!

_Ida._ Oh, heavens! and can _you wish that?_

_Ulr._ Dearest Ida!
Did I not echo your own wish?

_Ida._ Yes, Ulric,
But then I wished it not with such a glance,
And scarce knew what I said; but let me be
Sister, or cousin, what you will, so that
I still to you am something.

_Ulr._ You shall be 170
All--all----

_Ida._ And you to _me are_ so already;
But I can wait.

_Ulr._ Dear Ida!

_Ida._ Call me Ida,
_Your_ Ida, for I would be yours, none else's--
Indeed I have none else left, since my poor father--
[_She pauses_.

_Ulr._ You have _mine_--you have _me_.

_Ida._ Dear Ulric, how I wish
My father could but view my happiness,
Which wants but this!

_Ulr._ Indeed!

_Ida._ You would have loved him,
He you; for the brave ever love each other:
His manner was a little cold, his spirit
Proud (as is birth's prerogative); but under 180
This grave exterior----Would you had known each other!
Had such as you been near him on his journey,
He had not died without a friend to soothe
His last and lonely moments.

_Ulr._ Who says _that?_

_Ida._ What?

_Ulr._ That he _died alone_.

_Ida._ The general rumour,
And disappearance of his servants, who
Have ne'er returned: that fever was most deadly
Which swept them all away.

_Ulr._ If they were near him,
He could not die neglected or alone.

_Ida._ Alas! what is a menial to a death-bed, 190
When the dim eye rolls vainly round for what
It loves?--They say he died of a fever.

_Ulr._ _Say!_
It _was_ so.

_Ida._ I sometimes dream otherwise.

_Ulr._ All dreams are false.

_Ida._ And yet I see him as
I see you.

_Ulr._ _Where?_

_Ida._ In sleep--I see him lie
Pale, bleeding, and a man with a raised knife
Beside him.

_Ulr._ But you do not see his _face?_

_Ida_ (_looking at him_). No!