Saying this, he flew to Isabella, and in few words told her modestly that he had been so unfortunate by mistake as to wound a gentleman from her father’s court, who wished, ere he died, to impart something of consequence to her.
The Princess, who had been transported at hearing the voice of Theodore, as he called to her to come forth, was astonished at what she heard. Suffering herself to be conducted by Theodore, the new proof of whose valour recalled her dispersed spirits, she came where the bleeding Knight lay speechless on the ground. But her fears returned when she beheld the domestics of Manfred. She would again have fled if Theodore had not made her observe that they were unarmed, and had not threatened them with instant death if they should dare to seize the Princess.
The stranger, opening his eyes, and beholding a woman, said, “Art thou—pray tell me truly—art thou Isabella of Vicenza?”
“I am,” said she: “good heaven restore thee!”
“Then thou—then thou”—said the Knight, struggling for utterance—“seest—thy father. Give me one—”
“Oh! amazement! horror! what do I hear! what do I see!” cried Isabella. “My father! You my father! How came you here, Sir? For heaven’s sake, speak! Oh! run for help, or he will expire!”
“’Tis most true,” said the wounded Knight, exerting all his force; “I am Frederic thy father. Yes, I came to deliver thee. It will not be. Give me a parting kiss, and take—”
“Sir,” said Theodore, “do not exhaust yourself; suffer us to convey you to the castle.”
“To the castle!” said Isabella. “Is there no help nearer than the castle? Would you expose my father to the tyrant? If he goes thither, I dare not accompany him; and yet, can I leave him!”
“My child,” said Frederic, “it matters not for me whither I am carried. A few minutes will place me beyond danger; but while I have eyes to dote on thee, forsake me not, dear Isabella! This brave Knight—I know not who he is—will protect thy innocence. Sir, you will not abandon my child, will you?”