_Rolla._ Oh the impotence of words!—Not my language—not your language—not all the languages of the world combined, have power to describe what I feel for Cora?—She was scarcely above the age of childhood when I marched for the first time against the rebels who inhabit the fields at the foot of the mountains of Sangay—she wept when I bade her adieu, and since our separation, I have known no pleasure but in the recollection of that moment and of those tears. When the contest was ended, I returned, but all had then assumed a new aspect. No longer was I to behold the same free unfettered maiden whom I had left, she was become the confident of the gods. I would have made her my wife, she saw the purity of the flame with which I burned, she saw the ardour of my passion, but her heart was wholly occupied with her new situation, and while she called the sun her husband, she looked down with contempt upon me. The day soon arrived on which a solemn oath consecrated her for ever to the service of her God, and consigned me over as a victim to eternal misery. Still I continued for several years to drag about a miserable existence from place to place, from battle to battle, and while I sought death gained only renown. At length I retired to this spot, and for some weeks past, this cave has been my dwelling.—This cave, which has become dear to me since it conceals from my sight that sun who robbed me of my Cora! _Alonzo._ (_Who during this narrative has again hastened to Cora, and endeavoured, though still in vain, to recover her._) I pity you from my soul!—believe me I pity you from my soul!—But how can I trust a rival?—Swear that you will not betray us. _Rolla._ I will not swear. _Alonzo._ No!—and yet you pretend to love Cora? _Rolla._ What need of oaths since I do love her? _Alonzo._ For the satisfaction of my mind. _Rolla._ What does your satisfaction concern me? _Alonzo._ I entreat this of you!—Do you wish to keep me in incessant torments?—Would you force me to proceed to extremities?—recollect that cases may occur when the commission of an apparent crime, is in reality to perform an act of virtue. _Rolla._ (_Contemptuously._) Indeed! _Alonzo._ And should I ever perceive the slightest ground for suspicion that thou wert capable of betraying Cora—observe, Rolla, though I respect and honour thee, yet I assure thee both by my God, and thy own, that I would take thy life without remorse. _Rolla._ I will not swear. _Alonzo._ Rolla, I entreat it once more!—What am I to think of this refusal?—See how I am shaken to my very soul—every limb trembles—my veins swell—and I can scarcely breathe for anguish. In mercy then swear. _Rolla._ I will not swear. _Alonzo._ (_Drawing his sword in a rage, and pressing upon Rolla._) Die then! _Juan._ (_Catching him hastily by the arm_) Is reason again gone astray?—Hold! hold!—are you a knight?