_Enter_ ORLANDO, _his sword drawn and bloody, his hair dishevelled_.
_Or._ What have I done? a deed that earns damnation! Where shall I fly? ah! the pavilion door! 'Tis open--it invites me to fresh guilt; I'll not go in--let that fall'n angel wait, And curse her stars as I do. (_The midnight bell strikes._) Hark! the bell! Demons of darkness, what a peal is that! Again! 'twill wake the dead--I cannot bear it! 'Tis terrible as the last trumpet's sound! That was the marriage signal! Powers of hell, What blessings have I blasted! Rivers!--Julia! [JULIA _comes out_.
_Jul._ My Rivers calls; I come, I come.--Orlando!
_Or._ Yes, Thou beautiful deceiver! 'tis that wretch.
_Or._ Thou canst make ruin lovely, Or I would ask, why dost thou bring me here?
_Jul._ No, by my hopes of heaven! where is my Rivers? Some crime is meant.
_Or._ (_catches her hand._) Julia! the crime is done. Dost thou not shudder? art thou not amaz'd? Art thou not cold and blasted with my touch? Is not thy blood congeal'd? does no black horror Fill thy presaging soul? look at these hands; Julia! they're stain'd with blood; blood, Julia, blood! Nay, look upon them.
_Or._ Yes, thou dear false one, with the noblest blood That ever stain'd a dark assassin's hand. Had not thy letter, with the guilty message To meet thee here this hour, blinded my honour, And wrought my passion into burning frenzy, Whole worlds should not have bribed me.
_Jul._ Letter and message? I sent thee none.
_Or._ Then Bertrand has betray'd me! And I have done a deed beyond all reach, All hope of mercy--I have murder'd Rivers.
_Jul._ Oh! [_She falls into her maid's arms._
_Or._ O rich reward which Love prepares for Murder! Thus hell repays its instruments!
_Guild._ Where is he? Where is this midnight murderer? this assassin? This is the place Orlando's servant nam'd.
_Or._ The storm comes on. 'Tis Guildford, good old man! Behold the wretch accurst of heaven and thee.
_Guild._ Accurst of both, indeed. How, Julia fainting!
_Or._ She's pure as holy truth; she was deceiv'd, And so was I.
_Jul._ (_recovering._) Give me back my Rivers; I will not live without him.--Oh, my father!
_Guild._ Father! I am none; I am no more a father; I have no child; my son is basely murder'd, And my sweet daughter, at the fatal news, Is quite bereft of reason.