Isn't it strange?
Since I met you I love him better! That's because I love all that's good and noble better now--Beautiful! I love--I love you!" "My Richard!" "What do you think I've determined, Lucy?
If my father--but no! my father does love me .-- No! he will not; and we will be happy together here.

And I will win my way with you.

And whatever I win will be yours; for it will be owing to you.

I feel as if I had no strength but yours--none! and you make me--O Lucy!" His voice ebbs.

Presently Lucy murmurs-- "Your father, Richard." "Yes, my father ?" "Dearest Richard! I feel so afraid of him." "He loves me, and will love you, Lucy." "But I am so poor and humble, Richard." "No one I have ever seen is like you, Lucy." "You think so, because you"-- "What ?" "Love me," comes the blushing whisper, and the duet gives place to dumb variations, performed equally in concert.
It is resumed.
"You are fond of the knights, Lucy.