Manuel.

What now, my mischief-maker?

Mar. I have seen Palicio.

Man. Hey! ’twas thy evil genius Led thee that way.

Mar. I thinking him a woman, Offered some service: whereupon he told me Who he was, all his story, and of his wound.

Man. I am sorry; I should have warned thee, for the knowledge Makes thee so far accomplice; and I know not How ’twill be taken when ’tis known.

Mar. O, brother, Thou hast done nobly.

Man. I will tell to thee My motives.

Mar. Nay, I need no motives.

Man. Hear them. Palicio’s life is forfeit, for he has killed Three of his guards: but to the dangerous deed He had provocation, such as I should hold Clears him of crime: wherefore I take upon me To force a loan of Justice while she sleeps, For fear a thief should rob her: to this, moreover, The claim of kinship binds me,—nay, be patient, And hear me out.—Already our disorders Have been reported at the Spanish court; The enquiry set on foot will much endamage Hugo’s good name: I doubt not we shall have Another viceroy, and the revolution Will justify the movers.

Mar. Oh! all that, Be as it may, will never cure his wound. He needs a surgeon: we must find a surgeon.

Man. No: he must lie concealed till I procure His pardon. His discovery now were death.

Mar. But if I bring one secretly?

Man. How secretly? Better cry down the streets the man is here: That might escape attention.

Mar. I know a man. Have I not sometimes shewn thee certain sonnets Writ in Sicilian speech?

Man. Eh! Michael Rosso?

Mar. ’Tis he. I think he’d love to do my bidding In a more dangerous matter. Give me leave, I’ll bring him here to-night.

Man. I had thought of him, But shrank from taxing his good-will. And yet— (Aside.) For his own sake ’twere kind ... and Margaret asks it ... Secrets, they say, discover sympathies.— (Aloud.) Ay, ’tis well thought of.

Mar. I can answer for him.

Man. I see. Yet there’s no cause why he should know. Escort him blindfold hither; let Palicio Have his face covered. Let him ask no questions: And when ’tis done convey him blindfold back. ’Twere best he should not know.

Mar. O, brother, I thank thee.

Man. Why, girl, thou’rt crazed.

Mar. May I not go at once?

Man. Nay, wait till dusk; and see, take here my seal, Since thou must go alone: ’twill be thy freedom From any questionings of any people. Use all precautions, and impose on Rosso Sacredest secrecy: ’tis thou and he Must carry it thro’. Be careful.

Mar. I will put on Some common clothing, and disguise my face. I thank thee. [Exit.

Man. The girl’s in love. Now, bravo Rosso! I wish thee well. There’s not a purer spirit Fleshed in all Sicily; nay, nor a man I’d sooner call brother. Why, ’twas my choice, Long urged in vain. That chanceth in an hour Which comes not in nine years. ’Tis very true, Fancy resents all judgment, and another’s Will often kill it quite. Now, when I looked Rather for anything than my own wish,—heigh-ho! ’Tis I that stand in the way. I must discourage it.

Enter Philip (with some papers).

Ah, Philip.