_Porzia_ (_swaying_). What is it? Speak!

_Marina._ My lady, it is dead!

[_A wild pause._

_Porzia._ Dead? dead? my child? my little one? my own?

My baby?... Oh; oh, oh!... oh, oh, oh, oh!

[_She stretches her arms distractedly before her and goes._

_Rizzio_ (_who has staggered, dazed, and is frenziedly realizing_).

G.o.d, G.o.d, the madness ... is this then the madness....

At last!...

Her child? her child? and I--never a husband?

She has a child and I am childless! I!...

Have I been tricked, beaten, betrayed, undone, Duped by a lie of low inconstancy.

[_To Marina._

Speak, quean!

_Marina._ O sir, I know not what to say!

_Rizzio._ Tho truth bays wild, fool-face!

_Marina._ Sir, sir, I cannot!

But hold, I pray you! for she is ... she ... Ah!

[_Has cried out, for the curtains have parted and Porzia is entering--the dead child in her arms, her eyes gazing sightlessly._

_Rizzio_ (_who looks at her, racked, laughs wildly, then rushes to door_). At last, at last the heretic's in h.e.l.l!

[_Breaks past Aloysius entering, and is gone._

_Marina_ (_to the leech_). O Signor Aloysius, my poor, poor lady!

[_Weeping._

My lady! O what now, what now shall heal her!

_Aloysius._ Go in, prepare her bed, and I will bring her.

In, in, I say! (_as she goes; to the mother_) Porzia!

[_Gently._

[_She does not answer._

Come, Porzia!

_Porzia._ Yes, yes; is the grave ready?

Then let the clod fall softly, and the shroud Not wake him, for he sleeps. And let there be Some orange blossoms too ... some orange blossoms!

[_She permits him to lead her in, still gazing before her._

CURTAIN.

ACT III

NIGHT OF THE NEXT DAY

SCENE: _The terrace of Act I, but lit wanly now by the moon, whose sheen is cast like a pall over the city and kindles the Bay to quivering silver. Thro the open door of the house and from the window of Porzia's chamber which is just above the image of the Virgin, light falls streaming toward the Pan and toward the deeply shadowed bower. A stone seat is set to the front centre._

_Osio, haunted and desperate, stands without the bower, watching Matteo who is stealthily coming down from the pedestal of the Virgin where he has climbed to listen, and who crosses the terrace to him._

_Osio._ Her words! give me her words--and them alone!

What were they?

_Matteo._ I could learn no more, Signor.

The fever is tossing her.

_Osio._ To peril of death?

She is sinking now down into ceaseless h.e.l.l, Where he shall follow?

Is swooning low to it?

And to eternal flame?

_Matteo._ I do not know.

But burningly she sleeps. (_Uneasily._) Shall we not go?

[_Looks around._

For if we here are found--

_Osio._ They have not brought her The Sacrament?

_Matteo._ No priest is there, Signor.

_Osio._ The child, she asks for it?

_Matteo._ I seemed to hear Signora Bianca say that since the morning When it was borne in secret to the tomb She has not.

But still her moan's of Signor Rizzio, Who has not yet returned, tho still they seek him.

_Osio_ (_bitterly_). Her blood be on his head! upon his head!

And not on mine, that has not swayed to schism, If death is calling now for her d.a.m.nation.

No, I am pure of it!