[Exit.

Piz. What says the slave?

Elv. A parting word to thank you for your mercy.

Piz. Our guards and guides approach.—[Soldiers march through the tents.] Follow me, friends—each shall have his post assigned, and ere Peruvia’s god shall sink beneath the main, the Spanish banner, bathed in blood, shall float above the walls of vanquished Quito.

[Exeunt all but Elvira and Valverde.

Val. Is it now presumption that my hopes gain strength with the increasing horrors which I see appal Elvira’s soul?

Elv. I am mad with terror and remorse! Would I could fly these dreadful scenes!

Val. Might not Valverde’s true attachment be thy refuge?

Elv. What wouldst thou do to save or to avenge me?

Val. I dare do all thy injuries may demand—a word—and he lies bleeding at your feet.

Elv. Perhaps we will speak again of this. Now leave me.—[Exit Valverde.] No! not this revenge—no! not this instrument. Fie, Elvira! even for a moment to counsel with this unworthy traitor! Can a wretch, false to a confiding master, be true to any pledge of love or honour?—Pizarro will abandon me—yes; me—who, for his sake, have sacrificed—oh, God! what have I not sacrificed for him! Yet, curbing the avenging pride that swells this bosom, I still will further try him. Oh, men! ye who, wearied by the fond fidelity of virtuous love, seek in the wanton’s flattery a new delight, oh, ye may insult and leave the hearts to which your faith was pledged, and, stifling self-reproach, may fear no other peril; because such hearts, howe’er you injure and desert them, have yet the proud retreat of an unspotted fame—of unreproaching conscience. But beware the desperate libertine who forsakes the creature whom his arts have first deprived of all natural protection—of all self-consolation! What has he left her? Despair and vengeance!

[Exit.