_Hil._ (_with forced calmness_). But say that, bound in duty to the troth That thou hast wrung from me, I taught myself I will not say to love--to bear with thee-- How could I hope to live at peace with one Armed with so terrible a Talisman? A Talisman that vests in him the power, To come to me and go from me, unseen, And play the truant at his own free will? Thou askest more than womankind can grant. _Mous._ (_trembling with excitement_). Oh, lady, lady, give me but thy love, And in that gift will lie the surest proof That I will not misuse my Talisman! _Hil._ It may be so--but Time’s an alchymist, Who changes gold to dross. Some day, may be, This love of thine will sicken, wane, and die. How could I bear this widowhood of soul, Knowing that thou hast power to come and go, Unseen? _Mous._ (_overjoyed_). Be sure I’ll neither come nor go: My place is at thy side. Such love as thine Would surely chain the proudest prince on earth, And how much more so poor a wretch as I! _Hil._ I’ll trust thee not. Doubt would lie heavy at my heart, not less Because I had no reason for that doubt. Give me thy Talisman. _Mous._ Nay, bear with me. _Hil._ Give me thy Talisman. _Mous._ Well, well, ’tis thine. But bear in mind, the troth that thou hast pledged Upon this ring can never be recalled. _Hil._ I know it well. I’ll keep my troth. Give me thy Talisman. _Mous._ Lady, ’tis thine. See how I trust in thee. Do with it as thou wilt--rend it apart, And cast it to the winds--its work is done! (_giving it to her_) Behold me now unarmed. _Hil._ (_changing her manner_). Unarmed be thou As all should be who use a deadly power To such foul traitorous ends! I am thy bride-- I am thy bride! Make thou the very most Of such poor comfort as those words may hold. Proclaim thy victory--say to thyself, “She is my bride--I wrung an oath from her, With miserable lies--she is my bride! She saved my wretched life, and in return I poison hers--but still she is my bride. She shudders at my all-polluting touch-- She loathes my mean and miserable soul: What matters it, so that she be my bride?” Oh, purblind fool--thy plot so subtly laid Is laid too subtly--and the cunning snare That trapped thy bird is laid too cunningly; For as it made me thy poor prisoner, So shall it hold me from thy deadly grasp For ever and for ever! Raise thine head, And look upon thy bride for once and all, For by the Heaven above, the eye of man Shall never rest upon my face again! [_She covers her face with veil, and exit._