_Con._ I believe it not. Would he speak for you, he were here to speak.
_Hu._ But if at least he hath gone out from the palace Under strict guard, and sails to-night for Spain?
_Hu._ Most certain, And charged with treason.
_Con._ (_turning to Ph._). Now, Philip, I bid thee speak.
_Con._ Ay? thou too. Ay and but: falsest falsehood, seeking grace In shame. I knew devilry lurked about When I came hither. I’ll go. I’ll not believe. I shall know truth at last. [_Going._
_Hu._ Nay, Constance, stay. Philip will answer thee. Thou questionest him; Hear him with patience. I shall leave thee with him. Thou hast been a duteous daughter hitherto, Recover my good grace ere I return. 1710 (_To Ph._) ’Twas an omission, duke, I gave no order To seize the villain’s servants. I’ll go do it. Use thy occasion. [_Exit._
_Con._ I stay, your grace,—why should I go? My father Hath bid me hear thee: and ’tis nought to me. Say what thou wouldst: speak on, nor be officious To suit thy meaning to me, for there’s nothing I can believe or doubt.
_Ph._ O, Constance, think not That could I end thy sorrow by denial Of what thou hast heard, I would not. All is true. My kindest office is to unmask the ill 1721 That this ill hath prevented, and to show thee A balance of good. There lies ’gainst Manuel Far more than we have charged and he confessed: He loves thee, thinkest thou?—He hath used his place To plot against thy father. I here have papers In which thyself mayst see what accusation He hath writ in secret. They are addressed to Spain, And would have been presented ...
_Con._ ’Tis his writing. Whence was this filched? 1730
_Con._ O, a most open foe. Did he enjoin thee To bear them to my father?
_Con._ Then this, duke, yet remains for thee to do. Take them at once. I know not what they mean: But if ’tis secret it may be betrayed. Do it, I pray thee, do it. [_Exit._
_Ph._ And I could wince At such reproach, had I dissembled further Than loyalty may deign, grappling with treason. Her anger springs but of that nobleness 1739 Which makes her love worth winning; and in the end It shall be mine again. [_Exit._
_On the hills above Monreale, as before. Enter PALICIO and MARGARET._
How fresh the morning air is. See how the mist Melts in the sun, and while we look is gone, Leisurely gathered on his sloping beams. And guarded by her angel towers the city Sleeps like an island in the solemn gray: ’Tis beauteous.—