BIA. [Coming towards her.] Why do you weep?

BEA. [Looking up startled and seeing her, jumping to her feet.]

Oh, no! Oh, G.o.d above!

Go back! Go back!

BIA. [Amazed, quietly.] Beatrice, are you mad?

'Tis I, Bianca.

BEA. [More quietly.] Ay, I know 'tis you.

And you must go away.

BIA. [Breaking down.] You are mad, my dear!

BEA. I would I were. For madmen have their moments Of light into the brain.--Hear me. Bianca, You must return at once to Lagoverde, And come to me no more, and think of me No more.

BIA. Ay. I will go. But ere I go Tell me you do not love me, 'Tis apparent You do not. I but wish to hear the words.

BEA. Nay, that I will not say. It would be well, To say it, and let it be. But I'll not say it, It is not true.

BIA. You love me still?

BEA. I love you More than all else on earth. But I have wronged you So hugely that I cannot think of it And stand here talking with you--I am ill--[She staggers.]

You must pardon me--I have been very ill--

BIA. Then it is true?

BEA. [With a cry as of relief.] Ay, it is true! Who told you?

BIA. My mother told me. I said it was not true.

But if 'tis true--I pity you, Rose-Red, I pity him. I pity us all together.

BEA. [Feverishly.] Ah, I can see it now!--the quiet road In the deep wood's gathering darkness, the reins loose On the horses' necks, that nodded, nodded, and we Speaking from time to time, and glad to think Of home,--and suddenly out of nowhere,--fury, And faces, and long swords, and a great noise!

And even as I reached to draw my sword, The arm that held the scabbard set on fire, As if the sleeve were burning!--and my horse Backing into the trees, my hair caught, twisted, Torn out by the roots! Then from the road behind A second fury! And I turned, confused, Outraged with pain, and thrust,--and it was Mario!

BIA. [Wildly.] What are you saying? What are you saying? What is this You are telling me? That it was you? Your hand--?

Oh, G.o.d have mercy upon me! Let me go!

BEA. [Pitifully, reaching out her arms towards her.]

Snow-White! Snow-White!--farewell!

BIA. [Without turning.] Oh, G.o.d have mercy!

[Exit Bianca.]

[Beatrice falls unconscious to the floor.]

CURTAIN

ACT V

Scene 1

[A room in the palace at Fiori. Anselmo and Luigi.]

LUIGI. Nay, is that true, Anselmo?

ANS. Aye, 'tis true.

But no one saw save me, I drew her sword Out of his heart and thrust it in its scabbard, Where she lay senseless.

LUI. Oh, unhappy Queen!

ANS. Ay, she does not forget. Has it not struck you She rides no more? Her black horse stands in stable, Eating his head off. It is two years now Since she has visited Lagoverde; and the Queen Of Lagoverde comes not nigh this place.

LUI. There's not the reason that there was to come Before Octavia's death.

ANS. Nay, 'tis not that.

LUI. Think you that Beatrice told her?

ANS. Ay, I doubt it not.

LUI. 'Tis hard. They were close friends.

ANS. And since that day her hand upon the scepter Trembles,--and Guido sees. She goes too much Among the people, nursing them. She loves them; Their griefs are hers, their hearts are hers, as well.

But Guido has a following in this court That hangs upon his word, and he has taught them Her gentleness is weakness, and her love Faint-hearted womanish whims, till they are eager To pull her down, and see a man in place of her.

LUI. Her throne is like a raft upon a sea, That shifts, and rights itself, and may go down At any moment.

ANS. The more especially For all these drowning beggars that cling to it, Chattering for help. She will not strike them off.

LUI. Unhappy Queen. And there's a storm approaching, If ever I smelled wind.

ANS. I fear it Luigi.

[Exeunt Anselmo and Luigi. Enter Guido and Francesco.]

FRA. How do I know you love her still?--I know, The way you fall a-tapping with your fingers, Or plucking at your eye-brows, if her name Is spoken, or she move across the court.

How do I know?--Oh, Guido, have I learned you So little, then, in all these bitter years?

I know you very well.

GUI. You know too much I'll have an end of this, I tell you!

FRA. Ay.

You've told me that before.--An end of what?

What is this thing you'll put this mighty end to?

'Fore G.o.d I would I know. Could I but name it, I might have power to end it then, myself!