ANNICCA (rising). I will go to meet him. Father, Until to-morrow. [Embraces MARIA and exits. MARIA sits by her father's side and displays her flowers.] RIBERA. Truly, a gorgeous show! Pink, yellow, crimson, white--which is the fairest? Those with the deepest blush should best become you-- Nay, they accord not with your hair's red gold; The white ones suit you best--pale, innocent, So flowers too can lie! Is not that strange? [MARIA looks at him in mingled wonder and affright. He roughly brushes aside all the flowers upon the floors, than picks one up and carefully plucks it to pieces.] I think not highly of your flowers, girl; I have plucked this leaf; it has no heart. See there! [He laughs contemptuously.] MARIA. What have I done? Alas! what mean you? Have you then lost your reason? RIBERA. Nay, but found it. I, who was dull of wit, am keen at last. "Don John is comely," and "Don John is kind;" "A wonderful musician is Don John," "A princely artist"--and then, meek of mien, You enter in his presence, modest, simple. And who beneath that kitten grace had spied The claws of mischief? Who! Why, all the world, Save the fond, wrinkled, hoary fool, thy father. Out, girl, for shame! He will be here anon; Hence to your room--he shall not find you here. Thank God, thank God! no evil hath been wrought That may not be repaired. I have sat by At all your meetings. You shall have no more; Myself will look to that. Away, away! [Exit Maria.] RIBERA (looks after her). As one who has received a deadly hurt, She walks. What if my doubts be false? The terror Of an unlooked-for blow, a treacherous thrust When least expected--that is all she showed. On a false charge, myself had acted thus. She had been moved far otherwise if guilty; She had wept, protested, begged--she had not left With such a proud and speechless show of grief. I was too harsh, too quick on slight suspicion. What did Annicca say? Why, she said naught. 'T was her grave air, her sudden reticence, Her ill-assumed indifference. They play on me; They know me not. They dread my violent passions, Not guessing what a firm and constant bridle I hold them with. On just cause to be angered, Is merely human. Yet they sound my temper; They try to lead me like some half-tamed beast, That must be coaxed. Well, I may laugh thereat. But I am not myself to-day; strange pains Shoot through my head and limbs and vex my spirit. Oh, I have wronged my child! Return, Maria! [Exit, calling.] ACT IV. SCENE I.