_Room in the Palace. MANUEL, disguised as priest, meeting ROSSO._
_ROSSO._
In good time, Manuel: welcome. All is well.
_MANUEL._
Thank God. And doth she know?
_Ros._ Ay, thou shalt hear.
’Twas Margaret’s doing: all night long she sat
By Constance’ bed, and there with gentlest presence
And soft accustomed voice most gradually
She soothed and won the wandering spirit back.
But, oh, the sweetest skill!—she, as she saw
Constance take note of her, made no discovery,
But spoke of thee and all things else, as if
There never had been change: and that so well, 2540
That Constance, who lay gazing on the wall,
And questioning of her error, whence it grew,
Soon laid it on herself, and by and by
Told Margaret of her dream, and asked how long
She had lain so sick in bed; nor ever learned
How real had her woe been, till she knew
That all was over.
_Man._ I thank God,—and thee,
Rosso, thee too. Margaret has had some cause
To blame herself,—to have helped in the repair
Will ease her heart of much. May I see Constance?
_Ros._ At once. But come prepared to find her weak. 2551
_Enter Philip._
_PHILIP._
Father, a word.
_Man._ I pray you excuse me now.
_Ph._ ’Tis that I know thy errand that I ask.
I would speak through thee to the lady Constance.
_Man._ What would you say?
_Ph._ Let me be private with thee.
_Man._ (_to Ros._) Doctor, I’ll follow. (_Aside._) Now
to act my best. [_Exit Rosso._
_Ph._ Thou seest in me the man who wrought this ill.
I’d have thee use thine office with the lady,
To win her grace, that I may make confession
Of that which burdens me.
_Man._ How! what is this? 2560
What should I say?
_Ph._ I’ll tell thee: and thou must know
First, that I once was Manuel’s friend and pupil,—
My pride, alas! self-wrested to my shame—
And in those early days loved her, whom he
Should at this time have married. Five years spent
In graceless life meanwhile had far removed
My heart from my first love, nor had my thought
Once ventured back to think or wish her mine:
But, as it happened,—and being at the time
Stung by the sharp remorse of idle hours,— 2570
Chance sent me hither, and her presence soon
Awaked those memories that I had thought were dead.
Then vainly felt I worthier than I was,
Seeing my better part desired to win
What I too surely had deserved to lose.
Constance denied me:—but now hear my crime.
I won her father’s ear; and then, being lodged
In Manuel’s house, I lit on a discovery
Of some suspicion, and contrived thereby—
Betraying him who was my friend and host— 2580
His absence and disgrace: whence by ill fate
His death and all this lady’s trouble sprung.
_Man._ ’Tis a sad tale you tell.
_Ph._ I was misled
To think he loved the lady less than I.
Yet urge I no excuse, nor look for pardon:
But if ’twould not add sorrow to her sorrow,
I would discharge this burden from my soul.
_Man._ Do so: for you shall find pity and pardon.
_Ph._ Nay, nay: that could not be.
_Man._ Though hard it seem,
Ay, and may force awhile some generous tears;
She cannot yet fail in the foremost duty 2591
Of all that sin. I shall prepare her well.
_Ph._ I thank thee, father. [_Exit Manuel._
There is in these men
A quiet strength, which shames our self-esteem.
_Enter Ferdinand and Hugo with despatches._
_HUGO._
Philip, we have the news. Frederick is crowned.
See, here’s for thee. (_Gives a despatch._) It bears
the new king’s seal.
_Ph._ Well, ’twill help nought. (_Opens._)
_Hu._ I pray there may be nothing
That meddles with my place.
_Ph._ Read here, your excellence. [_Reads._
_By reason of advices late received,
The kings commands are that the sealed despatch_ 2600
_Writ for emergency be now held valid,
And put in force by you._
_Hu._ Where’s the despatch?
_FERDINAND._
’Tis in my keeping.
_Hu._ (_to Philip_). Know’st thou its contents?
_Ph._ Nay, sir; not I.
_Hu._ Pray let us see it, straight.
_Ph._ Adjourn we to my secretary’s chamber:
A moment will discover it. [_Exeunt._