GORDON. (throwing himself between him and them.)
No, monster!
First over my dead body thou shalt tread.
I will not live to see the accursed deed!
BUTLER. (forcing him out of the way.)
Weak-hearted dotard!
(trumpets are heard in the distance.)
DEVEREUX and MACDONALD.
Hark! The Swedish trumpets!
The Swedes before the ramparts! Let us hasten!
GORDON. (rushes out.)
O God of mercy!
BUTLER. (calling after him.)
Governor, to your post!
GROOM OF THE CHAMBER. (hurries in.)
Who dares make larum here? Hush! The Duke sleeps.
DEVEREUX. (with loud harsh voice.)
Friend, it is time now to make larum.
GROOM OF THE CHAMBER.
Help!
Murder!
BUTLER.
Down with him!
GROOM OF THE CHAMBER, (run through the body by Devereux, falls at the entrance of the gallery.)
Jesus Maria!
BUTLER.
Burst the doors open!
(they rush over the body into the gallery—two doors are heard to crash one after the other—Voices deadened by the distance—Clash of arms—then all at once a profound silence.)