fool? And when I tell thee that I have discovered that often by night she has stolen out of the house, that she has run as if distracted thither into the dark forest, that like a ghost she has wandered about the tower where Radúz lay in the dungeon—
Stojimír.—Why then didst thou not guard her better? However, that is past; Radúz is no longer in the tower.
Runa.—He has been cared for. My love has spread him a bed hard enough indeed. That crag is as sure as my own will; it will not yield: and the iron which holds him is strong as fate. Not in vain am I reputed a sorceress throughout the land. By secret arts his chain is welded.
Stojmír.—What more then dost thou desire? Radúz is in the wilderness, Mahulena knows not where to seek him; and if she found the path to him, yet her frail hand could never remove the fetters from him.
Runa.—No one will remove them. The key that opens them lies in the bosom of the earth—that will never give it up! Yet the mere thought that Mahulena loves Radúz, that she should wish to save him, to preserve him—! (She draws a dagger.) Here, behold this knife! I have fed her with my own milk and yet longingly my hand trembles and aims, aims—whither? Thou hast guessed.
Stojmír.—Thy spectre-like gaze is eloquent enough! Threatening breathes from thee!
Runa.—How weak you are, you men! Hatred and love are alike unknown to you! Dost thou wish to preserve thy child Then kill Radúz and Mahulena will be in security from me.
Stojmír.—No, I shall not stain myself with his blood! How insatiable is thy hatred! I have granted thee enough; not another step will I go! Why so ardently dost thou seek his life?
Runa.—Because I have found the hidden waters of thy mercy for him; because I know whence it springs! I noticed thy pensive gaze when once imprudently thou saidst how like Radúz was to his mother . . . Ha, now dost thou wince? Thou wouldst be glad some day to return that son to Nyola! To that woman thou wouldst wish consolation, to that woman on whose account I have suffered so long and bitterly! During my whole youth! Cool wast thou with me, but by night, when I could not sleep for grief, then in thy dreams thou wouldst ardently whisper her name! . . . And I loved thee then! . . . Curses! . .
Stojmír.—What ails thee, wife? Thou hast never before spoken thus . . . Dismiss the past and its deep shadows;
