the altar; the chanting ceases._

_Moro_ (_as_ AMAURY _bows, shaken_).
No moan or any toil of grief be here
Where we have brought her for sainted appeal.
But in this holy place until the tomb
Let her find rest.

_Amaury._ Set down the bier.

[_It is placed._

_Moro._ Lone rest!
Then bliss Afar for ever!

_Amaury_ (_rises_). Be it so!

[_Turning; brokenly._

But unto any, mother, who have brought thee
Low to this couch, be never ease again.
To any who have put thy life out, never!
But in them be the burning that has seemed
To shrivel thee--whether with pain or fear!
And be appeaseless tears,
Salt tears that rust the fountain of the heart.

[_Sinks to a seat. A pause._

_Moro._ My son, relentless words.

_Amaury_ (_up again_). To the relentless!

_Moro._ God hear you not!

_Amaury._ Then is He not my God.

_Moro._ Enough, enough. (_To the rest._) But go and for her soul
Freight all of you this tide of night with prayer.

_Amaury._ Never!

_Moro._ I bid.

_Amaury._ And I forbid those who
Have prized her not!
For though nought's in the world but prayer may move,
Still but the lips that loved her
Should for her any sin beseeching lift.

[_Looking at_ YOLANDA.

They and no other!

_Yolanda._ It is well.

_Amaury._ Not one.

_Yolanda._ Then, mother----

[_Goes to bier._

_Amaury._ That name again?

_Yolanda._ While I have breath.

[_Fixedly._

Yes, though you hold me purgeless of that sin
Only the pale archangels may endure
Trembling to muse on!
Or though yon image of the Magdalen,
Whose alabaster broke amid her tears
And her torn hair, forbade me with a voice.
And you, whose heart is shaken
As in a tomb a taper's flame, would know
I speak with love.

_Camarin._ Unswerving love.

_Amaury._ Then, by
Christ, and the world that craves His blood, I think
She, if she would, or you, could point to me,
Or you, Vittia Pisani,
The reason of this sudden piteous death
Hard on the haunted fl