Sarolta. Is not that old man's son!
A destiny, not unlike thine own, is his. [300]
For all I know of thee is, that thou art
A soldier's orphan: left when rage intestine[911:1]
Shook and engulphed the pillars of Illyria.
This other fragment, thrown back by that same earthquake,
This, so mysteriously inscribed by nature, [305]
Perchance may piece out and interpret thine.
Command thyself! Be secret! His true father——
Hear'st thou?

Glycine. O tell—

Bethlen (rushing out). Yes, tell me, Shape from heaven!
Who is my father?

Sarolta (gazing with surprise). Thine? Thy father? Rise!

Glycine. Alas! He hath alarmed you, my dear lady! 310

Sarolta. His countenance, not his act!

Glycine. Rise, Bethlen! Rise!

Bethlen. No; kneel thou too! and with thy orphan's tongue
Plead for me! I am rooted to the earth
And have no power to rise! Give me a father!
There is a prayer in those uplifted eyes 315
That seeks high Heaven! But I will overtake it,
[[912]] And bring it back, and make it plead for me
In thine own heart! Speak! Speak! Restore to me
A name in the world!

Sarolta. By that blest Heaven I gazed at,
I know not who thou art. And if I knew, 320
Dared I—But rise!

Bethlen. Blest spirits of my parents,
Ye hover o'er me now! Ye shine upon me!
And like a flower that coils forth from a ruin,
I feel and seek the light I can not see!