For there has come of late into her mind A dread that has dried life within her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

_Matteo_ (_who pales_). And am I G.o.d, woman, to keep dread from her?

_Marina._ Tending to it a strangeness comes upon her, And with the sudden seizure of it, fear-- Shudders of horror, instincts of some evil That she somehow has suffered, or committed--

[_Pauses._

_Matteo_ (_paler_). What do you mean!

_Marina._ As one within a trance.

_Matteo._ And do you mean--?

_Marina._ A mood seizes her flesh That creeps against her will whene'er unto her The little one is pressed.

_Matteo_ (_trembling_). This is a lie!

_Marina._ She cannot look upon it, but with terror, That brings remorse Awakening more terror!

The blight of heresy, she strives to think Of her lord's heresy is sent upon her, Or of her own refusal, it may be, To wed the Convent, not the carnal world.

_Matteo._ To you she said this?

_Marina._ Ah! and Madonna! her sleep!

She walks with eyes wide open.

_Matteo._ I say you lie.

You do! as if Eternity were not,--

[_Seizes her wrist._

To frighten me and Signor Osio!

_Marina_ (_coldly, stingingly_). And yet you understand? ha, understand?

And hoa.r.s.ely stare at words upon my lips That should be meaningless as moony madness?

You penetrate What not the Pope himself, Nor any could, but with a guilty knowledge?

There's villainy I say, and you are in it, The tool of a blind villain, who should be Where now his brother rots, but that the Church Is no more Christ's!

Ah, ah! my nails could tear Your hated false caresses from my flesh, Your kisses from my memory and fling them Upon your wicked heart. And, for your master, The Virgin strangle him! She--or another!

[_Meaningly._

Another!

_Matteo_ (_startled_). What? what say you?

_Marina._ That--one--will!

For do not think such sins go unavenged.

[_Starts to go._

_Matteo._ I say, what do you hint! Stand! there is more!

[_Seizes her and clasps her to him._

More! and I'll have it, by the crater of h.e.l.l!

More--and your lips shall tell it with a kiss.

_Marina._ Off me! (_Struggling._) And if you do not get from here--

[_Breaks free._

Before Signora Bianca--

_Matteo._ Ah! Ahi!

It has to do then with the Florentine?

Who is as pagan as that devil Venus,

[_Points to statue._

Yet prates to priests as subtly as my master Who will not play Love with her?

By the Pa.s.sion and Blood of G.o.d, has she again Gone jealous to Monsignor Querio, To get undone the doors of the Inquisition, So that your master...? has she?

_Marina._ They are open!-- O would I who o'erheard might tell my lady!-- And Signor Rizzio goes free to-day!

Free to return here unto his own home!

Free to cast from him a year's ignorance, A year's imprisonment beyond the pale Of any word or message And learn how on his wedding-day when he Was seized and on his wedding-night when he Expected to return.... At that you quail?

Begone then, or--

_Matteo_ (_gnashing_). The jealousy of women!

Their hearts are devil-pots that ever boil.-- But this is cud for Signor Osio, So get you in at once unto your mistress And say--

_Enter_ BIANCA _suddenly in agitation_

_Bianca_ (_looking about, with alarm_). Where is my cousin?

(_Calls_) Porzia! Porzia!-- She must return at once--unto the child: Her mood is perilous and must be pent.

[_As they stare._

Did you not see her? (_Impatient._) Am I Proserpine To make such gaping ghosts of you? I say, Was she not here?

_Marina._ Signora--?

_Bianca._ She hung, haunted,

[_Searching again._

By the child's cradle--there a little since, But suddenly rose up and fled from it, Saying--she would wed death!

_Marina._ Wed death! Signora!