Scene: A room in the castle. Brentio alone.

Bren. By Hector, we've had a night of it. I must stop now and count my fingers and toes, for I'm sure there's some of me missing. First, my gold! [Counts gold] All here. But poor mistress Theano that I promised to carry through fire and flood for this same sweet gold was burnt up last night. Well, my lord Ocrastes is dead too, so I'll not be called to account. Had it been flood now I might have kept my promise, but fire—I never could abide a singed beard.

[Enter Tichus]

Ho, Tichus! These are wars, sir! These are wars! Have you killed your man this night?

Tich. A score, I hope.

Bren. Well, I've naught to say. Let deeds talk. A bragging tongue is Fame's best grave-digger, though it wag i' the mouth of Hercules. But I spared some, I'll say that. They cried so for mercy, poor fellows! Not a man of 'em was ready to die, by his own count.

Tich. If you wait for that you'll die swearing blood is green for all you'll even draw of it. When the gods promised that no man should die till he was ready old Charon sold his boat.

Bren. There's a stick-penny for you. What was his bargain?

Tich. A feather bed, that he might sleep off idleness.

Bren. Ah, but you should have seen me when a villain pitted at me with three pikes. A murderous three-handed deformity, by the truth o' my eyes he was!

Tich. Then you shook your sword, I warrant!

Bren. No, bless me, I shook my feet.

Tich. Man, you didn't run?

Bren. No, I flew. I wore Mercury's feathers, I tell you.

Tich. Shame, Brentio! A coward's leg will never overtake Fame.

Bren. Ay, but when a man must leap the grave to catch her, let take her who will! I'm done. Have you been through the castle?

Tich. No.

Bren. Come then. There are sights to be seen. Mostly in the cellars, where every soldier gets a bottle for his song.

[Sings]

Who will not be merry then let him go drown,
Let him go drown,
In as rosy a bumper as ever went down,
As ever went down,
And he'll bob up, he'll bob up, by Bacchus, he will,
As hail a good fellow as ever wet gill!

Here are our masters! I'm gone. A hero may drink, but work—never! [Exit]

Tich. There's more trouble ahead than the claw o' my wit can scratch. Ocrastes' death makes one less in the pother, but I've eyes in my head, and there's no doubt my master is in love with the lady Aratea, and one lover can make more trouble than a score of extra husbands. Well, well, when thy cares bewilder thee take time and wine for thy counsellors. So let it work out. [Exit. Aristocles and Dion appear in hall partly visible through wide open doors, rear. Aristocles enters and comes front. Dion remains without, gazing down, moody and meditative]

Aris. Deep, deep, my thoughts, dive to some bed of death
In my wide-regioned self, nor come again
Like sea-return�d corpse, with livid grin
And foul, accreted horror, to beg anew
For burial.
[Dion comes in and walks slowly across to Aristocles]
You'll see her now?
Dion. See whom?
Aris. Your wife.
Dion. My wife? Have I a wife?
Aris. She waits
Your summons by Diana's altar.
Dion. Ah!
So near?
Aris. Theano waits with her.
Dion. My niece?
She's safe?
Aris. By miracle. The unknown knight
Bore her from out Phillistus' burning house.
Dion. Still swells our debt to him.
Aris. You'll see her now?
Dion. See whom, my friend?
Aris. Your wife, sir,—Aratea.
Dion. When you repeat the name I half believe
I have a wife. Your voice was ever true,
Nor fed me with the rifled husks of speech.
... Was she not fair?
Aris. My lord?
Dion. How fair, think you?
Aris. Who, sir, could say? Such beauty scorns all words
And writes itself but in the wondering eye.
Dion. You shift. You shift. Your tongue is beauty's pencil.
Did heaven lack a goddess you might limn
A fairer than a Venus for the place.
Speak on. Tell me her sum to the last doit.
The balance of a hair—a smile unborn—
I'd not strike off.
Aris. [Coldly] You know her worth, my lord.
Dion. Nay, the appraising eye when fixed too near
The thing it loves distorts the sweet proportion.
You can adjust your gaze, take stand to bring
Her beauty to perfection's single-point.
Aris. What matter? All is yours.
Dion. Ah, if 'twere mine
I'd care not, happy then to know 'twas mine.
But when we've lost we're moved to question, sir,
Else are we crippled twice in our estate,
Once in the loss, again to know it not.
Aris. Strange speech, my lord. I hardly know your tongue.
Dion. You can not understand, for you've no wife.
No more have I. But once.... Yes, yes, I'll see her.
Wilt bring her here?
Aris. I bring her? Here? To you?
Dion. If 'tis too sad a service——
Aris. Nay, I go. [Exit]
Dion. I am forgot in his great pity of her.
[Enter Calippus]
Cal. Lord Dion, Heraclides begs to see you.
Dion. Is he alone?
Cal. �gisthus comes with him.
Dion. Bid them into the banquet hall.
Cal. My lord,
You will not see them?
Dion. Ay, there's naught to fear.
Tell them I'll join them soon.
[Exit Calippus]
Now riven heart,
Close firm as mountain bulwark that beats off
The Thracian wind.
[Enter Aristocles with Theano and Aratea]
Dion. [To Theano] Good welcome, niece.
[He embraces Theano, and looks silently at Aratea]
Ara. [Falteringly] My lord——
Dion. Your friend, your lover—ay, your slave,—but not
Your lord, sweet Aratea.
Ara. O! Condemned!
Dion. Not that—but——
Ara. Then you'll hear me?
Dion. No! Your voice
Renews in me the battle that I thought
Was fought to end.
Ara. But I could say, my lord——
Dion. Ay, you could say what would revoke the sun,
Turn back into his heart his golden spears,
And from the sapphire battlements make pour
Surpris�d night! How easy then to shake
The scarce-sworn vow from my unfended breast
To melt like snowflake caught in lap of June!
Ara. O, sir——
Dion. You've that in you defeats resolve,
And casts in broil the mind's high chancery.
I will not hear a word! 'Tis my defence,
Not cruelty. All honor shall be thine
Apart from me.
Ara. What honor may be mine
Apart from thee?
Dion. Nay, question not my justice!
Ara. You think me vile, my lord?
Dion. Mayhap I do!
Were there no poisons left in Sicily?
No rank, night-sweating herbs whose bane might work
Proud honor's choice? Were daggers grown too blunt
To pierce fair flesh? What, not a rope—nor cord?
No garters—strips of silken robes——
Aris. O, spare
To accuse a soul who erred that she might still
Be true to Heaven.
Dion. True? By Pallas! True?
Aris. Sir, she obeyed the gods who bid us wait
And work on earth our destiny.
Dion. The gods
Sometimes write in our fates that to seek death
Is what will solely please them.
Aris. Must I see
The sun of justice in you set?
Dion. Ah, friend,
Do you not see 'tis my desire that cries
To keep her still? 'Tis passion weighing doubts,
Hoping to find them light as rising vapors.
Aris. Though she had struck at life within her heart,
Swart Atropos had dropped her shears for pity,
Nor helped so fair a woe to death. Yet you——
Dion. O, she is pure, but not to me! 'Tis stamped
Upon my soul that she is dark to me
Though fair to Heaven!
The. Hear her, sir. She took
No vows. Her lips were dumb——
Dion. O, vows! You speak
Of words?
The. But——
Dion. Silence, niece!
Aris. Receive her, sir.
Dion. Never, my friend! What can you know of this?
Aris. I know she is Pandora without taint!
The secret pattern lost in mourning heaven
When rapt Hephaistos shaped the perfect clay
By Pallas' breath made vital! Sir, receive her!
Let me implore it by our years of love.
Dion. Thou'rt dear to me as man may be to man,
But wert thou dear as god may be to god,
I could not grant thy wish.
Aris. Then she is mine!
And, could I snatch a tear from Dian's cheek
When bowed at secret altar she renews
Her vestal sanctity, 'twould not be less
Unspotted to my love! O, Aratea,
Wilt come? My wife? Say not thou lov'st, but cling
Unto my breast as trusting bud to bough,
Or but uplook with eyes whose shaken sea
Is calmed in mine.
Dion. Ye powers that rule my being,
Stop every conscious note but wonder!
Aris. Ah,
I've heard it said Apollo loved my mother,
And I could wish it true, that god-descended
I might embrace thyself, who surely art
Of high Olympus born—whose mortal part
Wears beauty as the night her stars.
Dion. Behold
Me desolate, ye gods! Is this my friend?
Nay, thou hast given friendship such a blow
She dies from earth, nor in eternal groves
May she be healed.
Aris. Not mine, but yours, the blow.
Dion. Ocrastes struck me, and I rose again.
My wife was taken, and I lived to sigh.
But you—O, now the quick of life is seized
With mortal ill. Now shakes my earth to centre,
And on me falling bow her peak�d tops.
Even here and now I die. All fellowship
Forego with gallant breath, and lay me down
Like forest trunk that pours its wasting heart
From every lopp�d limb.
[Theano attempts to comfort him]
Go from me, girl.
My wounded senses shrink away from life
Till gentlest touches are as brands of pain.
Dumb be my lips. I'll speak no more on earth.
Ara. Keep you that word! Thy silence is my speech!
Know, Dion, though the knowing now is naught,
Ocrastes left me ere his marriage vow
Was cold in air, nor took one bridal kiss.
Nor have these eyes beheld him since that hour,
Nor will the eye of mortal see him more.
The sea now holds him to her buried heart.
Some shelly couch washed with a Nereid's tears
Is his last bed.
Dion. And you untouched ... untouched.
Ara. I grieve you did not know me better, sir.
You too, my lord Aristocles. Those cords—
Those daggers—poisons—had been quickly found——
Dion. Untouched! No bridal kiss! My blindness goes.
But Heaven, in pity, shut me dark again,
For I have wronged Ocrastes—who is dead.
How could your woman heart not know the truth—
That he thus saved you from a baser touch
To be restored all perfect, pure to me?
And he is dead. Give me your pity, gods!
Now we will mourn, Theano. Here, my daughter.
Our griefs let marry in our kissing tears.
[Embraces Theano]
But there's a brightness yet in this dark woe.
[Advances to Aratea]
Once more, my love, my wife, you are all mine.
[Aristocles steps before Aratea]
What mean you now?
Aris. To guard my own. For you
The pearl of opportunity is lost.
Briareus' hands could not now snatch it back
Where 't pales on time's retreating wave.
Dion. By Mars,
I'll pass you, sir!
The. Let Aratea speak.
Is 't not for her to choose?
Dion. A wedded woman
Can have no choice.
The. O, Dion, be a god,
Not man, and grant it.
Aris. Choose thine own. As free
As new created star, fix where thou wilt.
Diem. Ay, choose! Thou art my wife. Thy holy truth
Will fail thee not. Speak! End this bitter folly
From which the gods would turn shame-burning face!
The. Not if all tale be true.
Dion. You speak too much!
Ara. First swear, my lords, however I may choose,
You'll still be friends, as honored and as true
As though this face I loathe had never come
Between your loves.
Aris. I swear to you my friend
Shall be my friend.
Ara. You, sir?
Dion. I will forgive him,
For love has made him mad.
Ara. Swear it by Heaven.
Dion. By Heaven. Now wilt speak?
Ara. Such sacred oaths
Need sacrificial rite, and here I give
My blood.
[Suddenly draws a dagger and attempts to stab herself. Aristocles, watching eagerly, seizes dagger, and supporting her speaks wildly]
Aris. Think not that you can fly me now!
Though thou wert dead still wouldst thou live for me
In such dear semblance of remembered show
That I would seek to woo thy houseless spirit
E'er give thee o'er unclasped to Heaven!
Ara. Ah! [Releases herself]
Dion. But now she lives, and living she is mine.
Aris. Her lips, not yours, shall say!
Dion. Lost man, thou'rt crazed.
I pity thee. Speak, wife.
Ara. O, blow me, winds,
To some unpeopled sphere, and find me peace
As sweet as his who cropped the first day fruits
Of green unharrowed earth!
Dion. This is no answer.
Ara. My lord, if 't be my prayers can save my soul,
In some far fane I'll serve the priestess' cup
Till Death is kind and calls me.
Dion. [Seizing her arm] Answer me!
Art mine, or his?
Ara. Till truth no more is truth
Thou art my lord.
[Aristocles turns and moves apart, covering his face with his mantle. Aratea sinks feebly and Theano supports her]
Dion. [To Aristocles] Now you've your answer! Niece,
Lead out my wife.
[Theano takes Aratea from the room, through curtained entrance, left]
Aristocles—my friend—
I pity and forgive thee. When Love drives,
His chariot reins are veins of mortal men,
Who fain must course the bright god's destiny
Nor reck the road. 'Tis strange—not that you loved her—
But that I did not dream it must be so,
She being the top and bloom of all her sex,
As you, my lord, of yours. A mortal judge
Would grant you her, but God gave her to me,
And I doubt not He blundered to a purpose
Beyond our dream. Ah me, the night's red eyes
Looked fatal on the sail that bore you hither.
Cursed be my prayers that drew you from your Athens!
Farewell! For you must go. Small Sicily
No more may hold us both.
[Re-enter Theano]
The. She's better, sir.
Dion. That's well.
[Enter Calippus, through hall, rear]
Your news?
Cal. Our saviour of the night
Now waits to see you.
Dion. The warrior? Ask him in!
[Exit Calippus]
The. I'll speak the thanks he waited not to hear,
Although my heart gives none for this poor life.
[Enter warrior, rear, still in arms and helmeted]
Dion. Thou'rt welcome as the gods. As lightning makes
The world now bright, now dark, you fill and void
The circle of our sense, but, here or there,
'Tis ours to grant you what you will if power
Be in us.
Warrior. [Kneeling] For one thing I sue—forgiveness.
[Removes helmet]
Dion. Ocrastes!
Oc. Ay.
Dion. How couldst be hid from me
Though veiled in seven-fold steel?
The. Not dead—not dead——
Oc. [Embracing Theano] My heart, look up. The long tale of my sins
Will be as virtue's song when in love's ear
'Tis whispered. Nay, weep not. Those woes are sealed.
The. O, canst forgive me?
Oc. It is I must sue.
Nay, nay, my sweet, no liquid gem drop now
On misery's broken altar, too long rich
With these eyes' jewels.
The. Ah, thou'rt mine ... still mine.
Oc. Ere I have done your constancy shall hear
Such music of true love you'll think those birds
That move the gentle concords of the night
In these bright locks make bower continual.
[Kisses her hair]
For every hour of your ungracious star,
With the full circuit of a smiling moon
I'll pension you, till covetous of time
You'll wish your sorrows had been more, not less.
Dion. Not one embrace for me?
Oc. Before I make
My plea for pardon?
Dion. That may wait, my son,
For empty hours. This is too full of joy.
Oc. I did not go to Italy, my lord,
But to the Leontines——
Dion. O, go not back
To read the bloodprints of bewildered feet.
Now as the soft life-wooing breath that moves
So swift upon the track of orient storms
That ere the woeful people dry their tears
Earth is new-clad in garments of the sun
And balm is in the air like blessings winged,
Fanning delight in every lifted cheek,
So treads this hour at heel of flying woe.
[Enter Brentio, rear]

Bren. My lord, the people in the banquet hall are drinking all the cellars dry. You'd weep to see it, sir. [Sees Theano and Ocrastes. Looks in bewilderment from one to the other, claps hand to his purse and runs out]

Dion. The slave's beset.

Oc. He's drunk, my lord.

Dion. I had forgot Heraclides. [Going] Ocrastes, come. We'll not so soon be parted. You to my wife, Theano. [Exeunt Dion and Ocrastes, rear; Theano through curtains, left]

Aris. [Alone] Dion, how oft hast sworn I was thy dearest,
Yet go to happiness while I droop here
As to my grave. Nor dost thou need me more
Than quickest life its century-buried dead.
Yet one is yon, behind those curtains close,
Who starves even as you feed. Her love is mine.
By Heaven, I know 'tis mine! Yet I must go—
Leave her to perish. Ay, her flower soul
Not long will bear the weight of unloved love.
[Soldiers enter hall, rear, drinking and singing]
O, Helen had a rosy lip,
And only one might kiss it,
But all of mistress wine may sip
And she will never miss it.
Ho, brothers all are we,
Brothers all are we!
We've sworn to the last red drop,
Be it found in a heart or found in a cup,
And brothers all we be!
A soldier's trade it is to die,
And what poor fools are they
Who for a soldier's death will sigh—
'Tis all in a business way.
Ho, brothers all are we, &c.
[Exeunt drunkenly]
Aris. O, I am wounded in the character
I sought to build so giant-like that as
A figure on the skies all men would see
And longing upward scorn their baser state!
Now am I grown deform�d with a scar
That all eternity can not make fair.
... To go ... nor say farewell. To go ... to go,
And see no more her face ... that face which is
Imagination sighing in a word.
That face where Beauty with her mysteries
Sits listening to Magi of the air,
Or ocean lapping on eternal sands.
'Tis as a star should to a flower turn,
And yet remember heaven.
[Approaches curtains and kneels]
Fare thee well!
O thou whose body is a living urn
Full of distill�d sweets from every mead
Where Love hath set a flower! Whose soul compacts
All earth's divinity, and leaves profane
All space where it is not!
[Arises and starts out slowly. At the door he looks back. Aratea appears at curtains, but does not see him]
O, I must fly ...
Must fly ... nor hear again her voice that lures
As it would draw the fallen golden world
O'er desert ages to man's memory.
Ara. [Sees him and advances] You here, Aristocles?
Aris. Wilt say farewell?
Ara. [Going back] Farewell.
Aris. No word but that?
Ara. That is too much.
Aris. [Approaching] Too much?
Ara. I—faint again. Nay, touch me not!
Aris. Am I so perilous to thee? My hand
Has had no commerce yet with cruelty.
Ara. The moon with silver foot steps not more soft
Among the tears of night than falls thy touch
On me, who, poorer than the night, must go
Uncomforted. Thou'lt leave this place at once
If thou hast pity.
Aris. Ah, had I a heart
Great-swelling as the sad Molurian mount,
Or pil�d peaks that wreck the sailing moon,
'Twere not enough to melt upon this woe!
Ara. Wretched, O wretched me! To be the curse
Of what is best on earth!
Aris. Peace, unjust lips!
Thou art a rose that, rooted in Elysium,
Leans sorrowing to the world that it may see
What beauty is and know then how to dream.
O, close those other worlds, your eyes, that I
May live in this! [She moves back]
Stay, I must speak!
Ara. No, no!
Aris. And you must hear me.
Ara. Silence, sir, is best.
In her deep bosom let our woes be buried,
As Night doth shepherd all the cares of day
Till Heaven think the world asleep, though 'neath
The dark are hot and staring eyes.
Aris. Nay, nay,
Put courage in thy heart to gender wings
That we may dart as swallows to the sun
And tread the rosy air where love may breathe!
Ara. My lord——
Aris. Come! come! Greece is our home of light.
There you, my wife, shall rule a lesser heaven
And tutor souls for God's. [She turns to go]
One moment hear me!
You love me, Aratea.
Ara. Fare you well.
Aris. [Against the curtains] First say thou lovest me!
Dost thou not hear
A voice at night when calm Eirene leads
Sleep to all eyes but thine?
Ara. Have mercy, sir!
Aris. What leap of soul or dream of sense hast thou
That is not sweeter for you hold me dear?
When Theia's daughter, priestess gray, unhoods
Her morning face, and all her clouds of rose
With flying petals light the waking world,
Does not your ecstasy swim on the flood
Of my remembered eyes, and their delight
Re-jewel beauty's diadem?
Ara. I beg——
Aris. When throbbing wonders of a dying sun
Trail off their glories like escaping souls,
And Night with lustred heaven round her neck
Lures up immensities, whose spirit longs
Through all your longings till it leads your own
To crowned and still content?
Ara. Will you not go?
Aris. And when thy gaze is on the sibyl sea,
Striving to read her ancient wave-writ script,
And break the seal a differing language sets
Upon her mighty tongue, whence cometh peace
Like full and silent answer to your heart?
Ara. If this be love, then let it be mine still.
For it may be without a touch of hands.
Ay, though in Athens you must live and move
Still are you mine in mysteries and joys.
I thank you, sir, for having taught me love
That is forever holy, wronging none.
Aris. Nay, Aratea, man can not be God
And pipe all Heaven through a mortal reed!
Come to my arms, O life and soul of me!
As chaste verbenas on an altar kiss,
As streamlets join in soft approving shade,
As clouds immingle in the glancing sun,
So shall our loves unchided of the skies.
Not leafy choirs that anthem Flora in,
Or those sweet songs that in day's virgin hour
Their hymeneal pour from feathery pipes
That stale Apollo's lute, shall win more smiles
From the consenting gods!
Ara. O, music, breath
Of sin!
Aris. Not so! To love thee not were sin!
The adoration of so fair a soul
Would save me were I damned! And thou art mine.
By stars that knit their motions with our fates,
The season-childing sun, great Heaven itself——
Ara. O, not by Heaven!
Aris. And Heaven's all-greater Lord,
Who gives us souls that we may love all beauty,
And gives us beauty that our souls may love it,
I swear thee mine!
Ara. Your oath—your oath to Dion!
Aris. Thou 'rt mine above all vows! Thou canst not let
Aris. Thou 'rt mine above all vows! Thou canst not let
A mock-enthron�d custom speak to God?
An atom fettered with nice consequence
Bar up the gates of love that are as wide
As His earth-belting arms?
Ara. No pity, none.
Aris. My heart, say thou wilt come.
Ara. 'Tis death.
Aris. 'Tis life!
Come now, O now, else are we cast apart
Far as the dismal Night heaves her vast sigh,
Far as the laboring Chaos breathing blows,—
Perchance to hurl eternally about
The farthest stars that from oppos�d heavens
Dart fiery scouts that die ere they have met,
So long their journey is. Or, gloomier fate,
Condemn�d sit like stones that once could weep
Forever in the cave of ended things
That deep in some immortal Lemnos lies
Nor ever opens its dank gates to day!
O, come ere we are lost! Be thy fair arms
The rainbow girdle to this longing storm
And its rude breast will pillow thee as soft
As Leda when, cool-rocked on lily couch,
The great down-bosomed god swam to her love!
Come, Aratea, heart of life! O now
This pulse speaks back to mine—this bosom throbs
Like heaven's Artemis unto her own!
[Kisses her]
O kiss that holds the mornings of all time,
And dewy seasons of the ungathered rose,
Plant once again thy summer on my lips!
Ara. How dear is death that kisses with such breath!
Thine eyes are seas where sighing ardors blow
Love's argosies from island bowers of dream
Into my heart. Save me, Aristocles!
O me, I'm netted in these golden curls
With web as sure as that the crafty god
Once wove round Aphrodite's blushing bed
And trapped great Ares, sport for gazing heaven!
O, I am lost! [Casts him off]
Away! away! Nor may
My lips move more on earth but in a prayer
To cleanse this moment's madness from our souls!
Aris. Wouldst leave me now to death?
Ara. Ay, unto death,
Lest Truth and Honor die! Thy way's not mine.
My aspen soul would shake its house of fear,
Imagine thunder in the bee's soft hum,
And mountain-rocking winds in harmless air
That would not move the purple down of clouds.
To so great compass now my horror grows
That I myself seem Chaos. 'Tis as I stood
'Mong heaps of ruined destinies with life
Still mourning in them. I am still for fear
Another world will crumble as I stir.
Aris. Move, Aratea! Speak!
Ara. Dost hear that sound?
It is the rustle of tear-dropping gods
Who gather all the golden virtues up
Vouchsafed to earth and trampled low by man.
See how they rise with their immortal store,
A moving radiance like the march of light,
And leave us dark for want of what they bear?
Far, far till stars must upward look to see—
A sapphire trail through the ethereal rose!
Now—earth and darkness—and you call it love!
[Sinks down]
Aris. [Lifting her] Fair soul, be mortal yet!
Ara. [Going from him] Who leaps for stars
Must fall a million leagues too short, or else
Must fall a million leagues too short, or else
Take vantage not of earth. [Goes to curtains]
Farewell—till death.
Aris. 'Twill not be long to wait. Thou canst not live
In Dion's arms.
Ara. Nor thine. As well to hope
The air-winged seed will root in vacancy,
And high mid-nothing hang with lob�d bloom,
As that the rose of love will flower from
The wreck of men and gods.
[He kneels and kisses her robe. She goes out]
Aris. Before I die
I've touched divinity.
[As he rises a slave rushes in, rear, and kneels]
Slave. My lord!
Aris. You serve
Lord Heraclides, do you not?
Slave. I do,
And know his heart—his traitor heart.
Aris. Speak, man.
Slave. You love the noble Dion?
Aris. [Starts] Dion? Ay,
I love him well.
Slave. Sir, Heraclides comes
To slay him. Dion, the good! But you will save him!
�gisthus and Callorus aid my master.
They're bringing Dion here.
Aris. Here? Haste! Bring you
Ocrastes and Calippus! Freedom! Go!
[Slave runs out. Aristocles steps back unseen as Dion, Heraclides, �gisthus and Callorus enter. The slave running out meets them]
Her. What do you, sirrah?
[The slave runs by without answer]
Go! You'll not outrun
The hangman!
[�gisthus and Callorus keep in rear of Heraclides, who walks with Dion]
�g. [To Callorus] We're betrayed.
Callo. [To Heraclides] Do not delay
The blow.
Her. [To Dion] You like our plan, my lord?
�g. [To Heraclides] Strike now.
Dion. 'Tis balm to Syracuse. Your hand upon it,
And pardon me my left.
Her. With all my heart!