Page:Dramas 3.pdf/192

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The light bewilders me.

There 's fever on thee: let me feel thy hand. Ha! there is blood upon it; thou art wounded; Thou 'rt faint and need'st assistance. (Going.)

Call no one here, but stay with me thyself. 'Tis not my own blood, Maurice; would it were!

Hast thou slain any one?

He did attack me; from his hand I wrested The clenched dagger—plunged it in his breast.

Then God be praised thou hast escaped, dear Claudien!

Oh say not so! I've taken human life, I've sent a sinful soul to its dread reck'ning.

Be not so overcome; there is no cause. His death is thy deliv'rance; and the laws Of God and man will fully justify An act of self-defence.