[_His words have struck her down--and overwhelm him._
_Isotta_ (_at length, from the couch, gathering strength_). No, I have come for saving, Giorgione. Now I can speak--but there is little time, (_Strangely_) For Night is coming.
_Giorgione_ (_startled to questioning_). Isotta?
_Isotta._ The still Night, With Death's dark Gondola to waft me o'er.
Nay, stay, stay! leave me not. There is no help. For it must be.... A voice Beyond has said it. And ere I drift out on the darkening ebb----
_Giorgione._ Speak--yet it cannot be--my heart is dead.
_Isotta._ Then it shall rise again.--O Giorgione, My lover once and lord, could you believe, Even tho I went away from you and with Another, that unchastity could touch This body which had been holy to you?
_Isotta._ It is true that I deceived you,
True that I went away from you and wed Another----
Do you not know? you who so oft have told On saintly walls the Magdalen's sad tears? Sin, sin had seized me! Sin with you to whom I gave my body and soul unboundedly. We revelled in unwedded ecstasy, Laughed in our love over the starred lagoons. Sang till the lute was like a thing that lived, Danced happy as the fauns and nereids That oft you told me of-- And clasped and kissed, O kissed--until I knew that but one way Was left to save my soul, Giorgione, one-- To wed me with the vows and veil to Christ.
_Isotta._ I am His! I fled to Him! The Convent opened its grey arms to take me, Santa Cecilia of the Healing Heart, And Luzzi kindly led me to its door-- That you might so be foiled of following. And with long vigils, fasts and penances And prayers I sought oblivion of your face. Until this illness strangely fell upon me. I could not die until you, shriven too....
_Isotta_ (_her heart eased_). Peace, at last.
_Giorgione_ (_rising_). Ah yes! and I am viler than the vilest! For who remembers not that purity Is priceless, ends impoverished of honour. And yet ... there is no wrong irreparable! And you must live tho all the angels die-- Live and be loosed from vows too vainly breathed, That wedded we may win again delight! Still I am Giorgione, and the sin That we have sinned shall be painted away With holy pictures ...
_Isotta._ Only the dead are holy, Or they who die, tho living, to the world.