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Like some unlook'd for,—some unwelcome thing?

COUNTESS.

Is it thy voice, my Garcio, in mine ears

Sounding, as it was wont, the voice of love?

GARCIO.

How should it sound to thee?—The wars have spared me;

The bullet and the sabre's stroke have err'd,

To spare this head, where thousands fell around me:
For I believed thy saintly prayers did mar
Their death-commissioned power.—Yes; I believed it.

COUNTESS.

And still believe it.—Yes, my prayers were raised

Most fervently to Heaven: and I will bless it,

That thou art safe. (Takes his hand in hers tenderly, and is about to press it to her breast, when a shuddering seizes her, and she lets it drop.)

GARCIO.

What is the matter? Thou art strangely seized.

Does sudden illness chill thee?

SOPHERA.

The Countess, good my Lord, is much o'ercome.