own hands this putrid garb of flesh. To die! How I yearn for death! Dost thou not see it? See me kneel to implore it of thee—on my knees. Thou art kind, thou art compassionate. Death, only death. Send me death, the pallid messenger of thy love. [Falls kneeling beside the arm-chair and drops his head upon folded arms.]
Dr. Tomás. [In low voice to servant.] Have they both come?
Servant. [In same tone to Dr. Tomás.] Yes, sir; both the notary and Dr. Bermúdez. [Dr. Tomás and servant stand in middle of stage observing Don Lorenzo, who is kneeling and sobbing.]
Dr. Tomás. Poor fellow! [Steps towards Don Lorenzo, changes his mind and goes up C.] Why should I? Let us make an end of it. [Exeunt Dr. Tomás and servant.]
SCENE XI
Don Lorenzo. Afterwards Dr. Tomás and Dr. Bermúdez.
Don Lorenzo. Now am I calmer. The hurt is mortal. I feel it—here at the heart's core. Thanks, Almighty consoler. [Dr. Tomás and Dr. Bermúdez enter C. and stand watching him.]
Dr. Tomás. You see him there—beside the arm-chair.
Bermúdez. Unfortunate man!
Don Lorenzo. [Rising. Aside.] Ah, miserable being—still, still cherishing—impossible hopes. Impossible! And suppose they honestly believe that I? Oh, but if they loved me, surely they would not believe it. [Despairingly. Pause.] Did I not hear Inés—the child I so greatly love—speak of remorse? Why should she speak of remorse? [A loud with increasing agitation.] All
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