GUIDO: Father, I think thou knowest my resolve,
And with this nobler vengeance are content.
Father, I think in letting this man live
That I am doing what you would have done.
Father, I know not if a human voice
Can pierce the iron gateway of the dead,
Or if the dead are set in ignorance
Of what we do, or do not, for their sakes.
And yet I feel a presence in the air,
There is a shadow standing at my side,
And ghostly kisses seem to touch my lips,
And leave them holier.

Kneels down.

O father, if ‘tis thou,
Canst thou not burst through the decrees of death,
And if corporeal semblance show thyself,
That I may touch thy hand!

No, there is nothing.

Rises.

’Tis the night that cheats us with its phantoms,
And, like a puppet-master, makes us think
That things are real which are not. It grows late.
Now must I do my business.

Pulls out a letter from his doublet and reads it.

When he wakes,
And sees this letter, and the dagger with it,
Will he not have some loathing for his life,
Repent, perchance, and lead a better life,
Or will he mock because a young man spared
His natural enemy? I do not care,
Father, it is your bidding that I do,
Your bidding, and the bidding of my love
Which teaches me to know you as you are.

Ascends staircase stealthily, and just as he reaches out his hand to draw back the curtain the DUCHESS appears all in white. GUIDO starts back.

DUCHESS: Guido! What do you here so late?

GUIDO: O white and spotless angel of my life,
Sure thou hast come from Heaven with a message
That mercy is more noble than revenge?

DUCHESS: Ay! I do pray for mercy earnestly.

GUIDO: O father, now I know I do your bidding,
For hand in hand with Mercy, like a God,
Has Love come forth to meet me on the way.

DUCHESS: I felt you would come back to me again,
Although you left me very cruelly:
Why did you leave me? Nay, that matters not,
For I can hold you now, and feel your heart
Beat against mine with little throbs of love:
Our hearts are two caged birds, trying to kiss
Across their cages’ bars: but the time goes,
It will be morning in an hour or so;
Let us get horses: I must post to Venice,
They will not think of looking for me there.

GUIDO: Love, I will follow you across the world.

DUCHESS: But are you sure you love me?

GUIDO: Is the lark
Sure that it loves the dawn that bids it sing?

DUCHESS: Could nothing ever change you?

GUIDO: Nothing ever:
The shipman’s needle is not set more sure
Than I am to the lodestone of your love.

DUCHESS: There is no barrier between us now.

GUIDO: None, love, nor shall be.

DUCHESS: I have seen to that.