Ans. "Lady! thy thoughts lend sternness to the looks
"Which are but sad!"—Have all then perish’d? all?
Was there no mercy?
Vit. Mercy! it hath been
A word forbidden as th' unhallowed names
Of evil powers.—Yet one there was who dared
To own the guilt of pity, and to aid
The victims; but in vain.—Of him no more!
He is a traitor, and a traitor's death
Will be his meed.
Con. (coming forward.) Oh Heaven!—his name, his name?
Is it—it cannot be!
Vit. (starting.) Thou here, pale girl!
I deem'd thee with the dead!—How hast thou 'scaped
The snare?—Who saved thee, last of all thy race?
Was it not he of whom I spake e'en now,
Raimond di Procida?
Con. It is enough.
Now the storm breaks upon me, and I sink!
Must he too die?
Vit. Is it ev'n so?—Why then,
Live on—thou hast the arrow at thy heart!
"Fix not on me thy sad reproachful eyes,"
I mean not to betray thee. Thou may'st live!
Why should death bring thee his oblivious balms?
He visits but the happy.—Didst thou ask
If Raimond too must die?—It is as sure
As that his blood is on thy head, for thou
Didst win him to this treason.
