_Moonlight. A wild path in a wood, shaded with trees. Enter _De Montfort_, with a strong expression of disquiet, mixed with fear, upon his face, looking behind him, and bending his ear to the ground, as if he listened to something._ De Montfort--How hollow groans the earth beneath my tread: Is there an echo here? Methinks it sounds As though some heavy footsteps followed me. I will advance no farther. Deep settled shadows rest across the path, And thickly-tangled boughs o'erhang this spot. O that a tenfold gloom did cover it, That 'mid the murky darkness I might strike! As in the wild confusion of a dream, Things horrid, bloody, terrible do pass, As though they passed not; nor impress the mind With the fixed clearness of reality. [_An owl is heard screaming near him._] [_Starting._] What sound is that? [_Listens, and the owl cries again._] It is the screech-owl's cry. Foul bird of night! What spirit guides thee here? Art thou instinctive drawn to scenes of horror? I've heard of this. [_Pauses and listens._] How those fallen leaves so rustle on the path, With whispering noise, as though the earth around me Did utter secret things. The distant river, too, bears to mine ear A dismal wailing. O mysterious night! Thou art not silent; many tongues hast thou. A distant gathering blast sounds through the wood, And dark clouds fleetly hasten o'er the sky; Oh that a storm would rise, a raging storm; Amidst the roar of warring elements I'd lift my hand and strike! but this pale light, The calm distinctness of each stilly thing, Is terrible.--[_Starting._] Footsteps, and near me, too! He comes! he comes! I'll watch him farther on-- I cannot do it here. [_Exit._] _Enter_ Rezenvelt, _and continues his way slowly from the bottom of the stage; as he advances to the front, the owl screams, he stops and listens, and the owl screams again._