se of love. You appear sad, count!

CHARLES. These words of love rekindle my love.

AMELIA (pale). What? You love another? Alas! what have I said?

CHARLES. She believed me dead, and in my supposed death she remained
faithful to me--she heard again that I was alive, and she sacrificed for
me the crown of a saint. She knows that I am wandering in deserts, and
roaming about in misery, yet her love follows me on wings through
deserts and through misery. Her name, too, like yours, is Amelia.

AMELIA. How I envy your Amelia!

CHARLES. Oh, she is an unhappy maid. Her love is fixed upon one who is
lost--and it can never--never be rewarded.

AMELIA. Say not so! It will be rewarded in heaven. Is it not agreed
that there is a better world, where mourners rejoice, and where lovers
meet again?

CHARLES. Yes, a world where the veil is lifted--where the phantom love
will make terrible discoveries--Eternity is its name. My Amelia is an
unhappy maid.

AMELIA. Unhappy, and loves you?*

*[In the acting edition the scene closes with a different
denouement. Amelia here says, "Are all unhappy who live with you,
and bear the name of Amelia.
"CHARLES. Yes, all--when they think they embrace an angel, and
find in their arms--a murderer. Alas, for my Amelia! She is
indeed unfortunate.
"AMELIA (with an expression of deep affliction). Oh, I must weep
for her.
"CHARLES (grasping her hand, and pointing to the ring). Weep for
thyself.
"AMELIA (recognizing the ring). Charles! Charles! O heaven and
earth!
(She sinks fainting; the scene closes.)"]

CHARLES. Unhappy, because she loves me! What if I were a murderer?
How, Lady Amelia, if your lover could reckon you up a murder for every
one of your kisses? Woe to my Amelia! She is an unhappy maid.

AMELIA (gayly rising). Ha! What a happy maid am I! My only one is a
reflection of Deity, and Deity is mercy and compassion! He could not
bear to see a fly suffer. His soul is as far from every thought of
blood as the sun is from the moon. (CHARLES suddenly turns away into a
thicket, and looks wildly out into the landscape. AMELIA sings, playing
the guitar.)

Oh! Hector, wilt thou go forevermore,
Where fierce Achilles, on the blood-stained shore,
Heaps countless victims o'er Patroclus' grave?
Who then thy hapless orphan boy will rear,
Teach him to praise the gods and hurl the spear,
When thou art swallowed up in Xanthus'