_High-Priestess._ Cora, recollect yourself, you are in a dream. _Cora._ I have now laid open my whole soul. If the affection you bore the mother be indeed transferred to the daughter, you will be my friend. _High-Priestess._ And the person you love is a Spaniard? _Cora._ Yes. _High-Priestess._ His name?— _Cora._ Is Alonzo. _High-Priestess._ When, and where, did you first see him? _Cora._ In the Temple, by the side of our king. _High-Priestess._ And what miracle brought you to a nearer intercourse? _Cora._ The natural miracle which threatened the Temple with destruction, and rent asunder the walls by which it is enclosed. _High-Priestess._ Well, I must not know more, and let what has passed be buried in eternal oblivion. To shew you in how high regard I hold your mother’s memory, I will preserve your secret inviolate, and you must by severe repentance endeavour to avert the wrath of the gods. Erase the image of Alonzo from your heart, forget his smooth and deceitful tongue, think of him no more, but attend to your employments and devotions. _Cora._ You certainly have never loved? _High-Priestess._ No, thanks be to the gods! _Cora._ Had you ever felt one half of what I now feel, you would have known that what you enjoin is no longer in my power. Erase the image of Alonzo from my heart!—think of him no more!—When I awake in the morning, he is always the first object of my thoughts, and at night when I lie down he is still the last.—When I kneel in the temple, his name intrudes itself into my prayers,—when I look at the image of the sun, I see only him,—and when I would turn my thoughts to my God, I cannot detach them from Alonzo. _High-Priestess._ These are heavy offences, Cora!—You must fast, pray, humble yourself. _Cora._ I can pray for nothing but that the gods may grant me Alonzo. Love is so soft, so exquisite a sensation that it never can be sinful. _High-Priestess._ Sinful!—It is to be held in the utmost abhorrence. _Cora._ Are _you_ then so entirely free from all emotions of this passion. _High-Priestess._ I am wholly devoted to the gods. _Cora._ In this assertion you either deceive me or yourself. Do I not often see how tenderly you nurse and feed these birds,—taking, now this, now that, out of the cage, setting it on your finger, stroaking it, kissing it, talking to it? _High-Priestess._ Poor little creatures, to love them is such an innocent affection. _Cora._ And my love is equally innocent. _High-Priestess._ Love for a man! _Cora._ The feeling is still the same!—the heart must love!—a turtle-dove engages your affections,—am I to blame if mine are fixed on other objects. _High-Priestess._ Do not deceive yourself, Cora. Is it a matter of indifference, whether you employ the sacred flame only in consuming the sacrifice, or use it to set the temple on fire?