[_OSORIO grasps his sword and turns off from FERDINAND, then, after a pause, returns._ _Osorio._ Our links burn dimly. _Ferdinand._ A dark tale darkly finish'd! Nay, my lord! 130 Tell what he did. _Osorio (fiercely)._ That which his wisdom prompted. He made the traitor meet him in this cavern, And here he kill'd the traitor. _Ferdinand._ No!--the fool. He had not wit enough to be a traitor. Poor thick-eyed beetle! not to have foreseen 135 That he, who gull'd thee with a whimper'd lie To murder _his own brother_, would not scruple To murder _thee_, if e'er his guilt grew jealous And he could steal upon thee in the dark! _Osorio._ Thou would'st not then have come, if---- _Ferdinand._ O yes, my lord! 140 I would have met him arm'd, and scared the coward! [_FERDINAND throws off his robe, shows himself armed, and draws his sword._ _Osorio._ Now this is excellent, and warms the blood! My heart was drawing back, drawing me back With womanish pulls of pity. Dusky slave, Now I will kill thee pleasantly, and count it 145 Among my comfortable thoughts hereafter. _Ferdinand._ And all my little ones fatherless! Die thou first. [_They fight. OSORIO disarms FERDINAND, and in disarming him, throws his sword up that recess, opposite to which they were standing._ _Ferdinand (springing wildly towards Osorio)._ Still I can strangle thee! _Osorio._ Nay, fool! stand off. I'll kill thee--but not so! Go fetch thy sword. [_FERDINAND hurries into the recess with his torch. OSORIO follows him, and in a moment returns alone._ _Osorio._ Now--this was luck! No bloodstains, no dead body! 150 His dream, too, is made out. Now for his friend.[570:1] [_Exit._ _SCENE changes to the court before the Castle of VELEZ._ _MARIA and her FOSTER-MOTHER._ _Maria._ And when I heard that you desired to see me, I thought your business was to tell me of him. _Foster-Mother._ I never saw the Moor, whom you describe. _Maria._ 'Tis strange! he spake of you familiarly 155 As mine and Albert's common foster-mother. _Foster-Mother._ Now blessings on the man, whoe'er he be, That join'd your names with mine! O my sweet lady, As often as I think of those dear times When you two little ones would stand at eve, 160 On each side of my chair, and make me learn All you had learnt in the day; and how to talk In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you, 'Tis more like heaven to come, that what _has_ been!