The Mother’s Tragedy

14 THE MOTHER'S TRAGEDY Sweetheart, my passion overwhelms your soul. Your virginal sweet spirit cannot reach My fury. You are silent. Yet you love! I read it in the terror of your eyes, The crimson of your burning face. I know, I know you love me! Cora, Cora, tell me! O she will die! I would not—I was rough— My overmastering desire to you— My queen, my wife, this maddens me. CORA, recovering. You fool! You beast! I hate you for your stupid self! I am defiled! Go! Touch me not! Speak not! I am accursed of the Lord my God. [Shrieks. ULRIC. Darling! my darling! How have I done this? CORA. Fool! It is madness! Yes, and punishment. O God, that all my love should come to this! You, you are mad! _ I speak of love, and you, You—you are acting! I was taken in! Let’s laugh about it! [Zrzes to laugh, sinks back. It was not well done. [ULRIC zs selent, and, puzzled, waits for her to £0 ON. Surely you knew that it was Madeline! ULRIC. What! I should wed that pretty Puritan ?