_Cora._ What is the matter?—You need not be alarmed!—I love you more than ever!—Ah, at the first commencement of our love I thought it impossible that the attachment I then felt could ever be exceeded; for in you, Alonzo, I beheld the most charming of youths. But, enchanter, you have stolen into my heart under a still more attractive form, since I behold in you, the father of my child. _Alonzo._ Cora! Cora!—my hair is erect with horror, while your mind seems wholly at ease. _Cora._ And what do you fear?—Is it a crime to become a mother?—My father always taught me, that whoever commits a crime, instantly forfeits all peace of mind; but for me, I feel no uneasiness. _Alonzo._ Do you not recollect the circumstances of your situation?—To what rigid ordinances you swore obedience when this figure of the sun was fastened upon your bosom? _Cora._ I swore to obey the ordinances of our temple. _Alonzo._ And what do they enjoin you? _Cora._ I know not. My father told me, that by whomsoever virtue was held sacred, its precepts would be fulfilled without particular instruction. To me virtue is sacred. _Alonzo._ And know you then what constitutes virtue?—Alas! your uncorrupted soul is ignorant of the terrible distinction between virtue as founded in the eternal principles of nature, and virtue as constituted by the distorted imaginations of fanatics. (_He clasps her eagerly in his arms_) Oh, Cora! Cora! what have we done?—In other situations, love and joy recompense the anguish which every mother must endure—in yours alone, those sufferings, however severe, are but the forerunners of others still more dreadful, in the most horrible of all deaths. _Cora._ Death! _Alonzo._ (_In accents of despair_) And I—I am your murderer! _Cora._ (_With composure_) How can you thus unnecessarily torment yourself?—Wherefore, and by whom, should I be put to death? _Alonzo._ The priests will affirm, that you have offended the gods. _Cora._ I offended the gods!—No, Alonzo, I love the gods. _Alonzo._ Cora, I do not doubt it; yet you must become the victim of an ancient superstition. Our only safety would be in flight; but, alas! whither can we fly in a foreign land? _Cora._ Be composed, dear enthusiast!—I have thought of means to console you. _Alonzo._ If so, it must be the suggestion of God himself.