_Rolla._ How, if I engage my honour, that not a hair of the king’s head, or of the heads of any of his servants, shall be injured,—that we will conquer by fear alone?—You know that I was once general of the army—by that army I am still beloved; for the brave fellows have not forgotten how often they triumphed under my command, nor that when we were in the field together the lowest among them was treated as my brother. To you also, Velasquez, the king has entrusted the conduct of a valiant band. On the least signal given, all who have borne arms under my standard, will assemble round me—we will ask nothing for ourselves,—sacred shall be the throne—sacred the life and property of every individual,—nothing shall be required but freedom for Cora and Alonzo. _Juan._ Noble Rolla, you are blinded by love. Search your heart, you will there detect, probably for the first time, evil designs. _Rolla._ I have no ears to listen to your morality. Virtue is but an empty name, if it has never been opposed by passion. _Juan._ And then the stronger the opposition the more noble is the victory. _Rolla._ It may be so, yet I can feel nothing but Cora’s danger,—hear nothing but Cora’s voice crying for help!—Look, here is Cora’s grave!—Icy-hearted man, behold Cora’s grave!—Yet why waste time thus ineffectually?—What interest have you in the fate of Cora?—Well then, (_He seizes Juan’s hand in haste and agitation_) come with me, I will lead you to the pile prepared for your friend!—If at the sight of so dreadful an object your heart can suffer your head to reason—if on that spot I cannot inspire you with rage and anguish, equal to my own?—then farewel, I must resign you wholly to your own apathy, and fly to my mother’s grave,—there as I behold the wind waving the blades of grass, and think whose form is mouldering beneath, all your precepts will in a moment be forgotten, and my soul be armed with new resolution. Come!—away! (_Exit, drawing Juan after him_) SCENE VI.—_The Court before the Temple. XAIRA in conversation with other PRIESTS._ _Xaira._ He stays a long time. _A Priest._ Very long. _Another._ The time is swiftly passing. _A Third._ ’Tis now past noon. _Xaira._ What could the king want with him? _A Priest._ The messenger was wholly ignorant. _Another._ All he knew was, that the king required to speak with the High-Priest, before sentence should be pronounced upon Cora. _Xaira._ ’Tis very extraordinary. _A Priest._ The messenger was in great haste. _Xaira._ Probably the king wished to talk with him about the sentence,—perhaps to consult with him on the possibility of mitigating the punishment. Ah, my friends, I fear that this Inca is not eager in promoting the vengeance due to our offended gods. Didn’t you remark with what reluctance he consented to Zorai’s being put in irons?—with what compassion he looked upon the stranger?—nay, that he even degraded his dignity, so far as to speak to him?—His father was a very different sort of man!