_Ph._ And I could wince At such reproach, had I dissembled further Than loyalty may deign, grappling with treason. Her anger springs but of that nobleness 1739 Which makes her love worth winning; and in the end It shall be mine again. [_Exit._ SCENE · 4 _On the hills above Monreale, as before. Enter PALICIO and MARGARET._ _MARGARET._ How fresh the morning air is. See how the mist Melts in the sun, and while we look is gone, Leisurely gathered on his sloping beams. And guarded by her angel towers the city Sleeps like an island in the solemn gray: ’Tis beauteous.— _PALICIO._ I love the city: it holds the stir. To-night I shall be there, and to do something Worthy of thee. _Mar._ Whate’er thou dost, Giovanni, I could not love thee more. _Pal._ Beneath yon roofs 1750 There’s many a heart that quicker beats and leaps To hear my name. _Mar._ Thinkest thou still of them? They love thee not. _Pal._ Not? _Mar._ Nay; the thousandth part Of my love dealt among them were enough To make each man a hero. Now they are brave Only to cheer thee on: and I that love thee, And love but thee, shall lose thee. _Pal._ Have better faith, All will be well. _Mar._ Pray heaven it be. _Pal._ O, Margaret, Speak not so sadly: I would have thee brave To cheer me on as they. Last night I dreamed 1760 That thou hadst turned against me. _Mar._ What, Giovanni? _Pal._ Thou didst deride me. _Mar._ I deride thy dream. _Pal._ I thought I failed, and lost thy love. _Mar._ O, faithless, That could not lose my love. If thou succeed Or fail, ’tis one. But tell me, giv’st thou heed To visions? Are they not a fickle fabric, Distorted fancies of the spirit, intruding By night in memory’s darkened cell? Or holdst thou They come from heaven? _Pal._ Ay. Talk not of them now. Let me not think of it.— _Mar._ See here the flowers 1770 I have plucked. Know’st thou, Giovanni, why they grow? _Pal._ How meanest thou? _Mar._ Why in one place one flower Will grow, and not another. _Pal._ Canst thou tell?