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Att. (to Eleanor, aside.) Lady, I bring to you most dismal news: Too grievous for my Lord, so suddenly And unprepar'd, to hear.

El (aside)What is it? Speak.

And on the dagger's point, which the sly traitor Still in his stiffen'd grasp retains, foul stains, Like those of limed poison, shew full well The wicked cause of his untimely death.

Hugh. (overhearing them.) Who speaks of death? What did'st thou whisper there? How is my son?What look is that thou wear'st? He is not dead?Thou dost not speak! O God! I have no son. (After a pause) I am bereft!But this! But only him!—Heaven's vengeance deals the stroke.

Urst. Heaven oft in mercy smites ev'n when the blow Severest is.

Hugh.I had no other hope. Fell is the stroke, if mercy in it be! Could this—could this alone atone my crime?