otion may efface
The weakness of a moment!

DON JOHN (raising her tenderly and embracing her).
Ah, mine own!

SCENE III.

Morning. The studio. Enter RIBERA.

RIBERA.
How laughingly the clear sun shines to-day
On storm-drenched green, and cool, far-glittering seas!
When she comes in to greet me, she will blush
For last night's terrors. How she crouched and shuddered
At the mere thought of the wild war without!
Poor, clinging women's souls, what need is theirs
Of our protecting love! Yet even on me
The shadow of the storm-cloud seemed to breed.
Through my vexed sleep I heard the thunder roll;
My dreams were ugly--Well, all that is past;
To-day my spirit is renewed. 'T is long
Since I have felt so fresh.
[He seats himself before his easel and takes up his brush and
palette, but holds them idly in his hand.]
Strange, she still sleeps!
The hour is past when she is wont to come
To bless me with the kiss of virgin love.
Mayhap 't was fever in her eyes last night
Gave them so wild a glance, so bright a lustre.
God! if she should be ill!
[He rises and calls.]
Luca!

Enter LUCA.

LUCA.
My lord?

RIBERA.
Go ask Fiametta if the mistress sleeps--
If she be ailing--why she has not come
This morn to greet me.
[Exit LUCA.]

RIBERA (begins pacing the stage).
What fond fears are these
Mastering my spirit? Since her mother died
I tremble at the name of pain or ill.
How can my rude love tend, my hard hand soothe,
The dear child's fragile--
[A confused cry without.]
What is that? My God!
How hast thou stricken me!
[He staggers and falls into a chair. Enter hastily FIAMETTA,
weeping, and LUCA with gestures of terror and distress.]

FIAMETTA.
Master!

LUCA.
Dear master!
[RIBERA rises with a great effort and confronts them.]

RIBERA.
What is it? Speak!

LUCA.
Dear master, she is gone.

RIBERA.
How? Murdered--dead? Oh, cruel God! Away!
Follow me not!
[Exit RIBERA.]

FIAMETTA.
Help, all ye saints of heaven.
Have pity on him! Oh, what a day is this!

LUCA.
Quiet, Fiametta.