Unravel. They look up to him-consult him-
Throng round him as a leader: but with me
He hath no confidence! Ah! can I hope it
After-what! doth my father's curse descend
Even to my child? Or is the Hungarian near
To shed more blood, or-oh! if it should be!
Spirit of Stralenheim, dost thou walk these walls
To wither him and his-who, though they slew not,
Unlatch'd the door of death for thee? T was not
Our fault, nor is our sin: thou wert our foe,
And yet I spared thee when my own destruction
Slept with thee, to awake with thine awakening!
And only took-accursed gold! thou liest !
Like poison in my hands; I dare not use thee,
Nor part from thee; thou camest in such a guise,
Methinks thou wouldst contaminate all hands
Like mine. Yet I have done, to atone for thee,
Thou villanous gold! and thy dead master's doom,
Though he died not by me or mine, as much
As if he were my brother! I have ta'en
His orphan Ida-cherish'd her as one
Who will be mine.

No matter whose-of this be sure, that he
Who own'd it never more will need it, save
In that which it may purchase from your altars:
'T is yours, or theirs.

PRIOR ALBERT.

Is there no blood upon it?

SIEGENDORF.

No: but there's worse than blood-eternal shame!

PRIOR ALBERT.

Did he who own'd it die in his bed?

PRIOR ALBERT.

Count, if I

Receive it, 't is because I know too well Refusal would offend you. Be assured

Son! you relapse into revenge, If you regret your enemy's bloodless death.

SIEGENDORF.

Ilis death was fathomlessly deep in blood.

The truth, and nought but truth, if not the whole:
Yet say I am not guilty! for the blood

Of this man weighs on me, as if I shed it,
Though by the power who abhorreth human blood,

I did not!--nay, once spared it, when I might
And could-ay, perhaps, should—(if our self-safety
Be e'er excusable in such defences
Against the attacks of over-potent foes);

But pray for him, for me, and all my house;

For, as I said, though I be innocent,

I know not why, a like remorse is on me
As if he had fallen by me or mine. Pray for me,
Father! I have pray'd myself in vain.

PRIOR ALBERT.

I will. Be comforted! You are innocent, and should Be calm as innocence.

SIEGENDORF.

But calmness is not

Always the attribute of innocence:

I feel it is not.

PRIOR ALBERT.

But it will be so,

When the mind gathers up its truth within it.
Remember the great festival to-morrow,
In which you rank amidst our chiefest nobles,
As well as your brave son; and smoothe your aspect;
Nor in the general orison of thanks

For bloodshed stopt, let blood, you shed not, rise
A cloud upon your thoughts. This were to be
Too sensitive. Take comfort, and forget
Such things, and leave remorse unto the guilty.

Enter the CoOUNTESS JOSEPHINE SIEGENDORF and !DA

STRALENHEIM.

JOSEPHINE.

Well, Heaven be praised, the show is over!

How can you say so! Of aught so beautiful.

IDA.

Never have I dreamt The flowers, the boughs, The banners, and the nobles, and the knights, The the robes, the plumes, the happy faces, Gems, The coursers, and the incense, and the sun Streaming through the stain'd windows, even the tombs, Which look'd so calm, and the celestial hymns, Which seem'd as if they rather came from heaven Than mounted there. The bursting organ's peal Rolling on high like an harmonious thunder; The white robes, and the lifted eyes; the world At peace! and all at peace with one another! Oh, my sweet mother!

JOSEPHINE.

[Embracing JOSEPHÏNE.

My beloved child! For such, I trust, thou shalt be shortly.

IDA.

Oh!

I am so already. Feel how my heart beats!

JOSEPHINE.

It does, my love; and never may it throb With aught more bitter!

IDA.

Never shall it do so!

How should it? What should make us grieve! I hate To hear of sorrow: how can we be sad,

[Exeunt.

Who love each other so entirely? You,
The count, and Ulric, and your daughter, Ida.

When we reach'd the Muldau's bridge,
The joyous crowd above, the numberless
Barks mann'd with revellers in their best garbs,
Which shot along the glancing tide below,

The decorated street, the long array,

The clashing music, and the thundering.
Of far artillery, which seem'd to bid

A long and loud farewell to its great doings,
The standards o'er me, and the tramplings round,
The roar of rushing thousands, all-all could not
Chase this man from my mind; although my senses
No longer held him palpable.

ULRIC.

No more, then?

You saw him

Ah! GABOR.

"GABOR.

SIEGENDORF.

1.

SIEGENDORF.

These hints, as vague as vain, attach no less To me than to my son.

GABOR.

I can't help that.
But let the consequence alight on him
Who feels himself the guilty one amongst us.

I speak to you, Count Siegendorf, because
I know you innocent, and deem you just.
But ere I can proceed-Dare you protect me?—
Dare you command me?

[SIEGENDORF first looks at the Hungarian, and then
at ULRIC, who has unbuckled his sabre and is
drawing lines with it on the floor-still in its
sheath.

ULRIC (looks at his father and says).
Let the man go on!

GABOR.

I am unarm'd, count-bid your son lay down
His sabre.

ULRIC (offers it to him contemptuously).
Take it.

GABOR.

No, sir; 'tis enough

That we are both unarm'd-I would not choose To wear a steel which may be stain'd with more Blood than came there in battle.

ULRIC (casts the sabre from him in contempt). It or some Such other weapon, in my hands-spared yours Once, when disarm'd and at my mercy.

GABOR.

True

I have not forgotten it: you spared me for
Your own especial purpose-to sustain
An ignominy not my own.

ULRIC.

Proceed. The tale is doubtless worthy the relater. But is it of my father to hear further?

[TO SIEGENDORF. SIEGENDORF (takes his son by the hand). My son! I know mine own innocence-and doubt not Of yours-but I have promised this man patience;

GABOR.

I will not detain you

By speaking of myself much; I began
Life early-and am what the world has made me.
At Frankfort, on the Oder, where I pass'd

A winter in obscurity, it was

My chance at several places of resort

(Which I frequented sometimes, but not often)
To hear related a strange circumstance,
In February last. A martial force,

Sent by the state, had, after strong resistance,
Secured a band of desperate men, supposed
Marauders from the hostile camp. They proved,
However, not to be so-but banditti,
Whom either accident or enterprise

Had carried from their usual haunt the forests
Which skirt Bohemia-even into Lusatia.
Many amongst them were reported of
High rank-and martial law slept for a time.
At last they were escorted o'er the frontiers,
And placed beneath the civil jurisdiction