_Hub._ Hide? Is 't evermore hide That spotless maid, born but to be a star To human eyes? _La. Alb._ Nay, born to be my shame, And constant, killing fear! _Hub._ She will be safe. Roland de Born, who now will guard this castle, Holds Glaia as the heart in his own body. Ay, she is safe,--but if the danger nears, She'll be conducted back to Greenot woods---- _La. Alb._ Roland de Born? What knows he? _Hub._ Only this, That Glaia, weary of skies, rests foot on earth. _La. Alb._ He does not love her, Hubert? Say not that! _Hub._ Thy daughter is so honored. _La. Alb._ No! _Hub._ She has His noble love, and he my happy wish That he may make her wife. _La. Alb._ Then thou art false, And I look on my grave. _Hub._ What, Eleanor? _La. Alb._ You know my place, and how I queen the court, A virtuous mark that lords point out to wives, Bidding them walk as Albemarle's good dame. Now let me take my seat on the lowest step, And none too humble to mock me going up. _Hub._ What's this to do with Roland's love for Glaia? _La. Alb._ O, let them scorn! Tis nothing! But my husband-- Brother, I never dreamed thy cruelty Would give me to his vengeance. _Hub._ Cruelty? _La. Alb._ O, see me at his feet--bleeding and broken---- _Hub._ Not while I wear a sword! But how have I Disturbed thee? What have said? I've threshed my words, But find no devil in them. _La. Alb._ O, this Roland, If he wive Glaia must ferret out my shame-- Pry her life ope--who is she?--whence she came?-- Till all my secret blushes 'fore his eye. _Hub._ Though he learn all, thy honor in his breast Is safe as gem that at earth's centre burns. _La. Alb._ Nay, I'll not live! You know not Albemarle! He'll scourge me through the court in rags to match My tattered virtue,--then the rack--fire--screws-- The Scotch boot--O, the world's not dear enough To purchase so. I will not live! _Hub._ I swear That Roland cares so much for Glaia's birth As to be glad she's born. And at my word He will receive her questionless and dumb, Nor ever doubt, or weigh his promised faith. _La. Alb._ Why, is there such a man in all the world? _Hub._ He sees her as one looks upon a rose, And thinks not of the mould that bore it, or what The tale that dews and winds could tell. _La. Alb._ 'Tis strange. _Hub._ As strange as truth. _La. Alb._ I must--I do believe you. _Hub._ And bless his suit?