o God!

Eliz. But none to you:
Hard-hearted! Am I not enough your slave?
Can I obey you more when he is gone
Than now I do? Wherein, pray, has he hindered
This holiness of mine, for which you make me
Old ere my womanhood? [Conrad offers to go.]
Stay, Sir, and tell me
Is this the outcome of your 'father's care'?
Was it not enough to poison all my joys
With foulest scruples?--show me nameless sins,
Where I, unconscious babe, blessed God for all things,
But you must thus intrigue away my knight
And plunge me down this gulf of widowhood!
And I not twenty yet--a girl--an orphan--
That cannot stand alone! Was I too happy?
O God! what lawful bliss do I not buy
And balance with the smart of some sharp penance?
Hast thou no pity? None? Thou drivest me
To fiendish doubts: Thou, Jesus' messenger?

Con. This to your master!

Eliz. This to any one
Who dares to part me from my love.

Con. 'Tis well--
In pity to your weakness I must deign
To do what ne'er I did--excuse myself.
I say, I knew not of your husband's purpose;
God's spirit, not I, moved him: perhaps I sinned
In that I did not urge it myself.

Eliz. Thou traitor!
So thou would'st part us?

Con. Aught that makes thee greater
I'll dare. This very outburst proves in thee
Passions unsanctified, and carnal leanings
Upon the creatures thou would'st fain transcend.
Thou badest me cure thy weakness. Lo, God brings thee
The tonic cup I feared to mix:--be brave--
Drink it to the lees, and thou shalt find within
A pearl of price.

Eliz. 'Tis bitter!

Con. Bitter, truly:
Even I, to whom the storm of earthly love
Is but a dim remembrance--Courage! Courage!
There's glory in't; fulfil thy sacrifice;
Give up thy noblest on the noblest service
God's sun has looked on, since the chosen twelve
Went conquering, and to conquer, forth. If he fall--

Eliz. Oh, spare mine ears!

Con. He falls a blessed martyr,
To bid thee welcome through the gates of pearl;
And next to his shall thine own guerdon be
If thou devote him willing to thy God.
Wilt thou?

Eliz. Have mercy!

Con. Wilt thou? Sit not thus
Watching the sightless air: no angel in it
But asks thee what I ask: the fiend alone
Delays thy coward flesh. Wilt thou devote him?

Eliz. I will devote him;--a crusader's wife!
I'll glory in it. Thou speakest words from God--
And God shall have him! Go now--good my master;
My poor brain swims. [Exit Conrad.]
Yes--a crusader's wife!
And