ACT I

SCENE: _A dim Hall, of blended Gothic and Saracenic styles, in the Lusignan Castle, on the island of Cyprus near Famagouste. Around the walls, above faint frescoes portraying the deliverance of Jerusalem by the Crusaders, runs a frieze inlaid with the coats-of-arms of former Lusignan kings. On the left, and back, is a door hung with heavy damask, and in the wall opposite, another. Farther down on the right a few steps, whose railing supports a Greek vase with jasmine, lead through a chapel to the sleeping apartments. In the rear, on either side, are guled lattice windows, and in the centre an open grated door, looking upon a loggia, and, across the garden below, over the moonlit sea. Seats are placed about, and, forward, a divan with rich Turkish coverings. A table with a lighted cross-shaped candlestick is by the door, left; and a lectern with a book on it, to the front, right. As the curtain rises, the Women, except_ CIVA, _lean wearily on the divan, and_ HALIL _near is singing dreamily_,

Ah, the balm, the balm, And ah, the blessing Of the deep fall of night And of confessing. Of the sick soul made white Of all distressing: Made white!... Ah, balm of night And, ah the blessing!

_The music falls and all seem yielding to sleep. Suddenly there are hoof-beats and sounds at the gates below._ HALIL _springs up_.

_Halil._ Alessa! Maga! Stirrings at the gates!

(_All start up._)

Some one is come.

_Alessa._ Boy, Halil, who?

_Halil._ Up, up! Perhaps Lord Renier--No: I will learn.

(_He runs to curtains and looks._)

It is Olympio! Olympio! From Famagouste and Lord Amaury!

_Mauria._ Ah! And he comes here?

_Halil._ As he were lord of skies! To lady Yolanda, by my lute!

_Maga._ Where is she?

_Alessa._ I do not know; perhaps, her chamber.

_Mauria._ Stay: His word may be of the Saracens.

_Halil_ (_calling_). Oho!

(_He admits_ OLYMPIO, _who enters insolently down. All press around him gaily._)

_Mauria._ Well what, Olympio, from Famagouste? What tidings? tell us.

_Maga._ See, his sword!

_Olympio._ Stand off.

_Mauria._ The tidings, then, the tidings!

_Olympio._ None--for women.

_Mauria._ So, so, my Cupid? None of the Saracens? Of the squadron huddling yesterday for haven At Keryneia?

_Olympio._ Who has told you?

_Mauria._ Who? A hundred galleys westing up the wind, Scenting the shore, but timorous as hounds. A gale--and twenty down!

_Maga._ The rest are flown?

_Olympio._ Ask Zeus, or ask, to-morrow, lord Amaury, Or, if he comes, to-night. To lady Yolanda I'm sent and not to tattle silly here.

(_He starts off, but is arrested by laughter within. It is_ CIVA _who enters, holding up a parchment._)

O! Only Civa. (_Starts again with_ HALIL.)

_Civa._ How, Olympio! Stay you, and hear!--May never virgin love him! Gone as a thistle! (_Turns._)

_Mauria._ Pouf!

_Alessa_ (_to_ CIVA). Now, what have you?

_Civa._ Verses! found in the garden. Verses! verses! On papyrus of Paphos. O, to read! But you, Alessa--!

_Alessa_ (_takes them_). In the garden?

_Civa._ By The fountain cypress at the marble feet Of chaste Diana!

_Maga._ Where Sir Camarin And oft our lady--!

_Civa._ Maga will you prattle? Read them to us, Alessa, read them, read. They are of love!

_Maga._ No, sorrow.

_Civa._ O, as a nun You ever sigh for sorrow!--They are of love! Of valour bursting through enchanted bounds To ladies prisoned in an ogre's keep! Then of the bridals!--O, they are of love!

_Maga._ No, Civa, no! of sorrow! see, her lips!

(_She points to_ ALESSA, _who, reading, has paled._)

See, see!

_Civa._ Alessa!

_Alessa._ Maga--Civa--Ah!

(_She rends the parchment._)

_Mauria._ What are you doing?

_Alessa._ They were writ to _her_!

_Mauria._ To her? to whom? what are you saying? Read! Read us the verses.

_Alessa._ No.

_Mauria._ Tell then his name Who writes them, and to whom.

_Alessa._ I will not.

_Mauria._ Then It is some guilt you hide!--And touching her You dote on--lady Yolanda!

_Alessa._ Shame!

_Mauria._ Some guilt Of one, then, in this castle!--See, her lips Betray it is.

_Maga._ No, Mauria! no! (_holds her_) hush!

(_Forms appear without._)

_Mauria._ O, loose me.

_Maga._ There, on the loggia! Hush, see-- Our lady and Sir Camarin.

_Alessa_ (_fearful_). It is.... They heard us, Maga?

_Maga._ No, but----

_Mauria_ (_to_ ALESSA). So? that mouse?

_Alessa._ You know not, Mauria, what 'tis you say.

(BERENGERE _coldly, as if consenting to it, enters._)

She is seeking us; be still. (_Stepping out._) My lady?

_Berengere._ Yes. Your lamps; for it is time Now for your aves and o'erneeded sleep. But first I'd know if yet Lord Renier----

(_Sees their disquiet--starts._)

Why are you pale?

_Alessa._ I?

_Berengere._ So--and strange.

_Alessa._ We have But put away the distaff and the needle.

(CAMARIN _enters._)

_Berengere._ The distaff and the needle--it may be. And yet you do not seem----

_Alessa._ My lady--?

_Berengere._ Go; And send me Hassan.

(_The women leave._)

Camarin--you saw? They were not as their wont is.

_Camarin._ To your eyes, My Berengere, that apprehension haunts. They were as ever. Then be done with fear!

_Berengere._ I cannot.

_Camarin._ To the abyss with it. To-night Is ours--Renier tarries at Famagouste-- Is ours for love and for a long delight!

_Berengere._ Whose end may be--

_Camarin._ Dawn and the dewy lark! And passing of all presage from you.

_Berengere_ (_sits_). No: For think, Yolanda's look when by the cypress We read the verses! And my dream that I Should with a cross--inscrutable is sleep!-- Bring her deep bitterness.

_Camarin._ Dreams are a brood Born of the night and not of destiny. She guesses not our guilt, and Renier Clasps to his breast ambition as a bride-- Ambition for Amaury.

_Berengere._ None can say. He's much with this Venetian, our guest. Though Venice gyves us more with tyranny Than would the Saracen.

_Camarin._ But through this lady Of the Pisani, powerful in Venice, He hopes to lift again his dynasty Up from decay; and to restore this island, This venture-dream of the seas, unto his house. 'Tis clear, my Berengere!

_Berengere._ Then, _her_ design? And what the requital that entices her?

(_Rises._)

Evil will come of it, to us some evil, Or to Yolanda and Amaury's love. But, there; the women.

_Camarin._ And too brief their stay. What signal for to-night?

_Berengere._ Be in the garden. Over the threshold yonder I will wave The candle-sign, when all are passed to sleep.

_Camarin._ And with the beam I shall mount up to you Quicker than ecstasy.

_Berengere._ I am as a leaf Before the wind and raging of your love. Go--go.

_Camarin._ But to return unto your breast!

(_He leaves her by the divan._)

(_The women re-enter with silver lighted lamps; behind them are_ HASSAN _and the slave_ SMARDA. _They wait for_ BERENGERE, _who has stood silent, to speak._)

_Berengere_ (_looking up_). Ah, you are come; I had forgotten. And it is time for sleep.--Hassan, the gates: Close them.

_Hassan._ And chain them, lady?

_Berengere._ Wait no longer. Lord Renier will not come.

_Hassan._ No word of him?

_Berengere._ None, though he yesterday left Nicosie With the priest Moro.

_Hassan._ Lady--

_Berengere._ Wait no longer. Come, women, with your lamps and light the way.

(_The women go by the steps._ BERENGERE _follows._)

_Hassan_ (_staring after her_). The reason of this mood in her? The reason? Something is vile. Lady Yolanda weeps In secret; all for what?--unless because Of the Paphian--or this Venetian. (_Seeing_ SMARDA.) Now, Slave! Scythian! You linger?

_Smarda._ I am bidden-- My mistress.

_Hassan._ Spa! Thy mistress hath, I think, Something of hell in her and has unpacked A portion in this castle. Is it so?

_Smarda._ My lady is of Venice.

_Hassan._ Strike her, God. Her smirk admits it.

_Smarda._ Touch me not!

_Hassan._ I'll wring Thy tongue out sudden, if it now has lies. What of thy lady and Lord Renier?

_Smarda._ Off!

(RENIER _enters behind, with_ MORO.)

_Hassan._ Thy lady and Lord Renier, I say! What do they purpose?

_Smarda._ Fool-born! look around.

_Hassan._ Not till----

_Smarda._ Lord Renier, help.

_Hassan._ What do you say?

(_Turns, and stares amazed._)

A fool I am....

_Renier._ Where is my wife?

_Hassan._ Why, she.... This slave stung me to pry.

_Renier._ Where is my wife?

_Hassan._ A moment since, was here--the women with her. She asked for your return.

_Renier._ And wherefore did?

_Hassan._ You jeer me.

_Renier._ Answer.

_Hassan._ Have you not been gone?

_Renier._ Not--overfar. Where is Yolanda?--Well? No matter; find my chamber till I come. Of my arrival, too, no word to any.

(HASSAN _goes, confused._)

You, Moro, have deferred me; now, no more. Whether it is suspicion eats in me, Mistrust and fret and doubt--of whom I say not, Or whether desire and unsubduable To see Amaury sceptred--I care not.

(_To_ SMARDA.)

Slave, to your lady who awaits me, say I'm here and now have chosen.

_Moro._ Do not!

_Renier._ Chosen.

(SMARDA _goes._)

None can be great who will not hush his heart To hold a sceptre, and Amaury must. He is Lusignan and his lineage Will drown in him Yolanda's loveliness.

_Moro._ It will not.

_Renier._ Then at least I shall uncover What this Venetian hints.

_Moro._ Hints?

_Renier._ I must know.

_Moro._ 'Tis of your wife?--Yolanda?

_Renier._ Name them not. They've shut from me their souls.

_Moro._ My lord, not so; But you repulse them.

_Renier._ When they pity. No, Something has gone from me or never was Within my breast. I love not--am unlovable. Amaury is not so, And this Venetian Vittia Pisani----

_Moro._ Distrust her!

_Renier._ She has power.

_Moro._ But not truth. And yesterday a holy relic scorned.

_Renier._ She loves Amaury. Wed to her he will Be the elected Governor of Cyprus. The throne, then, but a step.

_Moro._ But all too great. And think; Yolanda is to him as heaven: He will not yield her.

_Renier._ Then he must. And she, The Venetian, has ways to it--a secret To pierce her from his arms.

_Moro._ Sir, sir?--of what?

_Renier._ I know not, of some shame.

_Moro._ Shame!

_Renier._ Why do you clutch me?

_Moro._ I--am a priest--and shame----

_Renier._ You have suspicion?

(VITTIA _enters unnoted._)

Of whom?--Of whom, and what?

_Vittia_ (_lightly_). My lord, of women.

(RENIER _starts and turns._)

So does the Holy Church instill him.

_Renier._ You Come softly, lady of Venice.

_Vittia._ Streets of sea In Venice teach us.

_Renier._ Of what women, then? My wife? Yolanda?

_Vittia._ By the freedom due us, What matters it? In Venice our lords know That beauty has no master.

_Renier._ Has no.... That, That too has something hid.

_Vittia._ Suspicious lord! Yet Berengere Lusignan is his wife! And soon Yolanda--But for that I'm here. You sent for me.

_Renier_ (_sullen_). I sent.

_Vittia._ To say you've chosen? And offer me irrevocable aid To win Amaury?

_Renier._ All is vain in me Before the fever for it.

_Vittia._ Then, I shall. It must be done. My want is unafraid. Hourly I am expecting out of Venice Letters of power. And what to you I pledge is he shall be Ruler of Cyprus and these Mediterranean Blue seas that rock ever against its coast. That do I pledge ... but more.

_Renier._ Of rule?... Then what?

_Vittia_ (_going up to him_). Of shame withheld--dishonour unrevealed.

(_He half recoils and stands._ SMARDA _enters hastily to them._)

_Smarda._ My lady--

_Vittia._ Speak.

_Smarda._ _She!_

_Vittia._ Who? Yolanda? comes? She's not asleep as you averred to me, Was not asleep, but comes?... My lord--!

_Renier._ I'll stay, Stay and confront her.

_Vittia._ Ignorantly? No.

_Renier._ I'll question her.

_Vittia._ Blindly, and peril all?

_Renier._ I will return. You put me off, and off.

(_By the loggia, with_ MORO, _he goes; the slave slips out_. YOLANDA _enters, sadly her gaze on the floor. She walks slowly, but becoming conscious starts, sees_ VITTIA, _and turns to withdraw._)

_Vittia._ Your pardon--

_Yolanda._ I can serve you?

_Vittia._ If you seek The women, they are gone.

_Yolanda._ I do not seek them.

_Vittia._ Nor me?

_Yolanda._ Nor any.--Yet I would I might With seeking penetrate the labyrinth Of your intent.

_Vittia._ I thank you. And you shall, To-night--if you have love.

_Yolanda._ That thread were vain.

_Vittia._ I say, if you have love.

_Yolanda._ Of guile?

_Vittia._ Of her You hold as mother, and who is Amaury's.

_Yolanda._ Were it so simple, no design had ever Laired darkly in you, but to my eyes been clear As shallows under Morpha's crystal wave.

_Vittia._ Unproven you speak so.

_Yolanda._ And proven would.

_Vittia._ If so, then--save her.

_Yolanda._ Who? What do you--?

_Vittia_ (_with irony_). Mean? It is not clear?

_Yolanda._ Save her?

_Vittia._ The surety flies Out of your cheek and dead upon your heart: Yet you are innocent--oh innocent?-- O'er what abyss she hangs!

_Yolanda._ O'er no abyss.

_Vittia._ But to her lord is constant!

_Yolanda_ (_desperate_). She is constant.

_Vittia._ And to his bed is true?

_Yolanda._ True.

_Vittia._ And this baron Of Paphos--Camarin--is but her _friend_, And deeply yours--as oft you feign to shield her?

_Yolanda._ He is no more.

_Vittia._ Your heart belies your lips, Knows better than believing what you say.

_Yolanda._ Were, were he then ... (_struggles_) Lord Renier knows it not! And never must. I have misled his thought From her to me. The danger thus may pass, The open shame. Sir Camarin departed, her release From the remorse and fettering will seem Sweet as a vista into fairyland. For none e'er will betray her.

_Vittia._ None?

_Yolanda._ Your tone...! (_Realising with gradual horror._) The still insinuation! You would do it! This is the beast then of the labyrinth? And this your heart is?

_Vittia._ No, not ever: no. But now, if you deny me.

_Yolanda._ Speak as a woman, If there is Womanhood in you to speak. The name of Berengere Lusignan must Go clean unto the years, fair and unsullied. Nor must the bloody leap Of death fall on her from Lord Renier's sword, A death too ready if he but suspect. No, she is holy! And holy are my lips Remembering that they may call her mother! All the bright world I breathe because of her, Laughter and roses, day-song of the sea, Not bitterness and loneliness and blight! All the bright world, Of voices, dear as waking to the dead-- Voices of love and tender earthly hopes-- O, all the beauty I was once forbid! Yes, yes!-- She lifted me, a lonely convent weed, A cloister thing unvisited of dew, Withering and untended and afar From the remembered ruin of my home, And here has planted me in happiness. Then, for her, all I am!

_Vittia._ Or--hope to be?

_Yolanda._ The price, say, of your silence.--I am weary.

_Vittia._ And would be rid of me.

_Yolanda._ The price, the price.

_Vittia._ It is (_low and ashamed_) that you renounce Amaury's love.

(_A pause._)

_Yolanda._ Amaury's love.... You then would rend me there Where not Eternity could heal the wound Though all the River of God might be for balm! Cruelty like to this you could not do?

(_Waits a moment._)

A swallow on the battlements to-day Fell from the hawk: you soothed and set it free. This, then, you would not--!

_Vittia._ Yes.

_Yolanda._ You cannot!

_Vittia._ Yes.

_Yolanda_ (_wrung for a moment then calm_). I had forgotten, you are of Venice--Venice Whose burdening is vast upon this land. Good-night.

_Vittia._ And you despise me!

_Yolanda._ More am sick That love of him has led your thought so low. To-morrow--

_Vittia._ Not to-morrow! But you must Choose and at once.

_Yolanda._ Then----

(_They start and listen. Approaching hoofs are heard._)

Vittia. Ah! Amaury?--It is? His speed upon the road? now at the gates?

(_The fall of chains is heard._)

What then, what is your purpose--to renounce And force him from you, or to have me breathe To Renier Lusignan the one word That will transmute his wrong to madness? Say quickly. Centuries have stained these walls, But never a wife; never----

(_Enter_ BERENGERE.)

_Yolanda._ Mother?...

_Berengere._ Amaury Has spurred to us, Yolanda, from his post, Secret and sudden. But ... what has befallen?

(_Looks from one to the other._)

_Yolanda._ He comes here, mother?

_Berengere._ At once.

_Yolanda._ No!

_Vittia_ (_coldly, to_ YOLANDA). Then to-night Must be the end.

_Yolanda._ Go, go.

_Berengere_ (_as Vittia passes out_). What thing is this?

_Yolanda._ Mother, I cannot have him--here--Amaury! Defer him but a little--till to-morrow. I cannot see him now.

_Berengere._ This is o'erstrange.

_Yolanda._ Help me to think. Go to him, go, and say Some woman thing--that I am ill--that I Am at confession--penance--that--Ah, say But anything!

_Berengere._ Yolanda!

_Yolanda._ Say.... No use. Too late.

_Berengere._ His step?

_Yolanda._ Oh, unmistakable; Along the corridor. There!

(_The curtains are thrown back._)

_Amaury_ (_at the threshold._) My Yolanda!

(_Hastens down and takes her, passive, into his arms._ BERENGERE _goes._)

My, my Yolanda! To touch you is as triumph to the blood, Is as the boon of battle to the strong!

_Yolanda._ Amaury, no; release me and say why You come: The Saracens----?

_Amaury._ Not of them now!

(_Bends back her head._)

But of some tribute incense to this beauty! Dear as the wind wafts from undying shrines Of mystery and myrrh! I'd have the eloquence of quickened moons Pouring upon the midnight magical, To say all I have yearned, Now, with your head pillowed upon my breast! Slow sullen speech come to my soldier lips, Rough with command, and impotent of softness? Come to my lips! or fill so full my eyes That the unutterable, shall seem as sweet To my Yolanda. (_Lifting her face, with surprise._) But how now? tears?

_Yolanda._ Amaury----

_Amaury._ What have I done? Too pitiless have pressed You to this coat of steel?

_Yolanda._ No, no.

_Amaury._ My words, Or silence, then?

_Yolanda._ Amaury, no, but sweet, Sweet as the roses of Damascus crusht, Your silence is! and sweeter than the dream Of April nightingale on Troados, Or gushing by the springs of Chitria, Your every word of love! Yet--yet--ah, fold me, Within your arms oblivion and hold me, Fast to your being press me, and there bless me With breathèd power of your manhood's might. Amaury!...

_Amaury._ This I cannot understand.

_Yolanda_ (_freeing herself_). Nothing--a folly--groundless frailty.

_Amaury._ You've been again at some old tale of sorrow,

(_Goes to the lectern._)

Pining along the pages of a book-- This, telling of that Italy madonna Whose days were sad--I have forgotten how. Is it not so?

_Yolanda._ No, no. The tears of women Come as the air and sighing of the night, We know not whence or why.

_Amaury._ Often, perhaps. I am not skilled to tell. But these--not these! They are of trouble known.

_Yolanda._ Yet now forget them.

_Amaury._ It will not leave my heart that somehow--how I cannot fathom--Camarin----

_Yolanda_ (_lightly, to stop him_). No farther!

_Amaury._ That Camarin of Paphos is their cause. Tell me----

_Yolanda._ Yes, that I love thee!

_Amaury._ Tell me----

_Yolanda._ Love thee! As sea the sky! and as the sky the wind! And as the wind the forest! As the forest-- What does the forest love, Amaury? I Can think of nothing!

_Amaury._ Tell me then you have Never a moment of you yielded to him, That never he has touched too long this hand-- Till evermore he must, even as I-- Nor once into your eyes too deep has gazed! You falter? darken?

_Yolanda._ Would he ne'er had come Into these halls! that it were beautiful, Holy to hate him as the Lost can hate.

_Amaury._ But 'tis not?

_Yolanda._ God shall judge him.

_Amaury._ And not you?

_Yolanda._ Though he is weak, there is within him--

_Amaury._ That Which women trust? and you?

(BERENGERE _enters. He turns to her._)

Mother?

_Berengere._ A runner, A soldier of your troop within the forts Has come with word.

_Amaury_ (_starting_). Mother!

_Berengere._ It is ill news? I've seen that battle-light in you before. 'Tis of the Saracens? you ride to-night Into their peril?

_Amaury._ Come, the word, the word!

_Berengere._ Only this token.

_Amaury._ The spur? the spur? (_Takes it._) They then Are landing!

_Yolanda._ How, Amaury; tell your meaning!

_Amaury._ The galleys of the Saracens have found Anchor and land to-night near Keryneia. My troops are ready and await me-- So, no delay.

_Yolanda._ I pray you (_strangely, with terror_) do not go.

_Amaury._ Yolanda!

_Yolanda._ If I am left alone--!

_Amaury._ Yolanda!

_Yolanda_ (_sinking to a seat_). I meant it not--a breath of fear--no more. Go, go.

_Amaury._ I know you not to-night. Farewell.

(_He kisses her and hurries off.... A silence._)

_Berengere._ Yolanda----

_Yolanda._ Mother, I will go to sleep.

(_She rises._)

_Berengere._ A change is over you--a difference Drawn as a veil between us.

_Yolanda._ I am weary.

_Berengere._ You love me?

_Yolanda._ As, O mother, I love him, With love impregnable to every ill, As Paradise is.

_Berengere._ Then--

_Yolanda._ I pray, no more. To-night I am flooded with a deeper tide Than yet has flowed into my life--and through it Sounds premonition: so I must have calm.

(_She embraces_ BERENGERE; _goes slowly up steps and off._)

_Berengere_ (_chilled_). What fear--if it is fear--has so unfixed her? It is suspicion--Then I must not meet Him here to-night--or if to-night, no more. Her premonition!--and my dream that I Should with a cross bring her deep bitterness.

(_Thinks a moment, then takes the crucifix from her neck._)

Had Renier but come, perhaps I might ...

(_Lays it on table._)

O were I dead this sinning would awake me?... And yet I care not (_dully._) ... No, I will forget.

(_Goes firmly from door to door and looks out each. Then lifts, uniting, the cross-shaped candlestick; and waving it at the loggia, turns holding it before her._)

Soon he will come up from the cool, and touch Away my weakness with mad tenderness. Soon he will ... Ah!

(_Has seen with terror the candlestick's structure._)

The cross!... My dream!... Yolanda!

(_Lets it fall._)

Mercy of God, move in me!... Sacrilege!

(_Sinks feebly to the divan, and bows, overcome._)

_Camarin_ (_appearing after a pause an the loggia_). My Berengere, a moment, and I come!

(_Enters, locking the grating behind him, Then he hurries down and leans to lift her face._)

_Berengere._ No, no! nor ever, ever again, for ever!

(_Shrinks._)

Go from me and behind leave no farewell....

_Camarin._ This is--illusion. In the dew I've waited, And the night's song of you is in my brain-- A song that seems----

_Berengere._ Withhold from words. At last Fate is begun! See, with the cross it was I waved you hither. Leave me--let me pass Out of this sin--and to repentance--after.

_Camarin._ I cannot, cannot!

_Berengere._ Pity, then, my fear. This moment were it known would end with murder, Or did it not, dishonour still would kill! Leave, leave.

_Camarin._ To-morrow, then; but not to-night!

(_He goes behind and puts his arms around her._)

Give me thy being once again, thy beauty. For it I'm mad as bacchanals for wine.

(YOLANDA, _entering an the balcony, hears, and would retreat, but sees_ RENIER _come to the grating._)

Once more be to me all that woman may! Let us again take rapture wings and rise Up to our world of love, guilt would unsphere. Let us live over days that passed as streams Limpid by lotus-banks unto the sea, O'er all the whispered nights that we have clasped Knowing the heights and all the deeps of passion! But speak, and we shall be amid the stars.

(RENIER _draws a dagger and leaves the grating. With a low cry_ YOLANDA _staggers down: the Two rise, fearful._)

_Berengere._ Yolanda!

_Yolanda._ Mother, mother!... Ah, his eyes!

_Berengere._ What brings you here--to spy upon me?

_Yolanda._ Listen!... Think not of me--no, hush--but of the peril Arisen up.... Your husband!

_Camarin._ Renier?

_Yolanda._ Was at that grating--heard. And from its sheath, A dagger--! Ah, he will come.

_Berengere_ (_weakly_). What does she say?

_Yolanda._ Find calmness now, and some expedient.

(_She struggles to think._)

_Berengere._ I cannot die.

_Yolanda._ No, no.

_Berengere._ My flesh is weak, Is poor of courage--poverished by guilt, As all my soul is! But, Yolanda, you--!

_Yolanda._ Yes, something must be done--something be done.

(CAMARIN _goes to the curtains and returns._)

_Berengere._ The shame ... the shame ... the shame!

_Yolanda._ There yet is time.

_Berengere._ You can deliver! you are innocent.

_Yolanda._ Perhaps. Let me but think.--He came----

_Berengere._ You see? There is escape? a way from it?

_Yolanda._ Perhaps. He came after your words ... yes ... could not see Here in the dimness ... but has only heard Sir Camarin?

_Berengere._ I do not know!

_Yolanda._ Go, go, Up to your chamber and be as asleep. There is a way--I think--dim, but a way. Go to your chamber; for there yet may be Prevention!

_Berengere._ I--yes, yes.

_Yolanda._ There is a way.

(BERENGERE _goes._)

Strength now to walk it! strength unfaltering.

_Camarin._ What do you purpose?

_Yolanda._ Here to take her place, Here at the lowest of her destiny.

_Camarin._ I do not understand.

_Yolanda._ But wholly shall. Clasp me within your arms; he must believe 'Tis I and not his wife you have unhallowed, Your arms about me, though they burn! and breathe me Thirst of unbounded love as unto her.

(_He clasps her, and they wait._)

Ah, it is he!

_Camarin._ No.

_Yolanda._ Yes, the words; at once!

_Camarin_ (_hoarsely_). With all my body and soul-breath I love you,

(RENIER _enters with_ MORO.)

And all this night is ours for ecstasy. Kiss me with quenchless kisses, and embrace Me with your beauty, till----

(YOLANDA _with a cry, as of fear, loses herself, pretending to discover_ RENIER, _who is struck rigid._)

_Moro._ My lord, my lord!... It is Yolanda.

_Renier._ Then--

(_The dagger falls from him._)

Why, then--Amaury!

(YOLANDA, _realising, stunned, sinks back to the divan._)

CURTAIN.