_Osorio._ Off, ruffians! I have flung away my sword. Woman, my life is thine! to thee I give it. 270 Off! he that touches me with his hand of flesh, I'll rend his limbs asunder! I have strength With this bare arm to scatter you like ashes! _Alhadra._ My husband---- _Osorio._ Yes! I murder'd him most foully. _Albert (throws himself on the earth)._ O horrible! _Alhadra._ Why didst thou leave his children? 275 Demon! thou shouldst have sent thy dogs of hell To lap _their_ blood. Then, then, I might have harden'd My soul in misery, and have had comfort. I would have stood far off, quiet tho' dark, And bade the race of men raise up a mourning 280 For the deep horror of a desolation Too great to be one soul's particular lot! Brother of Zagri! let me lean upon thee. [_Struggling to suppress her anguish._ The time is not yet come for woman's anguish-- I have not seen his blood. Within an hour 285 Those little ones will crowd around and ask me, Where is our father? [_Looks at OSORIO._ I shall curse thee then! Wert thou in heaven, my curse would pluck thee thence! _Maria._ See--see! he doth repent. I kneel to thee. Be merciful! [_MARIA kneels to her. ALHADRA regards her face wistfully._ _Alhadra._ Thou art young and innocent; 290 'Twere merciful to kill thee! Yet I will not. And for thy sake none of this house shall perish, Save only he. _Maria._ That aged man, his father! _Alhadra (sternly)._ Why had he such a son? [_The_ Moors _press on._ _Maria (still kneeling, and wild with affright)._ Yet spare his life! They must not murder him! _Alhadra._ And is it then 295 An enviable lot to waste away With inward wounds, and like the spirit of chaos To wander on disquietly thro' the earth, Cursing all lovely things? to let him live-- It were a deep revenge! _All the band cry out_--No mercy! no mercy! 300 [_NAOMI advances with the sword towards OSORIO._ _Alhadra._ Nay, bear him forth! Why should this innocent maid Behold the ugliness of death? _Osorio (with great majesty)._ O woman! I have stood silent like a slave[596:1] before thee, That I might taste the wormwood and the gall, And satiate this self-accusing spirit 305 With bitterer agonies than death can give. [_The_ Moors _gather round him in a crowd, and pass off the stage._