The king turned and gave some orders to the gentlemen about him. Then again his eyes were upon the door. “Thy head or his, my lord?”
“Mine own.”
Yet a little, and the gentlemen of the king’s suite returned, saying the royal troops had searched the castle through and could not find the rebel.
“Thy head, I say.”
But as he spoke, the king’s eyes turned from the grandee, and rested upon the Donna Elvira, coming towards him with hands clasped, and white open lips.
“Mercy—mercy—king!”
“Mercy, fair lady! Thou art mercy’s self, and even kings must here obey. But thou shalt be the don’s best hostage for his loyalty.”
“Nay! my king. Is there no other hostage for a loyalty yet unshaken? She is my only hope, my only joy. I have loved her from her very birth. My king, thou wilt—thou wilt not take her from me?”
“Then Ernani. One or the other.”
“Nay, I am steadfast in my loyalty. Therefore—please you, my king—take her—my hope, my life.”