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And here's her music, too. (Taking up a book from the virginals, and opening it.) Ah, woe is me!

The very tune which last she played to me

Has open'd to my hand, and 'twixt the leaves
The little flower lies press'd which then I gave her!

MARIAN.

'T is sweet to find it so.

ALICE.

But, oh! how sad!

She was——she was——(Bursting into tears.)
Well may I weep for her!

MARIAN.

Be comforted, dear Alice! she is gone

Where neither pain nor woe can touch her more.

ALICE.

I know—I know it well: but she is gone!

She who was fair, and gifted, and beloved:
And so beloved!—Had it been Heaven's blest will
To take me in her stead, tears had been shed,
But what had been their woe, compared to this?

MARIAN.

Whose woe, dear Alice?