He had not wit enough to be a traitor.

Poor thick-eyed beetle! not to have foreseen
That he who gulled thee with a whimpered lie
To murder his own brother, would not scruple
To murder thee, if e'er his guilt grew jealous,
And he could steal upon thee in the dark!

Ord. Thou wouldst not then have come, if--Isid. Oh yes, my

lord!

I would have met him arm'd, and scar'd the coward. [Isidore throws off his robe; shows himself

armed, and draws his sword.

Ord. Now this is excellent and warms the blood! My heart was drawing back, drawing me back With weak and womanish scruples. Now my vengeance

Beckons me onwards with a warrior's mien,
And claims that life, my pity robb'd her of—
Now will I kill thee, thankless slave, and count it
Among my comfortable thoughts hereafter.

Isid. And all my little ones fatherless-
Die thou first.

[They fight, Ordonio disarms Isidore, and
in disarming him throws his sword up that
recess opposite to which they were stand-
ing. Isidore hurries into the recess with
his torch, Ordonio follows him; a loud
cry of "Traitor! Monster!" is heard
from the cavern, and in a moment Ordonio
returns alone.

Ord. I have hurled him down the chasm! treason

for treason.

He dreamt of it: henceforward let him sleep,
A dreamless sleep, from which no wife can wake him.
His dream too is made out-Now for his friend.
[Exit Ordonio.

SCENE II.---The interior Court of a Saracenic or Gothic Castle, with the iron gate of a dungeon visible.

Ter. Heart-chilling superstition! thou canst Ev'n pity's eye with her own frozen tear. [glaze In vain I urge the tortures that await him : Even Selma, reverend guardian of my childhood, My second mother, shuts her heart against me! Well, I have won from her what most imports The present need, this secret of the dungeon Known only to herself.-A Moor! a Sorcerer! No, I have faith, that nature ne'er permitted Baseness to wear a form so noble. True, I doubt not, that Ordonio had suborned him To act some part in some unholy fraud; As little doubt, that for some unknown purpose He hath baffled his suborner, terror-struck him, And that Ordonio meditates revenge!

But my resolve is fixed! myself will rescue him, And learn if haply he knew aught of Alvar.

See Appendix.

Enter Valdez.

Val. Still sad?-and gazing at the massive door Of that fell dungeon which thou ne'er had'st

sight of,

Save what, perchance, thy infant fancy shap'd it When the nurse still'd thy cries with unmeant

threats.

[thee! Now by my faith, girl! this same wizard haunts A stately man, and eloquent and tender--

Who then need wonder if a lady sighs

Even at the thought of what these stern Domini

cans--

Ter. The horror of their ghastly punishments Doth so o'ertop the height of all compassion, That I should feel too little for mine enemy, If it were possible I could feel more,

Even though the dearest inmates of our household Were doom'd to suffer them. That such things are--

Val. Hush, thoughtless woman!

Ter.

Nay, it wakes within me

No more of this--

More than a woman's spirit.

Val.

What if Monviedro or his creatures hear us!

I dare not listen to you.

Ter.

My honoured lord,

These were my Alvar's lessons, and whene'er
I bend me o'er his portrait, I repeat them,
As if to give a voice to the mute image.

Val.

-We have mourned for Alvar.

Of his sad fate there now remains no doubt.

Have I no other son?

Ter.

Speak not of him!

That low imposture! That mysterious picture!
If this be madness, must I wed a madman?
And if not madness, there is mystery,

And guilt doth lurk behind it.

Of

Val.

Is this well?

Ter. Yes, it is truth: saw you his countenance? How rage, remorse, and scorn, and stupid fear Displaced each other with swift interchanges? O that I had indeed the sorcerer's power.I would call up before thine eyes the image my betrothed Alvar, of thy first-born! His own fair countenance, his kingly forehead, His tender smiles, love's day-dawn on his lips! That spiritual and almost heavenly light In his commanding eye-his mien heroic, Virtue's own native heraldry! to man Genial, and pleasant to his guardian angel. Whene'er he gladden'd, how the gladness spread Wide round him! and when oft with swelling tears, Flash'd through by indignation, he bewail'd The wrongs of Belgium's martyr'd patriots, Oh, what a grief was there-for joy to envy, Or gaze upon enamour'd!

O my father!

Recall that morning when we knelt together,
And thou didst bless our loves! O even now,

Even now, my sire! to thy mind's eye present him,

As at that moment he rose up before thee,

Stately, with beaming look! Place, place beside
Ordonio's dark perturbed countenance ! [him
Then bid me (Oh thou could'st not) bid me turn
From him, the joy, the triumph of our kind!
To take in exchange that brooding man, who never
Lifts up his eye from the earth, unless to scowl.
Val. Ungrateful woman! I have tried to stifle
An old man's passion! was it not enough,
That thou hast made my son a restless man,
Banish'd his health, and half unhing'd his reason;
But that thou wilt insult him with suspicion!
And toil to blast his honour? I am old,

A comfortless old man!

Ter.

O grief! to hear

Hateful entreaties from a voice we love!

Enter a Peasant and presents a letter to Valdez. Val. (reading it.) "He dares not venture hither!" Why what can this mean?

"Lest the Familiars of the Inquisition,

That watch around my gates, should intercept him;
But he conjures me, that without delay

I hasten to him-for my own sake entreats me
To guard from danger him I hold imprison'd-
He will reveal a secret, the joy of which [this be?
Will even outweigh the sorrow."-Why what can
Perchance it is some Moorish stratagem,

To have in me a hostage for his safety.

Nay, that they dare not! Ho! collect my servants! I will go thither—let them arm themselves.

[Exit Valdez.