_Yolanda._ Plentiful scorn! (_With joy._) A thing may still
Be done to lift my hope out of this ruin!
To bring Amaury grateful to my feet!
And I will do it.

_Vittia._ Tell? ... vowing him first
To win his father's lenience?... No ... I see!
You will when she who's guilty
And this enamoured Paphian are fled!

[YOLANDA _turns pale._

When they are fled! ha.... And it is too late.

_Yolanda._ Too--? (_stunned_). You by a trick--some trick have--!

_Vittia._ Hindered? Little
I needed.... Her wings are flightless. She is ill,
Verging--go learn!--to death.

_Yolanda._ Oh ...!

_Vittia._ To the grave.
And you alone, she knows, can put it far--
Since she is numbed and drained
Momently by the terror of her husband,
Whose every pulse seems to her a suspicion.

_Yolanda._ And it is you ... you who have urged again
His doubt that would have sunk!

_Vittia._ It was enough
Merely to sigh--and fear her innocence
Can only seem simple as dew again
If you wed freely Camarin of Paphos.

_Yolanda._ And that you could! though in her heart remorse
Trampled and tore!
Though with the wounds of battle he you "love"
Is livid still.

_Vittia._ And grieves?--Be comforted!
For _he_ is--now security has come.

[_Shows the ring;_ YOLANDA _falls back._

As _he_ is, do not fear.

_Yolanda._ Amaury!... Oh!
My father's gift--so desecrated? So?--
Ah, you are merciless!

_Vittia._ Only aware
How to compel your pity to my ends;
For you will spare his mother.

_Yolanda._ Yielding--still,
And past all season of recovery?
Shattering love for ever at my feet?
No, you are duped. For empty, cold are the veins
Now of submission in me; numb and dead
The pleading of it. And upon you, back,
I cast the burden of your cruelty.

[_Slowly._

And--if she dies in terror of the lips
Of Renier Lusignan--on your peace
The guilt be!

_Vittia._ Fa.

_Yolanda._ The heaping mass of horror!

_Vittia_ (_moved_). Liar, on her own; for she has sinned.

_Yolanda._ And suffered!
But you----

_Vittia.