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ALICE.

His woe—their woe; poor Claude's, and Malcolm's too.

Death seizes on the dearest and the best!

MARIAN (embracing her).

I will not hear thee say so, gentle Alice.

A dearer and a better than thyself
'T were hard to find. No; nor do I believe
That she whom thou lamentest did surpass thee.

ALICE.

Hush! say it not!—I pray thee, say not so:

In pitying me thou must not rob the dead.
That he preferr'd a creature of such excellence,
Took from the wound its sting and bitterness.
Thou may'st not wrong the dead!

MARIAN.

I will not, then.

ALICE (looking round).

There is the arras which conceals the place:

Her awful words are sounding in my ears,
Which bade me search. I feel a secret awe!
But that her spirit from the earth hath ta'en—
As I am well assured—its final leave,
I could believe that she is near me still,
To see the very act! (Looking round her fearfully.)

MARIAN.

Nay, check thy ardent fancy: 't is not good