_Long._ A guiltless end that flighted yesterday hath reached. O! that the morrow found as clear a tomb! When the next midnight tolls, Eugenia, thou wilt rest in blessedness, whilst thy murderer-- Ah! what charmed couch shall bring the sweet forgetful slumber at that hour to me? Midnight, the welcome sabbath of unstained souls, O, to the murderer thou art terrible--silence and darkness that with the innocent make blessed time, to him bring curses, for then through sealed ears and close-veiled eyes, strange sounds and sights will steal their way, that in the hum and glare of day-light dare not stir: then o'er the wretch's forehead ooze cold beads of dew--in feverish, brain-sick dreams, with starts and groans: on beds of seeming down he feels the griding rack, and finds himself a hell more fierce, than fiends can show hereafter. _Sang._ How now, my lord? unmanned by conscience? Nay, then, let Eugenia live. _Long._ Not for an angel's birthright! think'st thou I would deign to breathe on wretched sufferance? No, no; her death is necessary to my honor and my peace. Come on! my hand may falter, but my heart's resolved; 'tis sworn, inexorably sworn: Eugenia dies. [_Exeunt._ SCENE IV.--_The river-bank--the Rhine flows across the stage at distance--on one side a pavilion extends obliquely, through the lower windows of which lights appear--nearly opposite is a small bower of lattice-work.--The moon at full, has just risen above the German bank, and pours its radiance upon the water. _Bertrand_ is discovered watching the pavilion._ _Bert._ I watch in vain; all means of access to the prisoner are debarred: her chamber now is dark and silent: still tapers glare and voices murmur from the hall beneath: the baron and Sanguine are there: 'tis against life these midnight plotters stir. Oh! that this heart might bleed to its last guilty drop in ransom for Eugenia! Soft! does not the dashing of a distant oar disturb the silence of the tide? Yes; just where the moonlight gleams a boat now crosses rapidly; it rows towards this bank; it pauses now in stillness--what may this mean? the hour so late, the spot so unfrequented and remote. (_A bugle is sounded three times_) Ha! a bugle sounded thrice! too sure the omen of some fatal deed. I will not quit this spot--no, Eugenia, I will preserve or perish with thee! Soft, the pavilion opens. Bower, receive me to thy friendly shades! watch with me blessed spirits. (He retires into the bower fronting the pavilion. _Longueville_ advances cautiously from the pavilion.) _Long._ 'Twas the signal! the boat has reached the bank, Ho! Lenoire! advance: no eye observes thy step. Enter _Lenoire_ along the bank by an entrance between the bower and the river. _Len._ All is prepared: your orders are fulfiled. _Long._ Laggard! too many precious moments have been wasted in their execution: the moon has risen high, and casts a brightness round scarce feebler than the day: your course may be observed.