Jacinta! (still no answer) Here ’s a far sterner story, But like—oh, very like in its despair— Of that Egyptian queen, winning so easily A thousand hearts—losing at length her own. She died. Thus endeth the history—and her maids Lean over and weep—two gentle maids With gentle names—Eiros and Charmion! Rainbow and Dove!——Jacinta! Jac. (pettishly.) Madam, what is it? Lal. Wilt thou, my good Jacinta, be so kind As go down in the library and bring me The Holy Evangelists. Jac. Pshaw! (exit.) Lal. If there be balm For the wounded spirit in Gilead it is there! Dew in the night time of my bitter trouble Will there be found—“dew sweeter far than that Which hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill.” (re-enter Jacinta, and throws a volume on the table.) There, ma’am, ’s the book. Indeed she is very troublesome. (aside.) Lal. (astonished.) What didst thou say, Jacinta? Have I done aught To grieve thee or to vex thee?—I am sorry. For thou hast served me long and ever been Trust-worthy and respectful. (resumes her reading.) Jac. I can’t believe She has any more jewels—no—no—she gave me all. (aside.) Lal. What didst thou say, Jacinta? Now I bethink me Thou hast not spoken lately of thy wedding. How fares good Ugo?—and when is it to be? Can I do aught?—is there no farther aid Thou needest, Jacinta? Jac. Is there no farther aid! That’s meant for me. (aside) I’m sure, madam, you need not Be always throwing those jewels in my teeth. Lal. Jewels! Jacinta,—now indeed, Jacinta, I thought not of the jewels. Jac. Oh! perhaps not! But then I might have sworn it. After all, There ’s Ugo says the ring is only paste, For he ’s sure the Count Castiglione never Would have given a real diamond to such as you; And at the best I’m certain, Madam, you cannot Have use for jewels now. But I might have sworn it. (exit.) (Lalage bursts into tears and leans her head upon the table—after a short pause raises it.) Lal. Poor Lalage!—and is it come to this? Thy servant maid!—but courage!—’tis but a viper Whom thou hast cherished to sting thee to the soul! (taking up the mirror) Ha! here at least ’s a friend—too much a friend In earlier days—a friend will not deceive thee. Fair mirror and true! now tell me (for thou canst) A tale—a pretty tale—and heed thou not Though it be rife with woe: It answers me. It speaks of sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks, And Beauty long deceased—remembers me Of Joy departed—Hope, the Seraph Hope, Inurned and entombed:—now, in a tone Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible, Whispers of early grave untimely yawning For ruined maid. Fair mirror and true—thou liest not! Thou hast no end to gain—no heart to break— Castiglione lied who said he loved— Thou true—he false!—false!—false! (While she speaks, a monk enters her apartment, and approaches