ight before my father,
Whose lips refuse.

_Camarin._ She knows no shred of it.

_Amaury._ You lie to say it.

_Camarin._ Then will, still--if there
Is need.

_Amaury._ Because you love her?

_Yolanda._ Peace, peace, peace.

_Amaury._ A hollow word for what had never being.

_Yolanda._ Look on her face and see.

_Amaury_ (_at bier_). Upon her face!
Where not oblivion the void of death
Has hid away, or can, the agony
Of her last terror--but it trembles still.
I tell you, no. Grief was enough, but now
Through it has risen mystery that chokes
As a miasma from Iscariot's tomb.
And till this pall of doubt be rent away
No earth shall fall and quicken with her dust!
But I will search her face ... till it reveals.

_Camarin._ He raves.

_Amaury._ Iscariot! yes!

_Yolanda._ Again, peace, peace!

_Amaury._ That you may palter!

_Yolanda_ (_gently_). That she may not grieve.

[_Goes again to bier._

For--if her soul is near--it now is wrung.
Near! would it were to hear me and impart
Its yearning and regret to us who live,
Its dim unhappiness and hollow want.
Yes, mother, were you now about us, vain,
Invisible and without any voice
To tell us of you!
Were you and now could hear through what of cold
Or silence wrap you, oh, so humanly,
And seeming but a veil--
Then would you hear me say--

[_Suddenly aghast._

Ah, God!

_Amaury._ Yolanda!

[_She starts back from the bier._

Yolanda!

_Renier._ Girl, what rends you?

_Yolanda._ Saw you not?

[_Rushes to bier and shakes it._

Mother! you hear me? mother!

_Renier._ Girl!

_Yolanda._ She breathes!

[_Consternation. Some fall to their knees._

_Vittia._ What? what?

_Yolanda._ Mother! Her breast! Mother! She moves!

_Amaury._ God! God!

_Yolanda._ Stand off from her ... Mother!

_Camarin._ Her eyes!...
They open! open!

_Yolanda._ Mother!...

_Amaury._ See;