_Mar._ How gracious art thou, God, To bless me so! O, wicked Eleanor! This was the fire that maddened thee to-night. Not fear for Hubert. How couldst make his life The priceless cloak of thy own worthless shame? But I can save him! I will make thee speak, Unsistered woman! [_Draws back the curtains, leaving them open, showing the inner room and bed on which Glaia lies_] Glaia, now I'll look, Nor all thy grace shall hide the lines that mark Thy cruel mother. Can this be the face That breeds such misery? Fair heaven-case Of innocence!... My Hubert's niece, so mine. How lily-cold in sleep! And still ... so still. A kiss will not awake thee--one as light As my own heart. So cold? O, cold as death! [_Draws back the coverlet_] Blood! Blood! A dagger here! O Heaven, That this smooth coverlet should hide so much! [_Stands a moment in silent horror_] And Hubert thought she slept. "Rest well," he said, "Nor ever wake till angels call thee up." Nor wilt thou wake till then, poor Glaia. O, How can I call him here to look on this! [_Takes up the dagger_] Strange that the slayer left his dagger here. He in whose heart the thought of murder lives Has more of cunning in him. [_Drops dagger suddenly_] Hubert's! O! [_Staggers away from bed and holds herself up by the curtains. Buries her face for an instant, then looks up blanched and determined_] I must act quickly. O, at once--at once! One pause may be the grave of resolution. [_Starts toward bed, but stops_] "She does not move," he said ... and "ay, she sleeps," As though she slept eternally. [_Goes to bed, and takes up the dagger_] His dagger. Oft has it pleased me to regard this hilt. Pearls winding like a milky way about A turquoise heaven. Even then my fate Lurked in the blade. Why do I talk, and beg A vile delay? Pain is sole merchant here, And with each moment amplifies his profit. ... I will not pray, for prayer is softening, And I must be too stern to pity self. I was a princess. I'll not think of that, For now I am a wife. And for my lord Must die. They'll find me here, and say the deed Was mine. My jealous hand avenged my wrong. ... O gentle Heaven, he is not worthy this! Nay, nor no man, and yet for every man There lives a woman who would die for him. [_Lifts the dagger_] I can not strike. [_Drops her arm_] I must ... ere I go mad And leave the event to chance. [_Lifts dagger, grows faint and falls with a cry to the floor. Kent enters, left_]