_Felix._ We seek Don Perez, who this way did bend His steps some hours ago; and not returning At th' appointed time, we fear some mischief Hath befallen him.
_Gasp._ Behold then here the body of some gallant, Whose face I know not. As I pass'd this way I heard the clash of high and fierce contention, And when I came, this most unhappy man Lay breathing here his last. I shrived him, And he since has died.
_Felix._ It is Don Perez. Holy father, saw you The other party in the contest?
_Gasp._ Save that a manly figure flitted by, And vanish'd in the shadow of yon trees.
_Felix._ Raise up the corpse, and bear it to my house. This bloody work, Don Gaspar, must be thine! Perez, thou hear'st me not! but, by this sword, I will revenge thy death! [_Exit Don Felix and servants carrying body._
_Gasp._ Thus far have I escaped suspicion-- Now will I to the monastery.
[_Casement opens, and Donna Serafina appears at window._]
_Gasp._ A father of the neighbouring monastery, Attracted hither by the clash of swords, And but in time to shrive a dying man.
_Ser._ Good father, didst thou hear the names of those Who were engaged?
_Gasp._ Not of the murderer, who has escaped. The one whose body has been borne away, Was call'd----Don Gaspar.
_Ser._ Don Gaspar! Father, surely thou mistak'st? It was the other cavalier who fell.
_Gasp._ The words of dying men are those of truth; He call'd himself Don Gaspar, and he begg'd I would take off his scarf, and, with his love, Bear it to Donna Serafina.
_Ser._ Then it is true--and I am lost for ever! Father, recall those words, those dreadful words! Say 'twas not Don Gaspar, and I'll load Thy monastery with the wealth of India. Its shrines shall blaze with gold and precious gems, And holy relics shall be purchased thee, To draw all faithful Christians to thy gates!
_Gasp._ I cannot change the name, and, if I could, 'Twere no less a murder. Lady, good-night.
_Ser._ Good father, stop--thou hast a scarf For Donna Serafina. I am she-- Where is it? give it me.
_Gasp._ Are you that woe-struck lady, Serafina? Alas! indeed you have much cause to grieve. He loved you well.
_Gasp._ I cannot, lady; 'tis not fit to offer, For it is tinged with blood.
_Ser._ Give me the scarf! I'll kiss away the blood, Or wash it off with tears!