It leads directly to the Duke's bed-chamber.

GORDON.

But then I break my oath to the Emperor; If he escape and strengthen the enemy, Do I not hereby call down on my head All the dread consequences?

BUTLER (_stepping forward_).

Hark! Who speaks there?

GORDON.

'Tis better, I resign it to the hands Of Providence. For what am I, that I Should take upon myself so great a deed?

I have not murdered him, if he be murder'd; But all his rescue were _my_ act and deed; _Mine_--and whatever be the consequences, I must sustain them.

BUTLER (_advances_).

I should know that voice.

GORDON.

Butler!

BUTLER.

'Tis Gordon. What do _you_ want here?

Was it so late then, when the Duke dismiss'd you?

GORDON.

Your hand bound up and in a scarf?

BUTLER.

'Tis wounded.

That Illo fought as he were frantic, till At last we threw him on the ground.

GORDON (_shuddering_). Both dead?

BUTLER.

Is he in bed?

GORDON.

Ah, Butler!

BUTLER.

Is he? speak.

GORDON.

He shall _not_ perish! Not through you! The Heaven Refuses _your_ arm. See--'tis wounded!--

BUTLER.

There is no need of my arm.

GORDON.

The most guilty Have perish'd, and enough is given to justice.

[_The_ GROOM OF THE CHAMBER _advances from the Gallery with his finger on his mouth commanding silence_.]

GORDON.

He sleeps! O murder not the holy sleep!

BUTLER.

No! he shall die awake.

[_Is going_.]

GORDON.

His heart still cleaves To earthly things: he's not prepared to step Into the presence of his G.o.d!

BUTLER (_going_).

G.o.d's merciful!

GORDON (_holds him_).

Grant him but this night's respite.

BUTLER (_hurrying off_)

The next moment May ruin all.

GORDON _(holds him still_).

One hour!--

BUTLER. Unhold me! What Can that short respite profit him?

[Ill.u.s.tration: DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN Karl von Piloty]

GORDON.