hours thy Henry shall return, and twine his laurels into a garland for thy hair. He fights for thee, and he must conquer. Ger. Alas! must blood be spilled for a silly maiden? Rud. Surely: for what should knights break lances but for honour and ladies' love-ha, minstrel? Ber. So please you-also to punish crimes. Rud. Out upon it! wouldst have us executioners, minstrel? Such work would disgrace our blades. We leave malefactors to the Secret Tribunal. to me, and I will build thee an abbey which shall put to shame the fairest fane in Christendom. Lud. Nay, nay, daughter, your conscience is over tender. Supposing that, under dread of the stern Arnolf, you swore never to marry your present husband, still the exacting such an oath was unlawful, and the breach of it venial. Isa. (Resuming her composure.) Be it so, good father: I yield to thy better reasons. And now tell me, has thy pious care achieved the task I intrusted to thee? Isa. Merciful God! Thou hast spoken a word, Lud. Of superintending the erection of thy new Rudiger, of dreadful import. hospital for pilgrims? I have, noble lady and last Ger. They say that, unknown and invisible them-night the minstrel now in the castle lodged there. selves, these awful judges are ever present with the Isa. Wherefore came he then to the castle? guilty; that the past and the present misdeeds, the Lud. Reynold brought the commands of the secrets of the confessional, nay, the very thoughts baron. of the heart, are before them: that their doom is as sure as that of fate, the means and executioners unknown. Rud. They say true-the secrets of that association, and the names of those who compose it, are as inscrutable as the grave: we only know that it has taken deep root, and spread its branches wide. I sit down each day in my hall, nor know I how many of these secret judges may surround me, all bound by the most solemn vow to avenge guilt. Once, and but once, a knight, at the earnest request and inquiries of the emperor, hinted that he belonged to the society; the next morning he was found slain in a forest: the poniard was left in the wound, and bore this label--" Thus do the invisible judges punish treachery." Ger. Gracious! aunt, you grow pale. Rud. And what of it all? We know our hearts are open to our Creator: shall we fear any earthly inspection? Come to the battlements; there we shall soonest descry the return of our warriors. Isa. Whence comes he, and what is his tale? When he sung before Rudiger, I thought that long before I had heard such tones-seen such a face. Lud. It is possible you may have seen him, lady, for he boasts to have been known to Arnolf of Ebersdorf, and to have lived formerly in this castle. He inquires much after Martin, Arnolf's squire. Isa. Go, Ludovic-go quick, good father, seek him out, give him this purse, and bid him leave the castle, and speed him on his way. Lud. May I ask why, noble lady? Isa. Thou art inquisitive, priest: I honour the servants of God, but I foster not the prying spirit of a monk. Begone! Lud. But the baron, lady, will expect a reason why I dismiss his guest? Isa. True, true, (recollecting herself ;) pardon my warmth, good father, I was thinking of the cuckoo that grows too big for the nest of the sparrow, and strangles its foster-mother. Do no such birds roost in convent walls? Lud. Lady, I understand you not. Isa. Well then, say to the baron, that I have dismissed long ago all the attendants of the man of whom thou hast spoken, and that I wish to have none of them beneath my roof. [Exit RUDIGER, with GERTRUDE and PETER. Isa. Minstrel, send the chaplain hither. (Exit BERTRAM.) Gracious Heaven the guileless innocence of my niece, the manly honesty of my upright-hearted Rudiger, become daily tortures to me. Lud. (inquisitively.) Except Martin ? While he was engaged in active and stormy exploits, Isa. (sharply.) Except Martin! who saved the life fear for his safety, joy when he returned to his cas-of my son George? Do as I command thee. [Exit. tle, enabled me to disguise my inward anguish from others. But from myself-Judges of blood, that lie concealed in noontide as in midnight, who boast to avenge the hidden guilt, and to penetrate the recesses of the human breast, how blind is your penetration, how vain your dagger and your cord, compared to the conscience of the sinner! Enter FATHER LUDOVIC. Lud. Peace be with you, lady! Isa. It is not with me: it is thy office to bring it. Lud. And the cause is the absence of the young knights? Isa. Their absence and their danger. Lud. Daughter, thy hand has been stretched out in bounty to the sick and to the needy. Thou hast not denied a shelter to the weary, nor a tear to the afflicted. Trust in their prayers, and in those of the holy convent thou hast founded; peradventure they will bring back thy children to thy bosom. Isa. Thy brethren cannot pray for me or mine. Their vow binds them to pray night and day for another-to supplicate, without ceasing, the Eternal Mercy for the soul of one who-Oh, only Heaven knows how much he needs their prayer! Lud. Unbounded is the mercy of Heaven. The soul of thy former husband Isa. I charge thee, priest, mention not the word. (Apart.) Wretch that I am, the meanest menial in my train has power to goad me to madness! Lud. Hearken to me, daughter; thy crime against Arnolf of Ebersdorf cannot bear in the eye of Heaven so deep a dye of guilt. Isa. Repeat that once more; say once again that it cannot-cannot bear so deep a dye. Prove to me that ages of the bitterest penance, that tears of the dearest blood, can erase such guilt. Prove but that Manet LUDOVIC. Lud. Ever the same-stern and peremptory to others, as rigorous to herself; haughty even to me, to whom, in another mood, she has knelt for absolution, and whose knees she has bathed in tears. I cannot fathom her. The unnatural zeal with which she performs her dreadful penances cannot be religion, for shrewdly I guess she believes not in their blessed efficacy. Well for her that she is the foundress of our convent, otherwise we might not have erred in denouncing her as a heretic! [Exit. ACT II. SCENE I. A woodland prospect.-Through a long avenue, half grown up by brambles, are discerned in the back-ground the ruins of the ancient castle of Griefenhaus.-The distant noise of battle is heard during this scene. Enter GEORGE OF ASPEN, armed with a battle-axe in his hand, as from horseback. He supports MARTIN, and brings him forward. Geo. Lay thee down here, old friend. The enemy's horsemen will hardly take their way among these brambles, through which I have dragged thee. Mar. Oh, do not leave me! leave me not an instant! My moments are now but few, and I would profit by them. Geo. Martin, you forget yourself and me--I must back to the field. Mar. (attempts to rise.) Then drag me back thither also; I cannot die but in your presence-I dare not be alone. Stay, to give peace to my parting soul. Geo. I am no priest, Martin. (Going.) Geo. I hear thee, my poor friend. (Returning.) Mar. But come close-very close. See'st thou, sir knight--this wound I bore for thee-and thisand this-dost thou not remember? Geo. I do. Mar. I have served thee since thou wast a child; served thee faithfully-was never from thy side. Geo. Thou hast." Mar. And now I die in thy service. Geo. Thou mayst recover. Mar. I cannot. By my long service by my scars-by this mortal gash, and by the death that I am to die-oh do not hate me for what I am now to unfold! Geo. Be assured I can never hate thee. Mar. Ah! thou little knowest-Swear to me thou wilt speak a word of comfort to my parting soul. haste. Enter CONRAD. ron George has turned the day; he fights more like Con. Away, Wickerd! to horse, and pursue! Baa fiend than a man: he has unhorsed Roderic and slain six of his troopers-they are in headlong flight -the hemlock marsh is red with their gore! (MABTIN gives a deep groan, and faints.) Away! Away! (They hurry off, as to the pursuit.) Enter RODERIC OF MALTINGEN, without his helmet, his arms disordered and broken, holding the trun cheon of a spear in his hand; with him, BARON WOLFSTEIN. Rod. A curse on fortune, and a double curse up on George of Aspen! Never, never, will I forgive before a whirlwind! hin ny disgrace-overthrown like a rotten trunk Wolf. Be comforted, Count Roderic; it is well we have escaped being prisoners. See how the lows of the Rhine! It is good we are shrouded by troopers of Aspen pour along the plain, like the bilthe thicket. Geo. (takes his hand.) I swear I will. (Alarm and shouting.) But be brief-thou knowest my Rod. Why took he not my life, when he robbed me of my honour and of my love? Why did his Mar. Hear me, then. I was the squire, the be-spear not pierce my heart, when mine shivered on loved and favourite attendant, of Arnolf of Ebers- broken spear.) Bear witness, Heaven and earth, I his arms like a frail bulrush? (Throws down the dorf. Arnolf was savage as the mountain bear. He outlive this disgrace only to avenge! loved the Lady Isabel, but she requited not his passion. She loved thy father; but her sire, old Arn- not gained a bloodless victory. And see, there lies Wolf. Be comforted; the knights of Aspen have heim, was the friend of Arnolf, and she was forced to marry him. By midnight, in the chapel at Ebersone of George's followers-(seeing MARTIN.) dorf, the ill-omened rites were perforined; her re-will secure him: he is the depository of the secrets Rod. His squire Martin; if he be not dead, we sistance, her screams, were in vain. These arms of his master. Arouse thee, trusty follower of the detained her at the altar till the nuptial benediction house of Aspen! was pronounced. Canst thou forgive me? Geo. I do forgive thee. Thy obedience to thy savage master has been obliterated by a long train of services to his widow. Mar. Services! ay, bloody services for they commenced-do not quit my hand-they commenced with the murder of my master! (GEORGE quits his hand, and stands aghast in speechless horror.) Trample on me! pursue me with your dagger! I aided your mother to poison her first husband! I thank Heaven, it is said. Geo. My mother? Sacred Heaven! Martin, thou ravest-the fever of thy wound has distracted thee. Mar. No! I am not mad! Would to God I were! Try me! Yonder is the Wolfshill-yonder the old castle of Griefenhaus-and yonder is the hemlock marsh (in a whisper) where I gathered the deadly plant that drugged Arnolf's cup of death. (GEORGE traverses the stage in the utmost agitation, and sometimes stands over MARTIN with his hands clasped together.) Oh, had you seen him when the potion took effect! Had you heard his ravings, and seen the contortions of his ghastly visage!-He died furious and impenitent, as he lived; and wentwhere I am shortly to go. You do not speak? Geo. (with exertion.) Miserable wretch! how can I? Mar. (looks wildly at him.) In the chapel at Ebersdorf, or buried in the hemlock marsh. Wic. The old grumbler is crazy with his wounds. Martin, if thou hast a spark of reason in thee, give me thy sword. The day goes sore against us. Baron George! my eyes are darkened with agony! Wolf. The old man takes you for his master. which I was urged to the murder of Ebersdorf! Rod. Hadst thou accomplices? love to Rudiger, and when she heard that thy father hast repaid me all! Love and vengeance are my Rod. (breaks into a transport.) Fortune! thou own!-Wolfstein, recall our followers! quick, sound thy bugle-(WOLFSTEIN Sounds.) Mar. (stares wildly round.) That was no note what have I said! of Aspen-Count Roderic of Maltingen-Heaven! Rod. What thou canst not recall. Mar. Then is my fate decreed! 'Tis as it should be! in this very place was the poison gather'd-'tis retribution! Enter three or four soldiers of RODERIC. Rod. Secure this wounded trooper; bind his wounds, and guard him well: carry him to the ruins of Griefenhaus, and conceal him till the troopers of Aspen have retired from the pursuit ;--look to him, as you love your lives. Mar. (led off by soldiers.) Ministers of vengeance! my hour is come! [Exeunt. Rod. Hope, joy, and triumph, once again are ye mine! Welcome to my heart, long-absent visitants! One lucky chance has thrown dominion into the scale of the house of Maltingen, and Aspen kicks the beam. Mar. There it lies. Bury it in the heart of thy Wolf. I foresee, indeed, dishonour to the family master George; thou wilt do him a good office-of Aspen, should this wounded squire make good he office of a faithful servant. his tale. Rod. And how thinkest thou this disgrace will fall on them? Wolf. Surely, by the public punishment of Lady Isabella. Rod. And is that all? Wolf. What more? Rod. Shortsighted that thou art, is not George of Aspen, as well as thou, a member of the holy and invisible circle, over which I preside? Wolf. Speak lower, for God's sake! these are things not to be mentioned before the sun. Rod. True: but stands he not bound by the most solemn oath religion can devise, to discover to the tribunal whatever concealed iniquity shall come to his knowledge, be the perpetrator whom he may-ay, were that perpetrator his own father-or mother; and can you doubt that he has heard Martin's confession? Wolf. True: but, blessed Virgin! do you think he will accuse his own mother before the invisible judges? Rod. If not, he becomes forsworn, and, by our law, must die. Either way my vengeance is complete-perjured or parricide, I care not: but, as the one or the other shall I crush the haughty George of Aspen. Wolf. Thy vengeance strikes deep. Rod. Deep as the wounds I have borne from this proud family. Rudiger slew my father in battleGeorge has twice batlled and dishonoured my arms, and Henry has stolen the heart of my beloved: but no longer can Gertrude now remain under the care of the murderous dam of this brood of wolves; far less can she wed the smooth-cheeked boy, when this scene of villany shall be disclosed. Bugle. Wolf. Hark! they sound a retreat: let us go deeper into the wood. Rod. The victors approach! I shall dash their triumph-Issue the private summons for convoking the members this very evening; I will direct the other measures. Enter GEORGE OF ASPEN, as from the pursuit. Geo. (comes slowly forward.) How many wretches have sunk under my arm this day, to whom life was sweet, though the wretched bondsmen of Count Roderic! And I-I who sought death beneath every lifted battle-axe, and offered my breast to every arrow -I am cursed with victory and safety. Here I left the wretch-Martin!-Martin !-what, ho! Martin! Mother of God! he is gone! Should he repeat the dreadful tale to any other-Martin!-He answers not. Perhaps he has crept into the thicket, and died there--were it so, the horrible secret is only mine. Enter HENRY OF ASPEN, with WICKERD, REYNOLD, and followers. Hen. Joy to thee, brother! though, by St. Francis, I would not gain another field at the price of seeing thee fight with such reckless desperation. Thy safety is little less than miraculous. Rey. By'r Lady, when Baron George struck, I think he must have forgot that his foes were God's creatures. Such furious doings I never saw, and I have been a trooper these for wo years come St. BarnabyMartin? Geo. Peace! Saw any of y Wic. Alive, noble sir, but sorely wounded. I think he must be prisoner, for he could not have budged else from hence. Geo. Heedless slave! Why didst thou leave him? Hen. Dear brother, Wickerd acted for the best: he came to our assistance and the aid of his companions. Geo. I tell thee, Henry, Martin's safety was of more importance than the lives of any ten that stand bere. Wic. Mere ravings, sir knight-offered me his sword to kill you. Geo. Said he aught of killing any one else? Wic. No: the pain of his wound seemed to have brought on a fever. Geo. (clasps his hands together.) I breathe again I spy comfort. Why could I not see as well as this fellow, that the wounded wretch may have been distracted? Let me at least think so till proof shall show the truth (aside.) Wickerd, think, not on what I said--the heat of the battle had chafed my blood. Thou hast wished for the Nether farm at Ebersdorf-it shall be thine. Wic. Thanks, my noble lord. Re-enter HENRY. Hen. No-they do not rally-they have had enough of it but Wickerd and Conrad shall remain, and scour the woods towards Griefenhaus, to prewith twenty troopers and a score of crossbowmen, We will, vent the fugitives from making head. with the rest, to Ebersdorf. What say you, brother? everywhere for Martin: bring him to me dead or Geo. Well ordered. Wickerd, look thou search alive; leave not a nook of the wood unsought. Wie I warrant you, noble sir, I shall find him, could he clew himself up like a dormouse. Hen. I think he must be prisoner. Geo. Heaven forefend! Take a trumpet, Eustace (to an attendant ;) ride to the castle of Maltingen, and demand a parley. If Martin is prisoner, offer any ransom: offer ten-twenty-all our prisoners in exchange. Eus. It shall be done, sir knight. Hen. Ere we go, sound trumpets-strike up the song of victory. SONG. Joy to the victors! the sons of old Aspen! Bursting, resistless, through foemen they go: Broken ranks yielding,, Till from the battle proud Roderic retiring, Yields in wild rout the fair palin to his foe. Joy to each warrior, true follower of Aspen! Joy to the heroes that gain'd the bold day! Health to our wounded, in agony gasping; Peace to our brethren that fell in the fray! Boldly this morning Roderic's power scorning, Well for their chieftain their blades did they wield: As Maltingen flying, Low laid his banners, our conquest adorning, Their death-clouded eyeballs descried on the field! Now to our home, the proud mansion of Aspen, Bend we, gay victors, triumphant away; There each fond damsel, her gallant youth clasping, Shall wipe from his forehead the stains of the fray. Listening the prancing Of horses advancing; E'en now on the turrets our maidens appear. Love our hearts warming, Songs the night charming, Round goes the grape in the goblet gay dancing; Hen. Now spread our banners, and to Ebersdorf in triumph. We carry relief to the anxious, joy to the heart of the aged, brother George. (Going off) Geo. Or treble misery and death. [Apart, and following slowly. The music sounds, and the followers of Aspen begin to file across the stage. The curtain falls. ACT III. SCENE I. Castle of Ebersdorf. RUDIGER, ISABELLA, and GERTRUDE. Rud. I prithee, dear wife, be merry. It must be over by this time, and happily, otherwise the bad news had reached us. Isa. Should we not, then, have heard the tidings of the good? Rud. Oh! these fly slower by half. Besides, I warrant all of them engaged in the pursuit. Oh! not a page would leave the skirts of the fugitives till they were fairly beaten into their holds; but had the boys lost the day, the stragglers had made for the castle. Go to the window, Gertrude: seest thou any thing? Ger. I think I see a horseman. Isa. A single rider? then I fear me much. Rud. A plague on thee! didst thou take a fat friar Ger. It is only the wine sledges going to my aunt's convent. Rud. The devil confound the wine sledges, and the mules, and the monks! Come from the window, and torment me no longer, thou seer of strange sights. Ger. Dear uncle, what can I do to amuse you? Shall I tell you what I dreamed this morning? Rud. Nonsense: but say on; any thing is better than silence. Ger. I thought I was in the chapel, and they were burying my aunt Isabella alive. And who, do you think, aunt, were the gravediggers who shovelled in the earth upon you? Even Baron George and old Martin. Isa. (appears shocked.) Heaven! what an idea! Ger. Do but think of my terror-and Minhold the minstrel played all the while to drown your screams. Rud. And old Father Ludovic danced a saraband, with the steeple of the new convent upon his thick skull by way of mitre. A truce to this nonsense. Give us a song, my love, and leave thy dreams and visions. Ger. What shall I sing to you? Ger. I cannot sing of battle: but I will sing you the Lament of Eleanor of Toro, when her lover was slain in the wars. Isa. Oh, no laments, Gertrude. Isa. Dear husband, is this a time for mirth? Rud. Is it neither a time to sing of mirth nor of sorrow? Isabella would rather hear Father Ludovic chant the "De profundis." Ger. Dear uncle, be not angry. At present, I can only sing the lay of poor Eleanor. It comes to my heart at this moment as if the sorrowful mourner had been my own sister. SONG.* Sweet shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, Weak were the whispers that waved the dark wood, As a fair maiden, bewilder'd in sorrow, Sigh'd to the breezes and wept to the flood. "Saints, from the mansion of bliss lowly bending, Grant my petition, in anguish ascending, Distant and faint were the sounds of the battle; With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fail, Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dread rattle, And the chase's wild clamour came loading the gale. Breathless she gazed through the woodland so dreary, Slowly approaching, a warrior was seen; Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary, Cleft was his helmet, and wo was his mien. [Compare with "The Maid of Toro," ante, p. 368.] "Save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flyfug; [The voice of GERTRUDE sinks by degrees, till Rud. How now, Gertrude? Ger. Alas! may not the fate of poor Eleanor at this moment be mine? Rud. Never, my girl, never-(Military music is heard)-Hark! hark! to the sounds that tell thee so. [All rise and run to the window. Rud. Joy! joy! they come, and come victorious. (The chorus of the war-song is heard without.) Welcome! welcome! once more have my old eyes seen the banners of the house of Maltingen trampled in the dust.-Isabella, broach our oldest casks: wine is sweet after war. Enter HENRY, followed by REYNOLD and troopers. Rud. Joy to thee, my boy: let me press thee to this old heart. Isa. Bless thee, my son-(embraces him)—Oh, how many hours of bitterness are compensated by this embrace! Bless thee, my Henry! where hast thou left thy brother? Hen. Hard at hand: by this he is crossing the drawbridge. Hast thou no greetings for me, Gertrude? (Goes to her.) Ger. I joy not in battles. Rud. But she had tears for thy danger. Hen. Thanks, my gentle Gertrude. See, I have brought back thy scarf from no inglorious field. Ger. It is bloody !-(shocked.) Rud. Dost start at that, my girl? Were it his own blood as it is that of his foes, thou shouldst glory in it.-Go, Reynold, make good cheer with thy fellows. [Exit REYNOLD and soldiers. Enter GEORGE pensively. Geo. (goes straight to RUDIGER.) Father, thy blessing. Rud. Thou hast it, boy. Isa. (rushes to embrace him-he avoids her.) Rud. Thou lookest deadly pale. Isa. Heaven's blessing on my gallant George. Geo. (aside.) Dares she bestow a blessing ?-Oh, Martin's tale was frenzy! thy brow on this day of gladness-few are our moments of joy-should not my sons share in them? Isa. Smile upon us for once, my son; darken not Geo. (aside.) She has moments of joy-it was frenzy then. Isa. Gertrude, my love, assist me to disarm the knight-(She loosens and takes off his casque.) Ger. There is one, two, three hacks, and none has pierced the steel. Rud. Let me see. Let me see. A trusty casque! Ger. Else hadst thou gone. Isa. I will reward the armourer with its weight in gold. Geo. (aside.) She must be innocent. show it to you, uncle.-(She carries HENRY'S to Ger. And Henry's shield is hacked, too. Let me RUDIGER.) Rud. Do, my love-and come hither, Henry, thou shalt tell me how the day went. [HENRY and GERTRUDE converse apart with RUDIGER. GEORCE comes forward. ISABELLA comes to him. Isa. Surely, George, some evil has befallen thee. Geo. No! Yes!-(Apart.) I cannot do it. Geo. It must be.-Martin is dead. (He regards her with apprehension, but steadily as he pronounces these words.) Isa. (starts, then shows a ghastly expression of i joy.) Dead! Geo. (almost overcome by his feelings.) Guilty! Guilty!-(apart.) Isa. (without observing his emotion.) Didst thou say dead? Geo. Did I-no-I only said mortally wounded. Isa. Wounded? only wounded? Where is he? Let me fly to him.-(Going.) Geo. (sternly.) Hold, lady!-Speak not so loud! -Thou canst not see him!-He is a prisoner. Isa. A prisoner, and wounded? Fly to his deliverance-Offer wealth, lands, castles, all our possessions, for his ransom. Never shall I know peace till these walls, or till the grave, secures him. Geo. (apart.) Guilty! Guilty! Enter PETER. Peter. Hugo, squire to the Count of Maltingen, has arrived with a message. Rud. I will receive him in the hall. [Exit, leaning on GERTRUDE and HENRY. Isa. Go, George,-see after Martin. Geo. (firmly.) No-I have a task to perform; and though the earth should open and devour me alive -I will accomplish it. But first-but first-Nature, take thy tribute.—(He falls on his mother's neck, and weeps bitterly.) Isa. George! my son! for Heaven's sake what dreadful frenzy! Geo. (walks two turns across the stage and composes himself.) Listen, mother-I knew a knight in Hungary, gallant in battle, hospitable and generous in peace. The king gave him his friendship, and the administration of a province; that province was infested by thieves and murderers. You mark me? Isa. Most heedfully. Geo. The knight was sworn-bound by an oath the most dreadful that can be taken by man-to deal among offenders, evenhanded, stern, and impartial justice. Was it not a dreadful vow? Isa. (with an affectation of composure.) Solemn, doubtless, as the oath of every magistrate. Geo. And inviolable? Isa. Surely-inviolable. Geo. Well! it happened, that when he rode out against the banditti, he made a prisoner. And who, think you that prisoner was? Isa. I know not (with increasing terror.) Geo. (trembling, but proceeding rapidly.)His own twin brother, who sucked the same breasts with him, and lay in the bosom of the same mother; his brother whom he loved as his own soul-what should that knight have done unto his brother? Isa. (almost speechless.) Alas! what did he do? Geo. He did (turning his head from her, and with clasped hands) what I can never do :-he did his duty. Isa. My son! my son !-Mercy! Mercy! (clings to him.) Geo. It is then true? Isa. What? Geo. What Martin said? (ISABELLA hides her face.) It is true. Isa. (looks up with an air of dignity.) Hear, Framer of the laws of nature! the mother is judged by the child-(Turns towards him.) Yes, it is true -true that, fearful of my own life, I secured it by the murder of my tyrant. Mistaken coward! I little knew on what terrors I ran, to avoid one moment's agony.--Thou hast the secret! Geo. Knowest thou to whom thou hast told it? Isa. To my son. Geo. No! no! to an executioner. Isa. Be it so,-go, proclaim my crime, and forget not my punishment. Forget not that the murderess of her husband has dragged out years of hidden remorse, to be brought at last to the scaffold by her own cherished son-thou art silent. Geo. The language of Nature is no more! How shall I learn another? Isa. Look upon me, George. Should the executioner be abashed before the criminal-look upon me, my son. From my soul do I forgive thee. Geo. Forgive me what? Isa. What thou dost meditate-be vengeance heavy, but let it be secret-add not the death of a father to that of the sinner! Oh! Rudiger! Rudiger! innocent cause of all my guilt and all my wo, how wilt thou tear thy silver locks when thou shalt hear her guilt whom thou hast so often clasped to thy bosom-hear her infamy proclaimed by the son of thy fondest hopes.-(weeps.) Geo. (struggling for breath.) Nature will have utterance: mother, dearest mother, I will save you or perish! (throws himself into her arms.) Thus fall my vows. Isa. Man thyself! I ask not safety from thee. Never shall it be said, that Isabella of Aspen turned her son from the path of duty, though his footsteps must pass over her mangled corpse. Man thyself. Geo. No! No! The ties of nature were knit by God himself. Cursed be the stoic pride that would rend them asunder, and call it virtue! Isa. My son! My son !-How shall I behold thee hereafter? [Three knocks are heard upon the door of the apartment. Geo. Hark! One-two-three. Roderic, thou art speedy! (Apart.) Isa. (opens the door.) A parchment stuck to the door with a poniard! (Opens it.) Heaven and earth! -a summons from the invisible judges!-(Drops the parchment.) Geo. reads with emotion.) "Isabella of Aspen, accused of murder by poison, we conjure thee by the cord and by the steel, to appear this night before the avengers of blood, who judge in secret and avenge in secret, like the Deity. As thou art innocent or guilty, so be thy deliverance."-Martin, Martin, thou hast played false! Isa. Alas! whither shall I fly? Geo. Thou canst not fly; instant death would follow the attempt; a hundred thousand arms would be raised against thy life; every morsel thou didst taste, every drop which thou didst drink, the very breeze of heaven that fanned thee, would come loaded with destruction. One chance of safety is open obey the summons. Isa. And perish.-Yet why should I still fear death? Be it so. Geo. No-I have sworn to save you. I will not do the work by halves. Does any one save Martin know of the dreadful deed? Isa. None. Geo. Then go-assert your innocence, and leave the rest to me. Isa. Wretch that I am! How can I support the task you would impose? Geo. Think on my father. Live for him: he will need all the comfort thou canst bestow. Let the thought that his destruction is involved in thine, carry thee through the dreadful trial. Isa. Be it so.-For Rudiger I have lived: for him I will continue to bear the burden of existence: but the instant that my guilt comes to his knowledge shall be the last of my life. Ere I would bear from him one glance of hatred or of scorn, this dagger should drink my blood. (Puts the poniard into her bosom.). Geo. Fear not. He can never know. No evidence shall appear against you. Isa. How shall I obey the summons, and where find the terrible judgment seat? Geo. Leave that to the judges. Resolve but to obey, and a conductor will be found. Go to the chapel; there pray for your sins and for mine. (He leads her out, and returns.)-Sins, indeed! I break a dreadful vow, but I save the life of a parent; and the penance I will do for my perjury shall appal even the judges of blood. |