He was the first indebted, and 'twas thine
Gave thee a right to all that mine can give.
For what are riches when compar'd to life-
To life, when sanctified by noble deeds?
And, shining midst the brightest of our heroes,
Thy father nobly died to save his friend.
Talk then no more of what thou owest me;
But if indeed thou would'st I should accept
Assistance at thy hands, I mean to claim it.

Beau. Good heavens! and canst thou make it then a

question?

Speak; for I will not stop thee by professions.

Could'st thou but read my soul

Theo.

I think I can.

And art thou sure thou hast no cause to shrink
From my observing, from my rigid eye,
Which misery has waken'd to suspicion ?

Beau. To that all-seeing Power I now appeal
Who justly judges all our thoughts and actions!
If I have aught within this beating bosom
He not approves, or pities, may I be

An outcast both from Heaven and Theodora !
Why dost thou eye me with that piercing aspect?
Canst thou a moment doubt thy brother's love?

Theo. I will not doubt it; but it must be tried.
And, O believe me, Beaufort, my poor heart
Shrinks from the idea of what thine will suffer
To learn thy sister's full extent of woe.

Beau. Is there then more than Beaufort has imagin'd? Theo. Yes; there is somewhat which thy generous spirit Could never have suggested; a deep horror,

That with the darkest gloom o'ercasts my fate.

Beau. Speak, I conjure thee; ease my tortur'd soul. Theo. Heart-rending task! My trembling voice refuses To taint the air with the detested sounds.

O for a moment's courage! Hark! what noise?
Heardst thou approaching footsteps?

Beau.

Arises all this fearful perturbation?

From whence

I heard not any noise. Compose thy spirits,

And trust thy sorrows to this faithful bosom.

Theo. Then hear me, Beaufort. By thy hopes of

heaven,

By the respect thou bear'st thy father's memory,

By all the pity thou hast felt for mine,

And all thy vows of friendship to thy sister,

I do conjure thee, never see her more!

It is my wish.

Beau. Good heavens! and wherefore not? Theo. Beau. But can it be thy wish I should be wretched? Say then what crime can Beaufort have committed, Thus to be driven from thee?

Speak, or I'm rooted here.

Theo.

And must I then,

Howe'er unwilling, tell thee all the truth?
Prepare thy mind to combat with its horrors.
Suspicion, with her pale and sickly mien,
Perverting good to evil in all bosoms,
Has enter'd Doricourt's! She triumphs there,
E'en o'er thy virtues triumphs, and in whispers
(Breath'd louder as they greedily are listen'd to)
Dares to join infamy with Beaufort's name
And Theodora's! Well may rage indignant
Shake thy whole frame; and that I have the power
To tell the horrid tale is wonderful.

Yet, since thou now hast heard it, O beware
How thou to desperate actions art impell'd!

Thy sister's life and fame are both at stake.
Wilt thou not lend thy generous aid to save her
From threaten'd ruin-though the means be painful?

Beau. Yes; I will shelter thee from every ill;
I will conduct thy doubting, trembling steps
Where best thou may'st find comfort to a father.
Nay, start not at his name-I have the power
To sooth his rugged soul-He will forgive thee,
I know he will, if led to him by Beaufort,
And he will bless me for thus saving thee
From misery and Doricourt.

Nor thither will thy husband dare pursue thee.
Or should he dare, from this avenging arm
He shall receive the punishment he merits.

Theo. Did I not tell thee, Beaufort, to beware
How thou let passion tempt thy noble mind?
What! shall our actions justify suspicion?
The cruel Doricourt is still my husband.
Vows witness'd by my God I dare not break.
I here abide my fate, whate'er it be !
Yet listen to me calmly for a moment,
Let me convince thy reason, though 'tis blinded
By motives which (I own) invite to vengeance;
But, at my prayer, forgive my wretched husband!
For wretched are the guilty! Leave revenge
To ever-waking conscience; 'tis forgiveness
Alone yields noble triumph-be it thine.
Here let us take an everlasting leave.
Repair thee to my aged, sorrowing father,
Smooth the rough path of his declining years,
And, if thou hast the power, O intercede
In favor of my child. Wilt thou not, Beaufort?
Why dost thou thus avert from me thy looks?
Canst thou refuse thy Theodora's prayer?

Wilt thou increase thy sister's weight of woe?

Beau. No; thou must ever conquer; 'tis decided~~-~We e meet no more, since thou wilt have it so.

Heaven has rewards in store for suffering innocence.

Yes; let not hope be banished from thy bosom,
For even Doricourt may yet be just;

He will awake from error, and restore thee

A husband worthy of thy many virtues.

And now farewell!-alas! farewell for ever!

At that moment enter DORICOURT with his sword drawn. Dor. Perfidious traitor! base, dissembling woman!

Revenge is mine-I seek it in thy heart.

[Stabs Beaufort, who falls.

Beau. Mistaken man! thy wife is innocent.

I pardon thee my death.

[Faints.

Theo. O wretched Doricourt, what hast thou done! Help! help! O hasten-try all means to save him.

Dor. The blow was driven home. I think it pierc'd Thy image in his heart. All help is vain

I leave you to your sorrows; when they cease,

I may perhaps return.

Theo.

Is Beaufort murder'd

[Exit.

And Theodora spar'd? Ah! wherefore spar'd?
Perhaps he yet has life-O no! his mounting spirit
Seeks its own heaven, and gains its bright reward.
O linger yet awhile, and mine will join thee.
I faint-I die-Beaufort, I follow thee.

[Faints.

Enter CLARA, CARLOS, and other Servants sent by

DORICOURT.

Cla. O horror! horror! what a sight is this.

Help me to raise her.

[They place her in a chair.

Car.

Alas! my master!

Had but thy gallant spirit deign'd to listen

To what the voice of prudence whisper'd thee,

Thou hadst not thus lain low. Help me, my friends,

To bear the body hence, and soon revenge

Shall overtake the deed. I was prepar'd

To have defended him; but fate, so speedy,

Mock'd my precautions, and leaves naught but vengeance.

Theo. O heavens! where am I?

Cla.

[Exit Curlos with the body.

Help! she yet lives, help!

Theo. Thou dost elude my grasp, image of death!
The hateful light again invades my eyes,

And memory wakens every sense of pain.
Ah, Clara, wherefore this officious aid?
Leave me to die!

[After a pause, and looking round her, she exclaims] Surely 'twas all a dream,

Some horrid fancy of the troubled mind,

And Beaufort lives. My husband is no murderer!
Let us go seek him, Clara. Ah! what's this?

"Tis blood-'tis Beaufort's blood! No doubtful vision, But dreadful confirmation. Clara, look

My husband's sword has shed my brother's blood!—
I am a murderer's wife!

Cla.

[She leans on Clara.

Alas! again she faints.

Assist me to convey her to her chamber.

A great noise.

Enter ANSELM and BERTRAND, Officers of Justice, CARLOS and DORICOURT.

Car. Perform your orders-Ministers of Justice, Seize on the murderer. Behold where blood,

Unjustly shed, cries out aloud for vengeance.

Dor. Fate, thou hast caught me. Slaves, stand off a

moment;

You have me in your toils. Yes, that way lies
Some glimmering of hope.-It must be tried.-
Now lead me to my dungeon, though it prove