Who shall

Here's no great harm done.

STRALENHEIM.

What hath caused all this?

ULRIC.

You, baron, I believe; but as the effect
Is harmless, let it not disturb you.-Gabor!
There is your sword; and when you bare it next,
Let it not be against your friends.

[ULRIC pronounces the last words slowly and
emphatically in a low voice to GABOR.

GABOR.

I thank you

Less for my life than for

your counsel.

STRALENHEIM.

These

Brawls must end here.

GABOR (taking his sword).

They shall. You have wrong'd me, Ulric, More with your unkind thoughts than sword; I would The last were in my bosom rather than

The first in yours. I could have borne yon noble's
Absurd insinuations-Ignorance

And dull suspicion are a part of his

Intail will last him longer than his lands.

But I may fit him yet:-you have vanquish'd me.

I was the fool of passion to conceive

That I could cope with you whom I had seen

Already proved by greater perils than
Rest in this arm.
We may meet by and by,
However-but in friendship.

[Exit GABOR.

STRALENHEIM.

I will brook

No more! This outrage following up his insults,
Perhaps his guilt, has cancell'd all the little

I owed him heretofore for the so vaunted
Aid which he added to your abler succour.
Ulric, you are not hurt?—

ULRIC.

Not even by a scratch. STRALENHEIM (to IDENSTEIN). Intendant! take your measures to secure Yon fellow: I revoke my former lenity. He shall be sent to Frankfort with an escort The instant that the waters have abated.

IDENSTEIN.

Secure him! he hath got his sword again

And seems to know the use on 't; 't is his trade, Belike:-I'm a civilian.

To you I answer thus.

[He draws.

ULRIC (drawing).
With all my heart!

STRALENHEIM.

Fool! are not

Yon score of vassals dogging at your heels

Let no foolish pity shake

Your bosom (for the appearance of the man
Is pitiful)--he is a wretch, as likely

To have robb'd me as the fellow more suspected,
Except that circumstance is less against him;
He being lodged far off, and in a chamber
Without approach to mine; and, to say truth,
I think too well of blood allied to mine,
To deem he would descend to such an act;
Besides, he was a soldier, and a brave one
Once-though too rash.

ULRIC.

And they, my lord, we know By our experience, never plunder till They knock the brains out first-which makes them

heirs,

Not thieves. The dead, who feel nought, can lose

nothing,

Nor e'er be robb'd: their spoils are a bequest

No more.

STRALENHEIM.

Go to! you are a wag. But say I may be sure you'll keep an eye on this man, And let me know his slightest movement towards Concealment or escape?

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Hall in the same Palace, from whence the secret

Passage leads.

Enter WERNER and GABOR.

GABOR.

Sir, I have told my tale; if it so please you To give me refuge for a few hours, wellIf not-I'll try my fortune elsewhere.

WERNER.

Can I, so wretched, give to misery

How

A shelter?-wanting such myself as much As e'er the hunted deer a covert――

You 're right; I ask for shelter at the hand
Which I call helpless; if you now deny it,

I were well paid. But you, who seem to have proved
The wholesome bitterness of life, know well,
By sympathy, that all the outspread gold
Of the New World, the Spaniard boasts about,
Could never tempt the man who knows its worth,
Weigh'd at its proper value in the balance,
Save in such guise (and there I grant its power,
Because I feel it) as may leave no night-mare
Upon his heart o' nights.

WERNER.

What do you mean?

GABOR.

Just what I say; I thought my speech was plain: You are no thief-nor I-and, as true men, Should aid each other.

WERNER.

It is a damn'd world, sir.

A spy of Stralenheim's?

GABOR.

So is the nearest of the two next, as

WERNER.

Are you not

GABOR. Not I! and if

Is he not here? He must have vanish'd then
Through the dim Gothic glass by pious aid
Of pictured saints, upon the red and yellow
Casements, through which the sunset streams like sunrise
On long pearl-colour'd beards and crimson crosses,
And gilded crosiers, and cross'd arms, and cowls,
And helms, and twisted armour, and long swords,
All the fantastic furniture of windows,
Dim with brave knights and holy hermits, whose
Likeness and fame alike rest on some panes
Of crystal, which each rattling wind proclaims
As frail as any other life or glory.

IDENSTEIN.

Yes, one;

But there's another whom he tracks more keenly,
And soon, it may be, with authority

Both paramount to his and mine. But, come!
Bustle, my boys! we are at fault.

[Exit IDENSTEIN and Attendants.

WERNER.

In what

WERNER.

WERNER.

Who?

Show me how?