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His woe—their woe; poor Claude's, and Malcolm's too. Death seizes on the dearest and the best!

I will not hear thee say so, gentle Alice. A dearer and a better than thyself 'T were hard to find. No; nor do I believe That she whom thou lamentest did surpass thee.

Hush! say it not!—I pray thee, say not so: In pitying me thou must not rob the dead. That he preferr'd a creature of such excellence, Took from the wound its sting and bitterness. Thou may'st not wrong the dead!

I will not, then.

There is the arras which conceals the place: Her awful words are sounding in my ears, Which bade me search. I feel a secret awe! But that her spirit from the earth hath ta'en— As I am well assured—its final leave, I could believe that she is near me still, To see the very act! (Looking round her fearfully.)

Nay, check thy ardent fancy: 't is not good