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It leads directly to the Duke's bed-chamber.
GORDON.
But then I break my oath to the Emperor; If he escape and strengthen the enemy, Do I not hereby call down on my head All the dread consequences?
BUTLER (_stepping forward_).
Hark! Who speaks there?
GORDON.
'Tis better, I resign it to the hands Of Providence. For what am I, that I Should take upon myself so great a deed?
I have not murdered him, if he be murder'd; But all his rescue were _my_ act and deed; _Mine_--and whatever be the consequences, I must sustain them.
BUTLER (_advances_).
I should know that voice.
GORDON.
Butler!
BUTLER.
'Tis Gordon. What do _you_ want here?
Was it so late then, when the Duke dismiss'd you?
GORDON.
Your hand bound up and in a scarf?
BUTLER.
'Tis wounded.
That Illo fought as he were frantic, till At last we threw him on the ground.
GORDON (_shuddering_). Both dead?
BUTLER.
Is he in bed?
GORDON.
Ah, Butler!
BUTLER.
Is he? speak.
GORDON.
He shall _not_ perish! Not through you! The Heaven Refuses _your_ arm. See--'tis wounded!--
BUTLER.
There is no need of my arm.
GORDON.
The most guilty Have perish'd, and enough is given to justice.
[_The_ GROOM OF THE CHAMBER _advances from the Gallery with his finger on his mouth commanding silence_.]
GORDON.
He sleeps! O murder not the holy sleep!
BUTLER.
No! he shall die awake.
[_Is going_.]
GORDON.
His heart still cleaves To earthly things: he's not prepared to step Into the presence of his G.o.d!
BUTLER (_going_).
G.o.d's merciful!
GORDON (_holds him_).
Grant him but this night's respite.
BUTLER (_hurrying off_)
The next moment May ruin all.
GORDON _(holds him still_).
One hour!--
BUTLER. Unhold me! What Can that short respite profit him?
[Ill.u.s.tration: DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN Karl von Piloty]
GORDON.
