prayer! strike the pale villain! oh! with thy
hottest lightning blast him dead! a curse, a tenfold curse o'erwhelm his
death-bed! Traitor! thou shalt not 'scape, this hand shall rend thy
heart-strings, I'll smite thee home.

(In the delirium of his passion he draws his sword, and strikes
with it as at an ideal combatant, his bodily powers forsake him in
the effort, he reels, and falls convulsed into Gaspard's arms.)

_Gasp._ Help! help! death is on him, help there swiftly!

(_Geraldine_ rushes in, followed by domestics.)

_Ger._ Whence these cries? ah Heavens! what killing sight is this?
uncle, uncle, speak to me, 'tis Geraldine that calls.

Enter _Florian_ from the opposite side.

_Flor._ My patron! ha! convulsed! dying. Eternal Mercy spare his sacred
life!

_Ger._ Nay, bend him forward, his eyes unclose again--he sees--he
knows us.

(The _Count_ in silence draws a hand from _Geraldine_ and _Florian_
within his own, and presses them together to his heart.)

_Flor._ How fares it, sir? bless us with your voice.

_De Val._ Ah! Ah! (_he grasps the scroll and points to it emphatically,
but cannot articulate._)

_Flor._ O! for a knowledge of your gracious pleasure, speak sir,
pronounce one word.

_De Val._ (_very faintly and with effort._) Longueville: ah fly,
preserve-- (_again his accents fail him, he seems to collect all his
remaining strength for one short effort, and a second time just
articulates_) --Longueville! (_he relapses into insensibility._)

_Flor._ Enough! I comprehend your will; nay, bear him gently in, I'll to
the river-bank and seek the Baron!

(_Geraldine, &c. bear the count off on one side, Florian rushes
away by the opposite._)

SCENE III.--_A rugged Cliff that overhangs the River._

Enter _Longueville_ and _Sanguine_.

_Long._ Tardy, neglectful slave! still does he loiter?

_Sang._ Nay, return to the pavilion; the signal soon must greet us: you
bade Lenoire to sound his bugle when he reached the bank.

_Long._ Ay, thrice the blast should be repeated; still must I listen for
those notes of destiny in vain? hark! here you nothing now?

_Sang._ Only the rising tide that murmurs hoarsly as it frets and chafes
against the bank below us.

_Long._ Is midnight passed?

_Sang._ Long since: just as we crossed the glen the monastery chime
swang heavy with the knell of yesterday.

_Long._ A guiltless end that flighted yesterday hath reached. O