Iduna clung to her father; Iskander stood with his eyes fixed upon the ground, but Hunniades, stern and terrible, disembarrassing himself of the grasp of his daughter, advanced and laid his hand upon the stranger.
“Young man,” said the noble father, “were it contrition instead of shame that inspired this attitude, it might be better. I have often warned you of the fatal consequences of a reckless indulgence of the passions. More than once I have predicted to you, that however great might be your confidence in your ingenuity and your resources, the hour would arrive when such a career would place you in a position as despicable as it was shameful. That hour has arrived, and that position is now filled by the Prince of Athens. You stand before the three individuals in this world whom you have most injured, and whom you were most bound to love and to protect. Here is a friend, who hazarded his prosperity and his existence for your life and your happiness. And you have made him a mere pander to your lusts, and then deserted him in his greatest necessities. This maiden was the companion of your youth, and entitled to your kindest offices. You have treated her infinitely worse than her Turkish captor. And for myself, sir, your father was my dearest friend. I endeavoured to repay his friendship by supplying his place to his orphan child. How I discharged my duty, it becomes not me to say: how you have discharged yours, this lady here, my daughter, your late prisoner, sir, can best prove.”
“Oh! spare me, spare me, sir,” said the Prince of Athens, turning and falling upon his knee. “I am most wretched. Every word cuts to my very core. Just Providence has baffled all my arts, and I am grateful. Whether this lady can, indeed, forgive me, I hardly dare to think, or even hope. And yet forgiveness is a heavenly boon. Perhaps the memory of old days may melt her. As for yourself, sir—but I’ll not speak, I cannot. Noble Iskander, if I mistake not, you may whisper words in that fair ear, less grating than my own. May you be happy! I will not profane your prospects with my vows. And yet I’ll say farewell!”
The Prince of Athens turned away with an air of complete wretchedness, and slowly withdrew. Iskander followed him.
“Nicæus,” said Iskander; but the prince entered the grove, and did not turn round.
“Dear Nicæus,” said Iskander. The prince hesitated.
“Let us not part thus,” said Iskander. “Iduna is most unhappy. She bade me tell you she had forgotten all.”
“God bless her, and God bless you, too!” replied Nicæus. “I pray you let me go.”
“Nay! dear Nicæus, are we not friends?”
“The best and truest, Iskander. I will to the camp, and meet you in your tent ere morning break. At present, I would be alone.”