[He sinks down beside the chair in the centre, leaning his head against it.]

ESTHER.  So then be strong through coward fearsomeness. 
             Yet call I others what I was myself. 
             For when their coming roused me from my sleep,
             And I went hurrying to my sister’s aid,
             Into the last, remote, and inmost room,
             One of them seizes me with powerful hand,
             And hurls me to the ground.  And coward, I,
             I fall a-swooning, when I should have stood
             And offered up my life to save my sister,
             Or, at the very least, have died with her! 
             When I awoke, the deed was done, and vain
             My wild attempt to bring her back to life. 
             Then could I weep, then could I tear my hair;
             That is, indeed, true cowardice, a woman’s.

ISAAC.  They tell me this and that.  But ’tis not true!

ESTHER.  Lend me thy chair to sit upon, old man!

[She pulls the chair forward.]

My limbs grow weak and tremble under me. 
Here will I sit and here will I keep watch.

[She sits down.]

Mayhap that one will think it worth his while
To burn the stubble, now the harvest’s o’er,
And will return and kill what still is left.

ISAAC (from the floor).

Not me!  Not me!—­Some one is coming.  Hark! 
No, many come!—­Save me—­I flee to thee!

[He runs to her chair, and cowers on the floor.]

ESTHER.  I like a mother will protect thee now,
             The second childhood of the gray old man. 
             And, if death comes, then childless shalt thou die—­
             I following Rachel in advance of thee!

The KING appears at the centre door, with his page, who carries a torch.

KING.  Shall I go farther, or content myself
             With what I know, though still it is unseen? 
             This castle all a-wreck, laid bare and waste,
             Shrieking from ev’ry corner cries to me
             It is too late, the horror has been done! 
             And thou the blame must bear, cursed dallier,
             If not, forsooth, a party to the deed! 
             But no, thou weepst, and tears no lies can tell. 
             Behold, I also weep, I weep for rage,
             From hot and unslaked passion for revenge! 
             Come, here’s a ring to set your torch within. 
             Go to the town, assemble all the folk,
             And bid them straight unto this castle come
             With arms, as chance may put within their reach;
             And I, when morning comes, with written word,
             Will bring the people here, at my command—­
             Children of toil and hard endeavor, they,