dvances cautiously from the pavilion.)

_Long._ 'Twas the signal! the boat has reached the bank, Ho! Lenoire!
advance: no eye observes thy step.

Enter _Lenoire_ along the bank by an entrance between the bower
and the river.

_Len._ All is prepared: your orders are fulfiled.

_Long._ Laggard! too many precious moments have been wasted in their
execution: the moon has risen high, and casts a brightness round scarce
feebler than the day: your course may be observed.

_Len._ Dismiss that fear: nothing that lives hath voice or motion: now,
not e'en the solitary fisher spreads his nets upon the stream.

_Long._ Where have you left the boat?

_Len._ Under the bank in shade, fastened to the roots of yon tall
willow.

_Long._ Sanguine shall accompany you; then when you reach the middle of
the current--

_Len._ Ay, where it flows deep and strong; Eugenia's funeral rites are
few and brief.

_Long._ To-morrow, I shall report she has been conveyed in safety to her
friends upon the German bank--thus all inquiry stands forever barred.

[_Bertrand_, who watches from the bower, clasps his hands in
despair and groans aloud.]

_Long._ Ha! what sound was that?

_Len._ (_looking cautiously round._) Some tree moaning to the blast--no
more.

_Long._ Now then! yet hold! wherefore come you not masked? some of the
peasantry may chance to stir ere you return, and I should wish your
persons were unmarked by any.

_Len._ I left a mask within the boat; this flowing mantle will conceal
my dress--trust me both form and feature shall effectually be hid.

(_Bertrand_ makes a gesticulation of hope towards the pavilion,
then glides silently round the angle of the bower, and starts
along the bank.)

_Long._ 'Tis well! (_to the pavilion._) Ho! Sanguine! lead forth your
charge: despatch, Lenoire! return to the boat, and row it swiftly
hither! Away!

[Exit _Lenoire_.

She comes! Ill-starred Eugenia! fate chides the lingering echo of thy
step, yet but a moment and 'tis hushed forever.

_Sanguine_ leads _Eugenia_ from the pavilion._

_Eug._ Ah! whither do you lead me? Speak, in pity--nay, nay, I prithee
force me not; this is a savage hour, and I must fear your purpose,
speak, whither would you hurry me? Ah! Longueville! now then I read my
answer--'tis to death--to murder!

_Long._ Lady, you misjudge my purpose--true, that once I proved myself
your foe, perhaps a kindless one; time and pity have ex