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That passion must the surer seem to me
That does not to such fluctuations bend.
Mistrust on your refinements must attend:
My faith-(let me suppose what cannot be,)
If that my will could seek to turn from thee,
That such was not my will would still contend.
For even the few brief moments that I strove
First to forget before I loved again,

Were hateful to me if they banish'd love.
I joy to think that task is vain for me,

Since, while forgetting, I must still remain
Deprived of the delight of loving thee.

Dona Angela's visit to the chamber of Don Manuel leads to an unexpected consequence. In the course of his route to the Escurial, Don Manuel discovers that Cosme had, in his very anxiety carefully to lay the letters aside which were to be packed up for the journey, left them lying on the table in his apartment. This obliges him to return. He enters the house softly, in order to create no disturbance, opens the door of his chamber in the dark, and just as Cosme is beginning to express the wish that the goblin visitant who had made so free with their apartment before, would have the civility on this occasion to provide them with light, Dona Angela, who had entered the apartment from the other side along with Isabel, in the firm belief that, for that night at least, Don Manuel was safe at the Escurial, opens the dark-lantern which she carried, and begins to examine the letters which are lying on the table, while Don Manuel looks on with a mixture of terror, amazement, and admiration.

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Of her eyes.

Cosm. Those eyes are doubtless

Stars that in their day have twinkled

In the devil's own firmament.

D. Man. Every hair is like a sunbeam.

Cosm. Ay, 'twas thence these locks were stolen.

D. Man. Every ringlet seems a star.

Cosm. That may be for when the angels

Fell from heaven, they drew behind them

Of the starry host the third.

D. Man. Rarer charms I ne'er beheld.
Cosm. Nay, in faith you would not say so
If you saw her feet-these gentry

Always in the foot are cursed.

D. Man. Beauty's best epitome.

Nay, a very angel she!

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D. Man. Guide me, Heaven! What shall I do? Never till this hour before,

Have I felt myself a coward!

Cosm. I have-often.

D. Man.

Icy fetters

Seem to hold my feet imprison'd;
Every hair erected rises,

Every breath that heaves my bosom
Seems within my breast a dagger,
Seems around my neck a cord.
But does fear like this beseem me?
Now, by Heaven, it shall be seen
Whether I can break the spell!

[Approaching, and seizing her by the arm.

Angel, devil, woman-be thou
What thou mayst-this once at least
From my grasp there's no escaping!
D. Ang. Ah! unhappy! woe is me !
His departure was pretended,

And he knew too well that I

Cosm. In the name of God-for this

Is the devil's own province-tell us


D. Ang. (aside.) Yet I will dissemble still.
Cosm. Who you are-and what your object-
D. Ang. Generous Don Manuel
Hénriquez, for whom by fortune
Is reserved a precious treasure-
Do not touch me-come not nearer-
For your coming would endanger
That auspicious boon which Heaven
Destines for you, through the favour
Of the fate that guides your fortunes,
In obedience to its law.

When I wrote to you this evening
That last billet, I predicted

That our meeting would be shortly;
And, as I foretold, we meet.
Then since I have kept my promise,
And to-night you now behold me
In the form the nearest human
Which 'tis given me to assume,
Hence depart in peace and leave me ;
For the time is not fulfill'd
When the secret of my being
You can comprehend or know.
All shall be disclosed to-morrow.
Then beware;-to none revealing
Aught of this, unless you would
Lose a glorious lot for ever.
Go in peace.

Cosm. Now, since she tells us
Go in peace-why do we tarry
Longer here?

D. Man. I vow by Heaven I am angry that I ever

Trembled at such idle terrors !
And since courage cannot think them
Real, let me, once for all,

Sift the mystery to the bottom.
Woman, be you what you may-
(For you never shall persuade me
You are aught but woman)-listen!—
I'm resolved, by Heaven, to know
Who you are-and how you enter'd
Here with what design and wherefore;
I will not wait till to-morrow.
Let this boon to-night be granted.
Are you demon, speak as demon!
Are you woman, speak as woman!
Think not threats would ever make me
Shrink or tremble, though you really
Were a demon; but I know
That, since you too wear a body
Like myself, you are no demon,
But a woman.

Cosm. (aside.) Much the same!

D. Ang. Do not touch me, lest you mar Your good fortune.


Now methinks Even the devil speaks discreetly. Do not touch her, since she is Neither harp, nor lute, nor rebeck.

D. Man. If you be a spirit, now With my sword I'll make the trial; Since, although the steel should pierce you, Spirits feel no injury.

D. Ang. Woe is me! Arrest your weapon, O! arrest your bloody arm;

Pity 'twere with death to visit

An unhappy woman's error:—
For I own that such am I.

Love may be a crime, but surely
Scarce so deadly as to merit
Evil death for loving well.

Stain not señor, then, nor darken.
With my blood the silver shining
Of your sword.

D. Man, Speak, then, who art thou?
D. Ang. Ah! perforce it must be spoken,
Since I cannot hope to bring,

As I thought, to its conclusion

This attachment, this devotion,

This fidelity and truth.

But we stand even now in danger

(Should they hear us, should they see us)

Of our lives: for I am more

Than you see or can conjecture.

Then 'tis needful to secure us
'Gainst the risk of interruption.

Señor, you must close that entrance,
And the outer door beside,

That no light may be detected
Should intruders come to pry
Who is here.

D. Man. The light here, Cosme,

Till we close the door.

You see

'Tis a woman, and no goblin !—

Cosm. Oh, no doubt-I always said so!

[DON MANUEL and CosME go out to close the door.

D. Ang. (alone.) From that side, then, I'm imprison'd Now, the truth, O Heavens! must out,

Since by Isabel I'm left

In the lurch here, and the stranger

Has me fast.

Isab. (appearing at the secret door.) Hist, hist, señora! Haste, your brother asks for you.

D. Ang. Happy chance! the cabinet

Moves again. O love! I thank thee,

Still unsolved I leave the riddle.

[Exeunt through the secret door-the cabinet is again pushed back into its place.

Re-enter DON MANUEL and COSME with a light.

D. Man. All the doors are closed, señora,

Now you may proceed in safety

With your tale.-But what is this?
Where is she?

Cosm. Why, how should I know?
D. Man. Hid, perhaps, in yon recess?
Go before me.

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[Goes into the recess.


This time

By the door she could not vanish.

D. Man. How then did she vanish?-Answer?

Cosm. That I can't. But this is plain,

Just as I have always said,

'Tis the devil, and no woman!

D. Man. (examining the room.) Now, by Heaven! I will

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The third act opens in the chamber of Dona Angela. It is night. Isabel enters, leading in Don Manuel in the dark, directing him to await there the arrival of his mistress: and retires, locking the door behind her. Don Manuel, in a short soliloquy, retraces the way in which he had been brought thither. On his return from the Escurial he had found a letter from his secret visiter, directing him to repair at night to St Sebastian's churchyard, and to follow where two men, whom he would find on the spot, should conduct him in a litter. He had obeyed the summons, and, under their escort, had been introduced into the apartment where he now stands, awaiting with intense curiosity, and something of alarm, the issue of the adventure. Of course he has not the

most distant idea that he is in the mansion of Don Juan, and within a few feet of his own apartment—a circumstance which tends most ingeniously to increase the confusion, when, in the course of the next scene, he is introduced in the dark into another room, and finds himself in his own chamber, which he had believed to be far off. After some delay, the door on the right of the room opens. vants bring in lights. Several women enter, bearing napkins and refreshments, and courtesying to Don Manuel as they pass. After them appears Dona Angela, splendidly dressed; and lastly, Beatrice and Isabel. others retire toward the background. Angela, advancing towards Don Manuel, accosts him

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He that watches for Aurora,

Knows that his anxiety

Must in shadows buried lie

Till the cold dark night give way;

So the torment of delay,

Turn'd to pleasure, from th' assurance

That, the longer night's endurance,

Still the nearer drew the day.
Yet 'twas needless that the night
In its prison first should bind me

That your beauty's sun might blind me,
As with morn it rose more bright;-
For to make your sovereign light
Its resplendent beams display,
Needed not the cheerless night,
Pall'd in shadows cold and dun,
For thou art thyself the day,
Day that dawns without a sun,



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