[_Exit_ WALLENSTEIN, _the_ GROOM OF THE CHAMBER _lighting him_.SENI _follows_, GORDON _remains on the darkened stage, following the_ DUKE _with his eye, till he disappears at the farther end of the gallery: then by his gestures the old man expresses the depth of his anguish and stands leaning against a pillar._] SCENE VI GORDON, BUTLER (_at first behind the scenes_) BUTLER (_not yet come into view of the stage_). Here stand in silence till I give the signal. GORDON (_starts up_). 'Tis he! he has already brought the murderers. BUTLER. The lights are out. All lies in profound sleep. GORDON. What shall I do? Shall I attempt to save him? Shall I call up the house? alarm the guards? BUTLER (_appears, but scarcely on the stage_). A light gleams hither from the corridor. 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 God! BUTLER (_going_). God'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? [Illustration: DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN Karl von Piloty] GORDON.