ISAAC. Lord of life, what's going to happen? 'Tis the tribe of Rehoboam. Wilt thou go? RACHEL. Oh, father, listen! ISAAC. Well then stay! But come thou, Esther, Leave the fool here to her folly. Let the unclean-handed see her, Let him touch her, let him kill her, She herself hath idly willed it. Esther, come! RACHEL. Oh, father, tarry! ISAAC. Hasten, hasten; come, then, Esther! [_Exit with_ ESTHER.] RACHEL. Not alone will I remain here! Listen! Stay! Alas, they leave me. Not alone will I remain here. Ah! they come--Oh, sister, father! [_She hastens after them._] _Enter the_ KING, _the_ QUEEN, MANTRIQUE DE LARA _and suite_. KING (_entering_). Allow the folk to stay! It harms me not; For he who calleth me a King denotes As highest among many me, and so The people is a part of my own self. (_Turning to the_ QUEEN.) And thou, no meager portion of myself, Art welcome here in this my ancient home, Art welcome in Toledo's faithful walls. Gaze all about thee, let thy heart beat high, For, know! thou standest at my spirit's fount. There is no square, no house, no stone, no tree, That is not witness of my childhood lot. An orphan child, I fled my uncle's wrath, Bereft of mother first, then fatherless, Through hostile land--it was my own--I fled. The brave Castilians me from place to place, Like shelterers of villainy did lead, And hid me from my uncle of Leon, Since death did threaten host as well as guest. But everywhere they tracked me up and down. Then Estevan Illan, a don who long Hath slept beneath the greensward of the grave, And this man here, Manrique Lara, led me To this, the stronghold of the enemy, And hid me in the tower of St. Roman, Which there you see high o'er Toledo's roofs. There lay I still, but they began to strew The seed of rumor in the civic ear, And on Ascension Day, when all the folk Was gathered at the gate of yonder fane, They led me to the tower-balcony And showed me to the people, calling down, "Here in your midst, among you, is your King, The heir of ancient princes; of their rights And of your rights the willing guardian." I was a child and wept then, as they said. But still I hear it--ever that wild cry, A single word from thousand bearded throats, A thousand swords as in a single hand, The people's hand. But God the vict'ry gave,