AGATHA. I now sought protection from the old clergyman of the parish. He received me with compassion. On my knees I begged forgiveness for the scandal I had caused to his parishioners; promised amendment; and he said he did not doubt me. Through his recommendation I went to town; and hid in humble lodgings, procured the means of subsistence by teaching to the neighbouring children what I had learnt under the tuition of my benefactress.—To instruct you, my Frederick, was my care and delight; and in return for your filial love I would not thwart your wishes when they led to a soldier’s life: but I saw you go from me with an aching heart. Soon after, my health declined, I was compelled to give up my employment, and, by degrees, became the object you now see me. But, let me add, before I close my calamitous story, that—when I left the good old clergyman, taking along with me his kind advice and his blessing, I left him with a firm determination to fulfil the vow I had made of repentance and amendment. I _have_ fulfilled it—and now, Frederick, you may look at me again. [_He embraces her._] FREDERICK. But my father all this time? [_mournfully_] I apprehend he died. AGATHA. No—he married. FREDERICK. Married! AGATHA. A woman of virtue—of noble birth and immense fortune. Yet, [_weeps_] I had written to him many times; had described your infant innocence and wants; had glanced obliquely at former promises— FREDERICK. [_rapidly_]. No answer to these letters? AGATHA. Not a word.—But in time of war, you know, letters miscarry. FREDERICK. Nor did he ever return to this estate? AGATHA. No—since the death of his mother this castle has only been inhabited by servants—for he settled as far off as Alsace, upon the estate of his wife. FREDERICK. I will carry you in my arms to Alsace. No—why should I ever know my father, if he is a villain! My heart is satisfied with a mother.—No—I will not go to him. I will not disturb his peace—I leave that task to his conscience. What say you, mother, can’t we do without him? [_Struggling between tears and his pride._] We don’t want him. I will write directly to my captain. Let the consequence be what it will, leave you again I cannot. Should I be able to get my discharge, I will work all day at the plough, and all the night with my pen. It will do, mother, it will do! Heaven’s goodness will assist me—it will prosper the endeavours of a dutiful son for the sake of a helpless mother. AGATHA. [_presses him to her breast_]. Where could be found such another son? FREDERICK. But tell me my father’s name, that I may know how to shun him. AGATHA. Baron Wildenhaim. FREDERICK. Baron Wildenhaim! I shall never forget it.—Oh! you are near fainting. Your eyes are cast down. What’s the matter? Speak, mother! AGATHA. Nothing particular.—Only fatigued with talking. I wish to take a little rest.