The Man. You must have been frightened, George, with the noise of our attack, the firing of musketry, the cries of the soldiers!
But keep up your courage, my child; we shall not be taken to-day, nor to-morrow.
George. I have indeed heard it all distinctly, but it is not that which strikes terror to my heart; the thunder of the cannon flies on and is here no longer—it is something else that haunts me, that appals me, father!
The Man. You fear for me, George?
George. No. I know your hour has not yet struck.
The Man. A heavy weight has fallen from my heart to-day, for in the plain below, scattered like autumn leaves, lie the corpses of our foes, foiled in their fierce attack.
Come, George, we are alone, come! tell me all thy thronging thoughts; I will listen to thee once more as of old in our own home!
George (hurriedly). Follow me, then—follow me, father! A dreadful trial—sentence—is reëchoed here every night. Oh come with me!
He goes to a door in the wall hidden by a heavy fall of tapestry, and opens it.
The Man. George! where art thou going? Who has made known to thee this secret passage into endless vaults covered with eternal darkness? to this black charnel house, where moulder the bones of earlier and countless victims?