doubt, sweet content, and fear.

_Eliz._ [_Throwing down the book._] The black print
seems all red--I cannot read!

[_Points to the inner room._]

Mine eyes burn so--And they are happy there
Together--'twas my work--and now I wish
That seas convuls'd by tempests were between them;
And an eternal veil of blackness girded
The one from the other--each in separate light,
But still apart! apart! O horror, why
Doth their communion cast such hopeless gloom
Upon me, more than all a father's guilt,
A sovereign's woe?--O daughter of a traitor!
Traitoress! Thou lovest him thy friend doth love,
And--he loves her! ay, that is it, he loves her.

[_Laughs hysterically._]

I am a wedded wife. There is no stain
Of guilty wish. I ne'er thought to be his:
No! no! False wretch, thou dost this moment. Hold,
'Tis past!
Oh! would that I were far remov'd,
Not seeing, hearing, knowing all their lore,
Not feeling their young blest affection jar
Through every fibre--thus!
This is the day
The king's fate is decided--If he die
Arthur will hate us, hate my father, me,
The regicide's pale daughter--thus to think
Of the king's life! that was my only prayer
Before; and now it fades on my cold lips,
And startles me to hear it! [_MUSIC is heard within._]
O my heart!
It seems as though a thousand daggers' points
Would not suffice to stab it, so it might
Feel some release-- [_Falls on her knees._]
My God! forsake me not!

_As the music ends, enter the LADY CROMWELL; she
approaches her daughter, and, bending over her,
lifts her up._

_Lady Crom._ What is it, child?--I have now heard from Fairfax:
He saith it will not be--Thy father is
But stern unto the last--
He'll pray to God
And God will aid him--

_Eliz._ But _His_ judgments, mother!
Are awful. Did not Christ condemn the mind
That is polluted with a guilty thought,
As if 'twere done?

_Lady Crom._ This weary thought of hers
About the king hath turn'd her brain.
Dear daughter,
Rouse thee, he will not die!

_Enter a Messenger, others of the family, the LADY
FAIRFAX in deep mourning._

_Lady Fairf._ The king is sentenced.
Death! [_Bell tolls._]

_ELIZABETH, raising herself, falls back into her
Mother's arms with a sudden scream. They
carry her back._

_Enter ARTHUR and FLORENCE._

_Arth._ Then, madam, let us part--'tis better.

_Flor._ Yes,
I think so, sir.

_Arth._ I cannot brook this treatment--

_Flor._ I do not wish you--

_Arth._ He