_Ab._ Not, not for worlds, lest, maddening at the sight, I lose all memory of holy function, and rush to strike the murderer of my peace dead in his army's presence! Villain! barbarian!----(_weeps._) Oh! the day has been, when these, fair nature's brightest gems, hung on my cheek as emblems of pure sympathy! But now, like drops of fire, they serve to light the brand of discord and revenge!--come--to the sanctuary! _Rav._ Unequall'd man! fit guardian of such rights--speak! can my arm-- _Ab._ (_taking him aside._) Your father--mark--your father may have heard why she is called Manfredi's daughter. I would know this, and all that you can learn. Now, whilst there's hope, away--and this (_giving him a key_) secures your private entrance through the western gate upon the river's edge. _Rav._ I'll seek my father, ascertain each fact, and, fear not, Agnes! the pangs of parting will be paid at meeting! _Ab._ 'Twill do! 'twill prosper! And my great founder's edict thus revived--should they persist in prostituting justice's name, I will throw wide my abbey-gates, and pardoning all they dare proscribe, make it a bulwark 'gainst the common foe! Come--away! [_Exeunt._ SCENE III.--_a road near Corbey._ _Enter_ Christopher. _Chris._ So, this is the place of meeting--from hence we were to start for Franconia--and not here! Ulrica not yet come! Mighty well! our marriage but an hour old, and keep her husband waiting! _Enter_ Ulrica. So, you begin, madam--you torment already. _Ul._ Why, if I do torment, Christopher its only to please you the more--it is upon my honour. _Chris._ Please by tormenting! how, madam? _Ul._ Ay, ask the god of love, if it isn't-- _Chris._ Yes; but where am I to find him? _Ul._ True--where is love to be found? SONG--_Ulrica._ I. Where does the urchin love abide? Whence does he point his dart? Say, does he with the doves reside? Or dwells he in the heart? II. No fixt abode the traitor knows-- On sportive wings he flies; Awhile he dallies with the rose, Then smiles in lovers' eyes. _Chris._ He does--in mine; and now I'll tell you--'Tis all out, and I've within me the true, real Roland blood. It seems, the strange old count had privately made aunt his wife; but his estate descending with his title, she thought she might support her rank, by getting for her niece a famous husband--and she has got one, hasn't she, Ulrica? _Ul._ She has--but, seriously, think not that I staid from idle motives. Poor Agnes has found shelter in Corbey abbey; but the prince and the avenging knights, march in full force to batter down its walls. _Chris._ Indeed! _Ul._ Now--now I heard it from the noble Ravensburg, who seeks his father, to hear the whole of Agnes's hapless story. And my aunt's influence no more prevailing, perhaps the baron will relent--at least, I hope so. _Chris._ So do I--and we won't stir.