Vergli. “So be it, Vulnar. Pass the word around, Brother-in-arms, so faithful, trusty, true. Fair-well! until we meet again, brave heart. Noble Vulnar, Nature’s true nobleman. Take Vergli’s thanks. ’Tis all he has to give, Take them, they are the echoes of his heart, Where Gratitude is not a foreigner. Now go. Pass the word quickly round. Farewell!”
[He wrings Vulnar’s hand, who returns a silent clasp, and goes out.
Vergli (to Fortunatus): “And you, too, I must part from, Isola. You, who have made my wanderings so fair, You, who have braved imprisonment and death To save Vergli and hold aloft his cause. Hard is the utterance of the word farewell, When those to whom we say it are beloved, As you, Oh! Lady Isola, are loved By Vergli with respectful, reverent love. He knows your love is with Escanior, And not for him, but tender friendship giv’n, As you have given yours to me, is sweet, And plays a soft light on Life’s rugged path. Farewell, Isola; soon to meet again, Amidst the crags of far-famed Avenamore. Farewell! may all the blessings of our God Fall on your shoulders, dearest Isola.”
Fortunatus. “Farewell, Vergli. I thank you for your love, Man’s love is rarely generous and pure, Capable of Unselfishness, and true; ’Tis not my fault I cannot make return Of love so tender and so chivalrous. But mine is with Escanior, bound to his. Wedded with him for all eternity. Yes, we will meet again at Avenamore, Vulnar, and I, and Verita will come. Have hope, have confidence, though skies are dark, Behind the clouds shines the resplendent sun, Our cause shall triumph yet. In Sunburst’s glow We’ll see it someday clasping Victory.”
Enter Verita: “Hear you the bugle of the men of war? Vergli, Scrutus awaits you, and Arflec. Lady Isola, Vulnar bids you haste, Ere long escape will be impossible. He waits you by the Pass’s eastern side, Scrutus and Arflec will be by the western; Hasten to join them, Vergli. Hark! ’tis near, King Hector’s men of war are very nigh.”
[Exit Vergli, Fortunatus and Verita.
SCENE III.
The Palace of Magnificence, situated in the town of Rowanberry, and the residence of the Ardrigh of Saxscoberland. In the private sanctum of the Ardrigh two men are seated. One is His Graciousness himself, the other the head of his “secret service peerers,” these being a body of men kept by Sanctimonious for the purpose of keeping vigilant watch over the interests of the State Religion of the country. The two men are engaged in earnest conversation.
Sanctimonious. “And so, Conception, from your fertile brain You have evolved a plan to lay them low?” [He draws nearer to Conception. “While Vergli, Fortunatus, or Vulnar Remain at large, destruction threatens us. Destroy this trinity and dangerous force Of Will, and thought, and optimistic hope, And all will flow serenely once again. The torpid languour of the working men Will soon return to lull them all to sleep, As in the good old days gone by, when I Ruled o’er the roost in undisputed sway. Now tell me of the plan you have evolved, And who the Genius is who’ll take the helm And steer its course into the bay Success. Tell me, Conception, I am all attention.”
Chief Peerer Conception. “Your Graciousness, ’tis nothing new indeed; An old, old plan, in origin quite human, Just the old story, treachery, ha, ha, The counterpart of the malignant Lie, That lie which bolsters up the most of Life And bids uncanny Truth to hide her head. The Genius who will pilot in this case, Is one called Judath. In his black lined soul, The love of gold is the abiding lust, Which rules him to exclusion of aught else. I have informed him that the price I set On Vergli’s head is twenty thousand crowns, On that of Fortunatus, half that sum, On Vulnar’s head the half of that again, And if the three together he can bag, The sum of forty thousand shall be his. Your Graciousness, his eyes gleamed like a coal, A wolfish, hungry glare arose in them, The cunning of the fox leapt from their depths And ogled me with side look, amorous glance. His yellow teeth grinned at me as he said, ‘Sir, I will claim the forty thousand crowns, Yea, ’ere the winter snows have clothed the earth, They’ll hang before grey cloaked November’s gone, And Judath shall have forty thousand crowns.’ Your Graciousness, had you but heard his voice, And seen his face, and looked into his eyes, You would have felt, as I felt, ‘All is well.’ Have I done well? The job’s a bit high priced, But worth the coin, I think, your Graciousness.”