AGATHA.
Did not know each other? Where is my son?
MR. ANHALT.
At the Castle.
AGATHA.
And still unknown?
MR. ANHALT.
Now he is known—an explanation has taken place;—and I am sent here by the Baron, not to a stranger, but to Agatha Friburg—not with gold! his commission was—“do what your heart directs you.”
AGATHA.
How is my Frederick? How did the Baron receive him?
MR. ANHALT.
I left him just in the moment the discovery was made. By this time your son is, perhaps, in the arms of his father.
AGATHA.
Oh! is it possible that a man, who has been twenty years deaf to the voice of nature, should change so suddenly?
MR. ANHALT.
I do not mean to justify the Baron, but—he has loved you—and fear of his noble kindred alone caused his breach of faith to you.
AGATHA.
But to desert me wholly and wed another—
MR. ANHALT.
War called him away—Wounded in the field, he was taken to the adjacent seat of a nobleman, whose only daughter, by anxious attention to his recovery, won his gratitude; and, influenced by the will of his worldly friends, he married. But no sooner was I received into the family, and admitted to his confidence, than he related to me your story; and at times would exclaim in anguish—“The proud imperious Baroness avenges the wrongs of my deserted Agatha.” Again, when he presented me this living, and I left France to take possession of it, his last words before we parted, were—“The moment you arrive at Wildenhaim, make all enquiries to find out my poor Agatha.” Every letter from him contained “Still, still, no tidings of my Agatha.” And fate ordained it should be so, till this fortunate day.