Manuel.

I am here for that.

Pal. There’s comfort in thy face. I have much to tell. Thou know’st me, who I am?

Man. Ay, son.

Pal. I pray What said the archbishop of me?

Man. Pause not now To ask and weigh man’s judgment, who so soon Must answer to the Judge of all.

Pal. Nay, nay. If thou bring hither such a thought of me, What can I tell thee? How shall I begin?

Man. If there be any one thing on your mind, More than another, which now brings you shame, Begin with that.

Pal. Ay: such a thing there is.

Man. What is’t?

Pal. ’Tis the story of the mischief, Which makes me need thee; which hath sent me here. For I was single-hearted, single-eyed, As thou or any of the saints, who hold Their place in heaven secure, three days ago,— But three days: If thou then hadst come to me I should have said, My sins are all forgiven; I only beg of thee the heavenly bread To be my passport to my home prepared. My earthly sword hath won a heavenly crown. I have not left undone aught, save where God’s will Forbade accomplishment, and if I have done Aught unpermitted ’twas in zeal’s excess. My errors are the saints’—three days ago ... And now my boast is gone, my soul is stained. Hark, while I tell. Satan, who saw me thus Pure-hearted and elect, an envied prey, Used all his skill to take me: Ay, he came And showed me, in the room where I lay sick, Wounded, and weak and faint, a beauteous woman, And all love’s world. He said, Take this; but I Was ready awhile, and answered, Not for me. I thread the narrow way; I climb at heaven. If I touch this, I perish. But he said, Not so, ’tis thy due prize. Take it, Palicio! ’Twas the old tale—“Thou shalt not surely die.” I took it. God deserted me that hour: My friends suspected me: all things went ill: And now ...

Man. Stay. First, this woman, who misled you, Is she your wife?

Pal. Nay, ’tis but now three days ...

Man. You say she is not your wife. Is then your sin To have leapt the bounds which hold unmarried lovers?

Pal. O, father, thou couldst never ask such thing If thou didst know who ’twas. Nay, thou mayst know: ’Twas Manuel’s sister,—Margaret of Palermo.

Man. (partly discovering). See, I am Manuel. * * * * * * Ay, and so far is well. Now say, did Margaret contrive thy flight?

Pal. ... (assents).

Man. And after followed thee to Monreale? And met thee on the hills?

Pal. ... (assents).

Man. Then tell me now Why hast thou left her?

Pal. Nay. Question me not.

Man. Why hast thou left her?

Pal. Why come to me thus? I needed but a priest to comfort me, And show me on death’s road: thou drag’st me back To torture me. Thou canst not understand.

Man. Thou ow’st to me more than to any priest, Who for thy sake might hear, to tell me true. Why hast thou left her?

Pal. If thou wert a priest, Then wouldst thou see how well the stalking fiend Snared for my soul. I planned for yesternight To storm the palace: and I had promised Margaret To make no further venture if that failed, But sail with her to Rome and there be married, Using thy interest to reclaim my rank. But on the day I gave that word, my men Were all betrayed, taken, and led to prison. I was with Margaret, as well they knew: My love for her, my shelter at thy house, My flight permitted, set them on the thought That I had been corrupted, was the traitor. Fly with me, then cried Margaret. Ay, the fiend too Said, Fly: go safe. I foiled him. I came here. That was my only answer.

Man. And didst thou not Betray them?

Pal. I! Palicio! when did I Betray?

Man. Stay, while in turn I shew to thee Another tale made of the self-same matter.— A price set on thy head, pursued by justice, Bleeding to death, thou camest to my house Asking for shelter, begging but for life. I gave it at my risk,—how great that risk I’ll shew thee soon;—there at my house my sister Secretly tended thee, and won thy cure. Thou in return didst, all unknown to me, Obtain her love, and use it to break trust, Flying by stealth at night: and then, being fled, Didst scruple not to use thy flight, to work The very thing for which thy life was owed. Further, when that went wrong, merely for fear Men should think ill of thee, thou didst desert Her, to whose love was due that thou wert free; Wronging her then again, as me before ...

Pal. Manuel, forbear; thee I confess I wronged: For the rest thy taunts are vain.

Man. Wait: there is more.— Thy refuge being discovered, I was charged With treason, and in course shipped hence for Spain. My ship was sunk, and I, but for God’s mercy, Drowned. My disgrace and rumoured death so wrought On Constance, that she lies in life’s last hope. To all of us thou hast done unmeasured ill: What is thy plea?

Pal. Though God himself should curse me, My purpose hath been good.

Man. Ay, that I’ll grant: Thou’rt for the right, but being too hot upon it Mistakest right. Thou art numbered with the madmen Who, thinking the whole world’s unhappiness Hangs on one string, tread all else underfoot So they may reach to cut it.—And where’s the good? Thyself, too, in what plight, that after all This sacrifice of others’ rights, thou rushest To die to save thine honour from a stain, That needs no washing!

Pal. Enough: there let it end: I die to-morrow.

Man. Nay, thou must escape: Retrieve all that thou canst. I now shall go To Margaret, whom before I feared to meet. She will be working for thee. If she fail, The archbishop yet hath power to stay thy death Till I can serve thee. If thy love for her, And hers for thee abide, you must be married. Nay, all she urged was good.

Pal. O, ’tis impossible. Work not for my escape: ’tis best I die.

Man. Nay, nay. Thou that canst fight, fight with thyself. The brave despair that fear not: that’s the shock The strongest suffer. Thou wast ill of late; Wert thou now strong, shame would not crush thy spirit. [Going.

Pal. Manuel, go not!

Man. Yes, I must go. Remember My name is Father Thomas. None must guess Who hath been with thee.—Farewell. Fight with thyself; Palicio, with thyself. Thou shalt be saved. [Exit.