University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Palermo. A Nunnery. Enter Abbess, followed by a Lay-Sister.
ABBESS.
Is the poor creature roused?

LAY-SISTER.
Nay, she still sleeps.
'T would break your pious heart to see her, mother.
She begged our meanest cell, though 't is past doubt
She has been bred to delicate luxury.
I deemed her spent, had not the soft breast heaved
As gently as a babe's and even in dreams
Two crystal drops oozed from her swollen lids,
And trickled down her cheeks. Her grief sleeps not,
Although the fragile body craves its rest.

ABBESS.
Poor child! I fear she hath sore need of prayer.
Hath she yet spoken?

LAY-SISTER.
Only such scant words
Of thanks or answer as our proffered service
Or questionings demand. When we are silent,
Even if she wake, she seemeth unaware
Of any presence. She will sit and wail,
Rocking upon the ground, with dull, wide eyes,
Wherefrom the streaming tears unceasing course;
The only sound that then escapes her lips
Is, “Father, Father!” in such piteous strain
As though her rent heart bled to utter it.

ABBESS.
Still she abides then by her first request
To take the black veil and its vows to-morrow?

LAY-SISTER.
Yea, to that purpose desperately she clings.
This evening, if she rouse, she makes confession.
Even now a holy friar waits without,
Fra Bruno, of the order of Carthusians,
Beyond Palermo.

ABBESS.
I will speak with him,
Ere he confess her, since we know him not.
Follow me, child, and see if she have waked.

[Exeunt.