_Or._ Wait till to-morrow, all will then be known. _Riv._ Wait till to-morrow? Look at that pavilion; All was prepar'd: yes, I dare tell thee all, For thou art honest now. _Or._ (_aside._) That wounds too deeply. _Riv._ Soon as the midnight bell gave the glad summons, This dear pavilion had beheld her mine. _Or._ All will be well to-morrow.--(_Aside._) If I stay I shall betray the whole.----Good night, my Rivers. _Riv._ Good night; go you to rest; I still shall walk. [_Exit_ ORLANDO. _Riv._ Yes, I will trace her haunts; my too fond heart, Like a poor bird that's hunted from its nest, Dares not return, and knows not where to fix; Still it delights to hover round the spot Which lately held its treasure; eyes it still, And with heart-breaking tenderness surveys The scene of joys which never may return. [_Exit._ _Scene changes to another part of the garden._ _Re-enter_ ORLANDO. _Or._ Did he say rest? talk'd he of rest to me? Can rest and guilt associate? but no matter, I cannot now go back; then such a prize, Such voluntary love, so fair, so yielding, Would make archangels forfeit their allegiance! I dare not think: reflection leads to madness. _Enter_ BERTRAND. Bertrand! I was not made for this dark work; My heart recoils--poor Rivers! _Ber._ What of Rivers? _Or._ I've seen him. _Ber._ Where? _Or._ Before the great pavilion. _Ber._ (_aside._) That's lucky, saves me trouble: were he absent, Half of my scheme had fail'd. _Or._ He's most unhappy; He wish'd me rest, spoke kindly to me, Bertrand; How, how can I betray him? _Ber._ He deceives you; He's on the watch, else wherefore now abroad At this late hour? beware of treachery. _Or._ I am myself the traitor. _Ber._ Come, no more! The time draws near, you know the cypress walk, 'Tis dark. _Or._ The fitter for dark deeds like mine. _Ber._ I have prepar'd your men; when the bell strikes, Go into the pavilion; there you'll find The blushing maid, who with faint screams, perhaps, Will feign resentment. But you want a sword. _Or._ A sword!--I'll murder no one--why a sword? _Ber._ 'Tis prudent to be arm'd;--no words,--take mine; There may be danger,--Julia may be lost,-- This night secures or loses her for ever. The cypress walk--spare none who look like spies. _Or._ (_looking at the sword._) How deeply is that soul involv'd in guilt, Who dares not hold communion with its thoughts, Nor ask itself what it designs to do! But dallies blindly with the gen'ral sin Of unexamin'd, undefin'd perdition! [_Exit_ ORLANDO.