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 ?