Act 1 — SCENE III.—A front wood, stage very dark, thunder and lightning.

Enter Longueville and Bertrand, the latter disguised and masqued.

Long. Come, sir, to your post! what! a coward even to the last? you tremble.

Bert. I do indeed, the storm is terrible, it seems as if heaven’s own voice were clamoring to forbid the deed.

Thunder.

Long. This tumult of the night assists our enterprise; its thunders will drown your victim’s dying groan. Where have you placed the bravoes?

Bert. Hard by—just where the horse-road sinks into a hollow dell, and over-spreading branches almost choke the pass, there we may rush upon the wretched youth securely, and there our poniards—

Long. Hush!—a footstep!—who passes there?

Enter 1st Bravo.

1st. Br. Sanguine!

Long. Wherefore are you here, and parted from your fellow?

1st. Br. I left him lurking in the hollow, while I sought you out to ask advice. Just now, a horse without a rider, burst furiously through the thicket where we lay; the lightning flashed brightly at the time, and I plainly marked the steed to be the very same young Florian rode, when we dogged him from the last inn, at sunset.

Bert. (involuntarily) merciful God! then thou hast preserved him.

Long. Villain! you may find your transports premature; perchance he has dismounted to seek on foot some shelter from the increasing fury of the storm; but ’tis impossible he should escape; one only path conducts to the chateau. Quick! bestow yourselves on either side, and your victim’s fate is certain. I must return to avoid suspicion.

Bert. (catching his arm.) Yet, my lord, once more reflect.

Long. (throwing him off.) Recollect your oath.

Bert. (desperately.) Yes, yes, it must be written on my memory in characters of blood.

Exeunt separately.