A sword just raised to smite me, and restored
My own, which in that deadly strife had been
Wrench’d from my grasp; but when I would have press’d him
To my exulting bosom, he drew back,
And with a sad, and yet a scornful smile,
Full of strange meaning, left me. Since that hour
I have not seen him. Wherefore didst thou ask?
Mon. It matters not. We have deep things to speak of.
Know’st thou that we have traitors in our councils?
Pro. I know some voice in secret must have warn’d