His words are torture to my wav'ring pride, How shall I act? How may I best decide? Adelma shall I trust? Her plot may fail; Without disgrace a father may prevail. Down, stubborn soul (_advances towards_ ALT., _then hesitates_), and yet, beneath Man's yoke To crouch? No, no, my vow I'll not revoke. ALT. Thou'rt touched. Sweet daughter, grant my fond desire. TUR. He fears I may succeed and thwart him. Sire, I'll meet in high divan. My will is steady. ALT. Then, if thou fail, the altar shall be ready; The rite shall be performed with solemn fitness, While vulgar crowds shall thy confusion witness. Their scoffing jeers shall be thy wedding hymn; Thy father stooped in vain; now stoop to him. (_Exit_.) TUR. Oh, murder not your child! Adelma, friend,-- Forsake me not. My grief some comfort send; My only hope's in thee. If great Fo-hi Withhold success, to-morrow sees me die. (_Exit_.) END OF ACT. III. ACT IV. SCENE.--A magnificent apartment, with divers outlets; in the background an oriental couch. The scene is dark. KALAF discovered pacing up and down, BRIGHELLA holding a torch, observing him, and shaking his head. BRIG. Just three o'clock! by Kong's pagoda-chimes. You've paced this floor just twice three hundred times. Your Highness had much better go to sleep. You'll have to rise with dawn's first ruddy peep. I can't watch any more; my eyelids close. KALAF. Thou'rt right, Brighella; go to thy repose. (BRIG. going, returns cautiously.) BRIG. One word, your Highness,--when I've left my post, Don't be astonished if you see a ghost. You understand? You needn't be afraid; I daren't say more; my silence is prepaid. Forewarned, forearmed, you know. To a blind horse A nod's as good as twenty winks, of course. KALAF. (_looking about, uneasily._) What spectres shall I see? what dreary sprite? BRIG. Oh, nothing, (_yawns_.) I'm _so_ sleepy, Prince, good night. (_Going, returns._) I hope you are not angry with Brighella-- I'm but a poor, ill-paid, hardworking fellah-- The Emperor has ordered that no fly Shall enter this apartment--you know why; But tho' he's king, his daughter really rules. It's hard to keep one's balance 'twixt two stools! And what a woman wills, for good or evil. That must be done, or she will play the devil. (_Going, returns._) Mind, _I_ know nothing. Keyholes may suffice; If any noise you hear, it's only mice! (_Exit, winking significantly._) KAL. Good night, and thanks; your hint I comprehend. Will treachery be used my life to end? Nay, Turandot's too noble--I'll not fear. The fateful hour approaches (_opens a casement_.) Dawn is near, I'll seek to drown my care in dreamy rest. (_As he sinks on the couch, a secret door opens, admitting_ SKIRINA _dressed in male attire, a false beard on_.) SKIR. My lord. KALAF. (_starting up_.) What man is this? Some silly jest. SKIR.