THEKLA.
The pilgrim, traveling to a distant shrine
Of hope and healing, doth not count the leagues.
NEUBR.
How can we pass the gates?
THEKLA.
Gold opens them.
Go, do but go.
NEUBRUNN.
Should we be recognized—
THEKLA.
In a despairing woman, a poor fugitive,
Will no one seek the daughter of Duke Friedland.