! that
the morrow found as clear a tomb! When the next midnight tolls, Eugenia,
thou wilt rest in blessedness, whilst thy murderer-- Ah! what charmed
couch shall bring the sweet forgetful slumber at that hour to me?
Midnight, the welcome sabbath of unstained souls, O, to the murderer
thou art terrible--silence and darkness that with the innocent make
blessed time, to him bring curses, for then through sealed ears and
close-veiled eyes, strange sounds and sights will steal their way, that
in the hum and glare of day-light dare not stir: then o'er the wretch's
forehead ooze cold beads of dew--in feverish, brain-sick dreams, with
starts and groans: on beds of seeming down he feels the griding rack,
and finds himself a hell more fierce, than fiends can show hereafter.

_Sang._ How now, my lord? unmanned by conscience? Nay, then, let Eugenia
live.

_Long._ Not for an angel's birthright! think'st thou I would deign to
breathe on wretched sufferance? No, no; her death is necessary to my
honor and my peace. Come on! my hand may falter, but my heart's
resolved; 'tis sworn, inexorably sworn: Eugenia dies. [_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.--_The river-bank--the Rhine flows across the stage at
distance--on one side a pavilion extends obliquely, through the
lower windows of which lights appear--nearly opposite is a small
bower of lattice-work.--The moon at full, has just risen above the
German bank, and pours its radiance upon the water. _Bertrand_ is
discovered watching the pavilion._

_Bert._ I watch in vain; all means of access to the prisoner are
debarred: her chamber now is dark and silent: still tapers glare and
voices murmur from the hall beneath: the baron and Sanguine are there:
'tis against life these midnight plotters stir. Oh! that this heart
might bleed to its last guilty drop in ransom for Eugenia! Soft! does
not the dashing of a distant oar disturb the silence of the tide? Yes;
just where the moonlight gleams a boat now crosses rapidly; it rows
towards this bank; it pauses now in stillness--what may this mean? the
hour so late, the spot so unfrequented and remote. (_A bugle is sounded
three times_) Ha! a bugle sounded thrice! too sure the omen of some
fatal deed. I will not quit this spot--no, Eugenia, I will preserve or
perish with thee! Soft, the pavilion opens. Bower, receive me to thy
friendly shades! watch with me blessed spirits.

(He retires into the bower fronting the pavilion. _Longueville_
a