Scene I.--Mellefont's _room_.

Mellefont, Sara.

MELLEFONT.

Yes, dearest Sara, yes! That I will do! That I must do.

SARA.

How happy you make me!

MELLEFONT.

It is I who must take the whole crime upon myself. I alone am guilty; I
alone must ask for forgiveness.

SARA.

No, Mellefont, do not take from me the greater share which I have in
our error! It is dear to me, however wrong it is, for it must have
convinced you that I love my Mellefont above everything in this world.
But is it, then, really true, that I may henceforth combine this love
with the love of my father? Or am I in a pleasant dream? How I fear it
will pass and I shall awaken in my old misery! But no! I am not merely
dreaming, I am really happier than I ever dared hope to become; happier
than this short life may perhaps allow. But perhaps this beam of
happiness appears in the distance, and delusively seems to approach
only in order to melt away again into thick darkness, and to leave me
suddenly in a night whose whole terror has only become perceptible to
me through this short illumination. What forebodings torment me! Are
they really forebodings, Mellefont, or are they common feelings, which
are inseparable from the expectation of an undeserved happiness, and
the fear of losing it? How fast my heart beats, and how wildly it
beats. How loud now, how quick! And now how weak, how anxious, how
quivering! Now it hurries again, as if these were its last throbbings,
which it would fain beat out rapidly. Poor heart!

MELLEFONT.

The tumult of your blood, which a sudden surprise cannot fail to cause,
will abate, Sara, and your heart will continue its work more calmly.
None of its throbs point to aught that is in the future, and we are to
blame--forgive me, dearest Sara!--if we make the mechanic pressure of
our blood into a prophet of evil. But I will not leave anything undone
which you yourself think good to appease this little storm within your
breast. I will write at once, and I hope that Sir William will be
satisfied with the assurances of my repentance, with the expressions of
my stricken heart, and my vows of affectionate obedience.

SARA.

Sir William? Ah, Mellefont, you must begin now to accustom yourself to
a far mo