_Man._ Thou’rt the last, And only offspring of a noble stock. The blood that I have staunched in thy veins, Sprang from the heart of Sicily, and flows Redder than mine, tho’ mine too once was mixed, And not unworthily, with thine, and now From my great grandsire’s marriage both our bloods Are even as one, and thy blood on my hands 360 Is mine, and mine within my veins is thine. I cannot send thee to thy death, Giovanni; I may not shelter thee from justice: See, Thou hast done me a grievous wrong. _Pal._ Yet hide me awhile. This house may be my prison. _Man._ Thou hast this hope: The king being dead ... _Pal._ Is’t true that Pedro is dead? _Man._ Ay, true enough. _Pal._ Then are you free. I am safe. [_Puts dagger in his bosom._ _Man._ I say this is thy hope. The king being dead, Such offices as hold under the crown 370 Need confirmation. Now I do not say Allegiance lapses; but, if I be quick To guess the new king’s will, that he will change Our viceroy—which I doubt not,—I may be bold Now to withhold my duties from a servant Discredited, contending that they hang Upon my judgment, for my deeds to give After-account. See, ’tis a subtle point I strain for thee, rather than hurt the claim Of kinship. Thou shalt be my prisoner 380 For these few days. By chance I have a room Fit for thy lodging: there I’ll shew thee now, And thence thou must not stir. I’ll bring thee food, Look to thy wants, and try to cure thy wound. Thou on thy part must lie as still as one That hushes for his life. What, man; thou’rt faint For loss of blood, and strain? Cannot you stand? Stand up, or I must carry you. Indeed, Carry him I must ... see, now, where be my keys? [_Going, carrying Palicio._ ACT · II SCENE · 1 _Hall in Manuel’s house. MARGARET and CONSTANCE._ _MARGARET._ Sweet, happy Constance, tell me why thou sighest. 390 What can’st thou lack? _CONSTANCE._ I am not very happy. _Mar._ Not happy, thou? Woe for the world! I thought Love was God’s perfect recipe, to drowse All mortal stings. Yet sainted marriage hath One threat—the loss of liberty: is’t that? It well may fright. To have been a girl with me So long, and make at last the outrageous stroke, And live as do our aunts! Were’t not my brother, I’d kill the man. _Con._ Margaret! _Mar._ Well mayst thou sigh: I can sigh for thee.