weak to dance.

(Signal from the garden.)

DOLORES (from the window).-Who's there?

VOICE (from below).

DOLORES.-I will undo the door.

A friend.

Wait till I come.

PRECIOSA. I must go hence. I pray you do not harm me!

Shame to treat a feeble woman thus !

Be you but kind, I will do all things for you.
I'm ready now- -give me my castanets.
Where is Victorian? O, those hateful lamps!
They glare upon me like an evil eye.

I cannot stay. Hark! how they mock at me!
They hiss at me like serpents! Save! save me!
(She wakes.)

How late is it, Dolores?

DOLORES.

It is midnight.

Smooth this

PRECIOSA. We must be patient.

pillow for me.

(She sleeps again. Noise from the garden, and voices.)

ACT III.

SCENE I-A cross road through a wood. In the background a distant village spire. VICTORIAN and HYPOLITO, ¡as travelling students, with guitars, sitting under the trees. HYPOLITO plays and sings.

SONG.

Ah, Love!

Perjured, false, treacherous Love!
Enemy

Of all that mankind may not rue!
Most untrue

To him who keeps most faith with thee.
Woe is me!

The falcon has the eyes of the dove.
Ab, Love!

Perjured, false, treacherous Love!

VICTORIAN.-Yes, Love is ever busy with his shuttle,

Is ever weaving into life's dull warp Bright, gorgeous flowers, and scenes Arcadian ; Hanging our gloomy prison-house about With tapestries, that make its walls dilate In never-ending vistas of delight, 1lYPOLITO.-Thinking to walk in those Arcadian pastures,

Thou hast run thy noble head against the wall.

Ah, Love!

Perjured, false, treacherous Love!

VICTORIAN.-A very pretty song. I thank thee

for it.

HYPOLITO. It suits thy case.
VICTORIAN.

What wise man wrote it?

HYPOLITO.

Indeed I think it does.

Lopez Maldonado.

VICTORIAN.-In truth, a pretty song.

HYPOLITO.

With much truth in it.

I hope thou wilt profit by it; and in earnest
Try to forget this lady of thy love.

VICTORIAN.—I will forget her! All dear recollec

tions

Pressed in my heart, like flowers within a book,
Shall be torn out, and scattered to the winds!
I will forget her! But perhaps hereafter,
When she shall learn how heartless is the
world,

friend!"

A voice within her will repeat my name,
And she will say, "He was indeed my
O would I were a soldier, not a scholar,
That the loud march, the deafening beat of
drums,

The shattering blast of the brass-throated

trumpet,

The din of arms, the onslaught and the storm, And a swift death, might make me deaf for ever To the upbraidings of this foolish heart! HYPOLITO. Then let that foolish heart upbraid no more!

To conquer love, one need but will to conquer. VICTORIAN.-Yet, good Hypolito, it is in vain I throw into Oblivion's sea the sword That pierces me; for, like Excalibar,

With gemmed and flashing hilt, it will not sink.
There rises from below a hand that grasps it,
And waves it in the air; and wailing voices
Are heard along the shore.
HYPOLITO.-

And yet at last
Down sank Excalibar, to rise no more.
This is not well. In truth, it vexes me.
Instead of whistling to the steeds of Time,
To make them jog on merrily with life's burden,

Like a dead-weight thou hangest on the wheels.
Thou art too young, too full of lusty health.
To talk of dying.
VICTORIAN.-

Yet I fain would die!
To go through life, unloving and unloved;
To feel that thirst and hunger of the soul
We cannot still; that longing, that wild im-
pulse,

And struggle after something we have not,
And cannot have; the effort to be strong;
And, like the Spartan boy, to smile, and smile,
While secret wounds do bleed beneath our
cloaks;

All this the dead feel not,-the dead alone!
Would I were with them!

HYPOLITO.

We shall all be soon. VICTORIAN.-It cannot be too soon; for I am weary Of the bewildering masquerade of Life,

Where strangers walk as friends, and friends

as strangers;

Where whispers overheard betray false hearts;
And through the mazes of the crowd we chase
Some form of loveliness, that smiles, and
beckons,

And cheats us with fair words, only to leave us
A mockery and a jest ; maddened,-confused,—
Not knowing friend from foe.

HYPOLITO.

Why seek to know?
Enjoy the merry shrovetide of thy youth!
Take each fair mask for what it gives itself,
Nor strive to look beneath it.
VICTORIAN.-

I confess
That were the wiser part. But Hope no longer
Comforts my soul. I am a wretched man,
Much like a poor and shipwrecked mariner,
Who, struggling to climb up into the boat,
Has both his bruised and bleeding hands cut off,
And sinks again into the weltering sea,
Helpless and hopeless!

HYPOLITO.

Yet thou shalt not perish.

The strength of thine own arm is thy salvation.
Above thy head, through rifted clouds, there

shines

A glorious star.

Be patient. Trust thy star.

(Sound of a village bell in the distance.)

VICTORIAN.-Ave Maria! I hear the sacristan Ringing the chimes from yonder village belfry A solemn sound, that echoes far and wide Over the red roofs of the cottages,

And bids the labouring hind a-field, the shepherd

Guarding his flock, the lonely muleteer,

And all the crowd in village streets, stand still, And breathe a prayer unto the blessed Virgin! HYPOLITO.-Amen! amen! Not half a league from

hence

The village lies. VICTORIAN.

This path will lead us to it, Over the wheat fields, where the shadows sail Across the running sea, now green, now blue, And, like an idle mariner on the main,

Whistles the quail. Come, let us hasten on.

SCENE II.

[Exeunt.

(Public square in the village of Guadarrama. The Ave Maria still tolling. A crowd of villagers, with their hats in their hunds, as if in prayer. In front, a group of Gipsies. The bell rings a merrier peal. A Gipsy dance. Enter PANCHO, followed by PEDRO CRESPO.)

PANCHO. Make room, ye vagabonds and Gipsy thieves!

Make room for the Alcalde and for me!

PEDRO CRESPO.-Keep silence all! I have an edict here

From our most gracious lord, the King of
Spain,

Jerusalem, and the Canary Islands,