[362] husband] _husband_ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [After 364] End of the Act First. Editions 1, 2, 3. ACT II SCENE I _A wild and mountainous country. ORDONIO and ISIDORE are discovered, supposed at a little distance from ISIDORE'S house._ _Ordonio._ Here we may stop: your house distinct in view, Yet we secured from listeners. _Isidore._ Now indeed My house! and it looks cheerful as the clusters Basking in sunshine on yon vine-clad rock, That over-brows it! Patron! Friend! Preserver! 5 Thrice have you saved my life. Once in the battle You gave it me: next rescued me from suicide When for my follies I was made to wander, With mouths to feed, and not a morsel for them: Now but for you, a dungeon's slimy stones 10 Had been my bed and pillow. _Ordonio._ Good Isidore! Why this to me? It is enough, you know it. _Isidore._ A common trick of gratitude, my lord, Seeking to ease her own full heart---- _Ordonio._ Enough! A debt repaid ceases to be a debt. 15 You have it in your power to serve me greatly. _Isidore._ And how, my lord? I pray you to name the thing. I would climb up an ice-glazed precipice To pluck a weed you fancied! _Ordonio._ Why--that--Lady-- _Isidore._ 'Tis now three years, my lord, since last I saw you: 20 Have you a son, my lord? _Ordonio._ O miserable-- [_Aside._ Isidore! you are a man, and know mankind. I told you what I wished--now for the truth-- She loved the man you kill'd. _Isidore._ You jest, my lord? _Ordonio._ And till his death is proved she will not wed me. 25 _Isidore._ You sport with me, my lord? _Ordonio._ Come, come! this foolery Lives only in thy looks, thy heart disowns it! _Isidore._ I can bear this, and any thing more grievous From you, my lord--but how can I serve you here? _Ordonio._ Why, you can utter with a solemn gesture 30 Oracular sentences of deep no-meaning, Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious antics-- _Isidore._ I am dull, my lord! I do not comprehend you. _Ordonio._ In blunt terms, you can play the sorcerer. She hath no faith in Holy Church, 'tis true: 35 Her lover schooled her in some newer nonsense! Yet still a tale of spirits works upon her. She is a lone enthusiast, sensitive, Shivers, and can not keep the tears in her eye: And such do love the marvellous too well 40 Not to believe it. We will wind up her fancy With a strange music, that she knows not of-- With fumes of frankincense, and mummery, Then leave, as one sure token of his death, That portrait, which from off the dead man's neck 45 I bade thee take, the trophy of thy conquest.