Old Bathory. Who hears? A friend!
A messenger from him who bears the signet!

Zapolya. He hath the watch-word!—Art thou not Bathory? 100

Old Bathory. O noble lady! greetings from your son!
[Bathory kneels.

Zapolya. Rise! rise! Or shall I rather kneel beside thee,
And call down blessings from the wealth of Heaven
Upon thy honoured head? When thou last saw'st me
I would full fain have knelt to thee, and could not, 105
Thou dear old man! How oft since then in dreams
Have I done worship to thee, as an angel
Bearing my helpless babe upon thy wings!

Old Bathory. O he was born to honour! Gallant deeds
And perilous hath he wrought since yester-eve. 110
[[941]] Now from Temeswar (for to him was trusted
A life, save thine, the dearest) he hastes hither—

Zapolya. Lady Sarolta mean'st thou?

Old Bathory. She is safe.
The royal brute hath overleapt his prey,
And when he turned, a sworded Virtue faced him. 115
My own brave boy—O pardon, noble lady!
Your son——

Zapolya. Hark! Is it he?

Old Bathory. I hear a voice
Too hoarse for Bethlen's! 'Twas his scheme and hope,
Long ere the hunters could approach the forest,
To have led you hence.—Retire.

Zapolya. O life of terrors! 120