Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/301

Rh Well, it may pass ; but henceforth say thy matins In thine own room. I know not what vague cloud Obscures my sight and weighs upon my brain. I am very weary. Luca, follow me. [Exeunt RIBERA and LUCA.

Poor father ! Dimly he perceives some trouble Within the threatening air. Thank heaven, I calmed him, Yet I spake truth. What could have roused so soon His quick suspicion ? Did Fiametta see The wary page slip in my hand the missive, As we came forth again ? Nay, even so, My father hath not spoken with her since. Sure he knows naught ; t is but my foolish fear Makes monsters out of shadows. I may read The priceless lines and grave them on my heart.

[She draws from her bosom a letter, reads it, and presses it to her lips.

He loves me, yes, he loves me ! Oh, my God, This awful joy in mine own breast is love! To-night he will await me in our garden. Oh, for a word, a pressure of the hand! I fly, my prince, at thy most dear behest! [Exit.