CAS. [_Aside._] How does this idiot woman torment me!—What else? LAND. I can’t recollect. CAS. Oh, agony! [_In a paroxysm of agitation._ WAITER. See here, her name upon the travelling trunk—Matilda Pottingen. CAS. Ecstasy! ecstasy! [_Embracing the Waiter._ LAND. You seem to be acquainted with the lady—shall I call her? CAS. Instantly—instantly—tell her her loved, her long-lost—tell her—— LAND. Shall I tell her dinner is ready? CAS. Do so—and in the meanwhile I will look after my portmanteau. [_Exeunt severally._ _Scene changes to a subterranean vault in the Abbey of Quedlinburgh, with coffins, ’scutcheons, death’s heads and crossbones—toads and other loathsome reptiles are seen traversing the obscurer parts of the stage._—ROGERO _appears, in chains, in a suit of rusty armour, with his beard grown, and a cap of a grotesque form upon his head—beside him a crock, or pitcher, supposed to contain his daily allowance of sustenance.—A long silence, during which the wind is heard to whistle through the caverns._—ROGERO _rises, and comes slowly forward, with his arms folded._ ROG. Eleven years! it is now eleven years since I was first immured in this living sepulchre—the cruelty of a Minister—the perfidy of a Monk—yes, Matilda! for thy sake—alive amidst the dead—chained—coffined—confined—cut off from the converse of my fellow-men. Soft!—what have we here! [_stumbles over a bundle of sticks._] This cavern is so dark that I can scarcely distinguish the objects under my feet. Oh—the register of my captivity. Let me see; how stands the account? [_Takes up the sticks, and turns them over with a melancholy air; then stands silent for a few minutes, as if absorbed in calculation._]—Eleven years and fifteen days!—Hah! the twenty-eighth of August! How does the recollection of it vibrate on my heart! It was on this day that I took my last leave of my Matilda. It was a summer evening; her melting hand seemed to dissolve in mine, as I prest it to my bosom. Some demon whispered me that I should never see her more. I stood gazing on the hated vehicle which was conveying her away for ever. The tears were petrified under my eyelids. My heart was crystallized with agony. Anon—I looked along the road. The diligence seemed to diminish every instant; I felt my heart beat against its prison, as if anxious to leap out and overtake it. My soul whirled round as I watched the rotation of the hinder wheels. A long trail of glory followed after her, and mingled with the dust; it was the emanation of Divinity, luminous with love and beauty, like the splendour of the setting sun; but it told me that the sun of my joys was sunk for ever. Yes, here in the depths of an eternal dungeon, in the nursing cradle of hell, the suburbs of perdition,