Chapter VIII: Act III: SCENE—Same as previous Acts

SCENE I

_Dr. Tomás. Afterwards servant._

DR. TOMÁS. Everything is quiet. The girl's sobbing can no longer be
heard, and Don Lorenzo's fury is calmed. 'Tis but the gentle precursor
of a fresh tempest. [_Pause._] There are moments when I doubt and
vacillate. He,—he,—my good friend, poor Lorenzo—the very idea gives me
no rest. Well, well, we shall soon know the truth now,—meanwhile,
courage. I have sacred obligations to fulfil towards this afflicted
family. Nobody could more earnestly desire to help them than I.

SERVANT. A gentleman, accompanied by two—really sir, I don't know what
to call them—but their dress,—well, the gentleman has given me his
card for you, and they are all waiting outside.

DR. TOMÁS. [_Looking at card._] Ah, Doctor Bermúdez. Show him in.

SERVANT. And the other two?

DR. TOMÁS. Let them wait. [_Exit servant._] As the hour approaches my
doubts and my anxiety increase. Poor Doña Ángela! what a blow for her!
And in what a state of nervous agitation is her unhappy daughter! How
lucid her glance, and how quick her intelligence! Nobody has explained
the matter to her, and yet I believe she knows everything. She guesses
what she does not precisely know, and suspects what she does not
guess. Oh, no; the situation cannot be prolonged. However sad reality
may be, we have to face it.

SCENE II

_Dr. Tomás, Dr. Bermúdez. Afterwards two keepers, attired like
gentlemen, but evincing that they are not such. Dr. Tomás advances
with outstretched hand._

DR. TOMÁS. Doctor.

BERMÚDEZ. Dr. Tomás.

DR. TOMÁS. Punctual as ever.

BERMÚDEZ. No, I am a little early. I want to hide these fellows
somewhere.

DR. TOMÁS. Yes, yes, I understand.

BERMÚDEZ. I have made them dress so as to avert suspicion in Don
Lorenzo. This is a case for such general precautions.

DR. TOMÁS. Quite so, quite so. We must proceed with great caution. It
was an access of fury, a veritable access of fury, as I told you. He
has only had one, the other night. Perhaps I am mistaken.

BERMÚDEZ. I sincerely hope so—and you, too, I am sure.

DR. TOMÁS. Ah, my friend, I scarce know what I am doing. But we trust in
your science, your experience, and profound penetration to relieve us
of our present doubt.

BERMÚDEZ. You flatter me. You also are a doctor——

DR. TOMÁS. Don't count on me, Bermúdez. I am good for nothing. I declare
myself incompetent. It is a question of my best friend, of a brother
almost. Besides, he has always struck me—you know my school. There is
not a divisional line between reason and madness.

BERMÚDEZ. Quite true. All men of learning are more or less insane.

DR. TOMÁS. Precisely. Excitement of the brain beyond certain limits——

BERMÚDEZ. That's it. What we have to do is to see what can be done with
Don Lorenzo. Now these two fellows——

DR. TOMÁS. Oh, it will be easy enough to invent a tale. We'll call them
witnesses—say they've come with the notary—anything, in fact. Poor
Lorenzo is not in a condition to take note of details.

BERMÚDEZ. Where will they wait?

DR. TOMÁS. [_Pointing to door R._] Inside that door.

BERMÚDEZ. [_Going up the stage._] Here, Braulio! {_Enter two keepers,
rather heavy and rough in appearance._]

DR. TOMÁS. Go into that closet. You will be called if
necessary,—meanwhile, remain quiet. [_Keepers salute and enter closet
R._] Since Juana's death Don Lorenzo has not used this room. [_To
Bermúdez._] With the door shut—— [_Shuts it._]

BERMÚDEZ. [_Looking at his watch._] I will be with you in a moment. I'll
be back again before the notary arrives. I'm only off somewhere in the
neighbourhood.

DR. TOMÁS. A visit?

BERMÚDEZ. Yes; a very strange case of insanity. [_Enter Doña Ángela C.,
who stands looking at Bermúdez._] She's——? [_To Dr. Tomás, glancing at
Doña Ángela._]

DR. TOMÁS. Yes—his wife. Don't say anything to her.

BERMÚDEZ. [_Aside to Dr. Tomás._] I'll be back shortly. Your servant,
madam. [_Salutes Doña Ángela, and exit C._]

SCENE III

_Doña Ángela and Dr. Tomás. Doña Ángela follows Bermúdez with her eyes,
then glances towards the closet where keepers are concealed._

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Who was that going away? And who were the two men that
accompanied him?

DR. TOMÁS. Don't be alarmed, dear madam. It will be all right. These are
only ordinary precautions, for, who knows? Don Lorenzo might have
another access of fury like that of the night before last, and for
your sakes—for his own——

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Oh, doctor, don't hint such a thing.

DR. TOMÁS. Don't you remember with what frenzy he grasped poor Juana's
dying body? Now that nobody is listening, in all confidence let me say
that I firmly believe he was the determining cause——

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Tomás, Tomás!

DR. TOMÁS. Well, at any rate he hastened her death. You heard how
bitterly he accused himself in his delirium. Don't let us forge
illusions. It was a real access of——

DOÑA ÁNGELA. [_Sobbing._] Lorenzo, my husband!

DR. TOMÁS. The crisis may return, for to-day——

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Yes, I know what his intention is. Ah, doctor, how
unfortunate we are! How unfortunate my poor Lorenzo is!

DR. TOMÁS. What is he doing now?

DOÑA ÁNGELA. He is quite calm. He writes, and walks about. He wants to
be continually with Inés and me, because solitude terrifies him. A
moment ago he stared at me mournfully, but with such tenderness, and
kissed me, murmuring, 'poor Ángela.'

DR. TOMÁS. You must not contradict him.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. No, doctor. We agree with him in everything.

DR. TOMÁS. And he still persists in the same idea?

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Yes. From time to time he asks what o'clock it is, gets
impatient with the notary's delay, and then mutters in an undertone:
'Though all the world should oppose me, I must do it.'

DR. TOMÁS. What a fellow! What character!

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Oh, doctor, for the love of God, don't deceive me. Tell me,
do you really believe Lorenzo to be—to be,—no, I can't—I can't bring
myself to pronounce the horrible word.

DR. TOMÁS. I don't yet know what to believe. We shall soon see, my dear
friend, we shall see. It was precisely to be relieved once and for all
of intolerable anxiety that I asked Dr. Bermúdez to call. He is the
first authority upon all such cases.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. But it is impossible, it is surely impossible.

DR. TOMÁS. It would rejoice me to learn so, and we need not lose hope.
But impossible, madam! Ah, human reason is so slight a thing.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Oh, my dear husband! No, I cannot bear—it cannot be.

DR. TOMÁS. Come, come, Doña Ángela. Have sense and courage, if only for
your daughter's sake, for poor Inés. And who knows yet? We have to see
if Don Lorenzo has any explanation to offer—any proof——

DOÑA ÁNGELA. What proof can he have? Even the dying Juana cried out to
him, 'No, no, you are not my son,' while he, frenzied and delirious,
grasped her in his arms and strove to force an impossible confession
from the half dead body, calling her 'mother' in the strident voice of
dementia. No, you can't console me, friend. It is useless. I foresee
that our misfortune is inevitable.

DR. TOMÁS. I almost fear so.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. And then his way of receiving the duchess, he who is always
the pink of courtesy, a finished gentleman——

DR. TOMÁS. You are right. On that occasion I understood how it was with
him. But who can be resigned when fate strikes so suddenly?

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Adoring a child as he adores Inés, is there anybody who
could act as he proposes to act to-day?

DR. TOMÁS. Nobody, madam, nobody in his right mind.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Have you told Dr. Bermúdez?

DR. TOMÁS. Not everything. That would be dangerous. But quite enough to
enable him to pronounce an opinion.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. And what is it?

DR. TOMÁS. Am I to speak fully?

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Yes, yes, doctor. Conceal nothing. I know there is no
remedy.

DR. TOMÁS. With skillful treatment, separated from everybody, especially
from those whose presence could only serve to exasperate his nervous
sensibility by very reason of his affection for them——

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Tomás!

DR. TOMÁS. In some good asylum here in Spain or abroad——

DOÑA ÁNGELA. What! What is it you say? Separate him from us! Take him
away! He—he—never. I am his wife. I will never consent to it.

DR. TOMÁS. The sight of Inés will aggravate his delirium.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Her absence would be his death.

DR. TOMÁS. He smothered that poor woman to death.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. There you are wrong, Tomás. With her father Inés runs no
risk. She is his daughter.

DR. TOMÁS. He believed Juana to be his mother.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. It must not be, Tomás, it must not be. Why can't you find a
way of relieving my anguish instead of torturing me so?

DR. TOMÁS. Doña Ángela!

DOÑA ÁNGELA. It is true, my friend, 'twould indeed be no easy matter to
find consolation for such a sorrow as mine.

DR. TOMÁS. There is no human sorrow inconsolable, however great it may
be.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Oh, but mine is.

DR. TOMÁS. Yours still less than many others. Come, let us discuss it
dispassionately.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. How can I, with fever running fire in my veins?

DR. TOMÁS. Hear me out. If what Don Lorenzo asserts be true, if there
were irrefragable proofs——

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Then my poor husband would not be out of his mind. We it
would be who are blind and foolish. Oh, what a blessing that would be!

DR. TOMÁS. Not so great, for in that case you would have to face
poverty, dishonour—death even.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Hush, Tomás.

DR. TOMÁS. I say death advisedly, for Inés would most certainly die of
it. On the other hand, if Lorenzo's calamity be proved——

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Don't continue. I can't bear to think of it.

DR. TOMÁS. But think of Inés, and in thinking of her you will see that,
terrible as the wound is—we must acknowledge the fact, sad as it is—it
is by no means a mortal wound. For youth, what alone is mortal is to
destroy the future—not simply precipitate the past into nothingness.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. For mercy's sake, Tomás!

DR. TOMÁS. The happiness of Inés' lifetime depends upon her father's
calamity—don't forget it.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Let God's will be done, but do not seek to awaken ideas
rather fitted to frighten than to comfort me.

SCENE IV

_Ángela, Dr. Tomás, Don Lorenzo R._

DON LORENZO. [_Aside._] But where have I left the key? Oh, my head! and
the notary will be here presently. I left the letter in the desk. I
remember quite well. Two days ago, when my mother——

DR. TOMÁS. [_Without seeing Don Lorenzo._] Poor Doña Ángela! The proof
[ordeal] will be a terrible one.

DON LORENZO. What? What are they saying? The proof! yes; they are
speaking of the proof. [_Looks eagerly about the table for key of
desk._]

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Yes, it will be a terrible one—very terrible to walk
between two precipices. Lorenzo on the one side, Inés on the other.
You are right indeed.

DON LORENZO. [_Aloud, angrily._] I have lost it.

DR. TOMÁS. [_Aside, turning round._] I should think you have,
unfortunate man.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Lorenzo!

DON LORENZO. Ah, they're there. [_Recognises them with a suspicious
glance._]

DOÑA ÁNGELA. [_Gently._] What are you looking for? We will help you.

DON LORENZO. You! no. Wherefore? It is my work.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. But at least tell us what you have lost.

DON LORENZO. Everything—even the love of mine own. Say if there can be
more for me to lose.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. No, Lorenzo, do not believe it.

DON LORENZO. At last! The key. Heaven be praised! [_Aside,
distrustfully._] It was there—it was in the lock. [_Opens desk and
takes out the paper Juana placed there._] Ah, here it is. I breathe
again freely. [_Reads._] 'For Lorenzo.' This is the paper.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. [_Approaching._] Have you found what you were looking for?

DON LORENZO. Yes. [_Dr. Tomás also approaches._]

DOÑA ÁNGELA. What paper is it?

_Don Lorenzo makes a movement to take paper out of envelope, but seeing
Dr. Tomás and Doña Ángela come nearer, he puts it back in desk, locks
it, and pockets the key._]

DON LORENZO. A very important one. [_Looks from one to the other angrily and suspiciously._] But why do you want to know?

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Don't be offended, Lorenzo. Forgive me if I have committed an indiscretion.

DON LORENZO. I forgive! It is I who want your forgiveness. Through me, through my fault, are you about to be plunged into misery.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Do not say so. We could never be miserable, you being happy.

DON LORENZO. And I, could I be happy, fortune having deserted you and my beloved child?

DOÑA ÁNGELA. She, too, will be happy.

DON LORENZO. Impossible, for you know what I am thinking of.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. You have told me. Don't you remember?

DON LORENZO. [_To Dr. Tomás._] And you?

DR. TOMÁS. I also know.

DON LORENZO. You approve?

DOÑA ÁNGELA. [_Sweetly._] Whatever you do will be well done.

DON LORENZO. [_To Dr. Tomás_] What have you to say?

DR. TOMÁS. The same.

DON LORENZO. [_Thoughtfully._] 'The same.' What conformity of opinion! Do you know that I have sent for a notary?

DOÑA ÁNGELA. We know it.

DON LORENZO. [_Looking at both._] You know it. And do you likewise know that I am about to have a legal act drawn up containing my formal declaration and renunciation?

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Yes, Lorenzo.

DON LORENZO. So that the judge may then ordain as the law directs? Is it not so?

DR. TOMÁS. It is natural.

DON LORENZO. [_To Doña Ángela._] What do you say to it?

DOÑA ÁNGELA. [_In weeping voice._] If this wealth we now enjoy is not legally yours—you do well.

DR. TOMÁS. If the name you bear is not yours, you must certainly give it up.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. In any case your will is law.

DON LORENZO. Yes, but a tyrannical law, an impious law—eh?

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Still, a law that I respect above all others.

DON LORENZO. [_Nervous, unquiet, almost irritable._] And you don't resist it? You don't struggle against it?

DR. TOMÁS. Your conduct is that of a man of honour. Strictly speaking, there is nothing else for you to do.

DON LORENZO. What unheard-of submission! What extraordinary docility! What a sudden change! You are deceiving me. I tell you, you are lying to me. [_Violently._]

DOÑA ÁNGELA. For pity's sake, Lorenzo.

DR. TOMÁS. [_Aside._] Ah, there is no hope. Like a black wave dementia has spread over his mind.

DON LORENZO. [_More calmly._] Well, well, better so. [_Pause. Approaches Doña Ángela affectionately._] Where is Inés?

DOÑA ÁNGELA. My poor child!

DON LORENZO. You don't defend her against me? [_Then gently._] Nevertheless, it is your duty.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Alas, Lorenzo, what strength has your wretched wife to use against you? Your will grows iron in strife and calamity; mine bends to the very dust.

DON LORENZO. You are right. My will is irresistible when duty orders me. [_To Dr. Tomás._] What do you think of all this?

DR. TOMÁS. That it should be so.

DON LORENZO. So it is. [_Pause._] Poor Ángela! And do you know what we are going to do once the act is signed and the proof given up?

DR. TOMÁS. You have a proof?

DON LORENZO. You didn't know. [_Aside, wondering._] (And they were talking about it when I entered!) Yes, I have it, irrefutable, past doubt, clear as daylight, although it is black as night and treason.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Keep calm, Lorenzo.

DR. TOMÁS. Then what is it?

DON LORENZO. A letter of my mother's—of the woman who called herself my mother.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. [_Aside._] Good Heavens! Can it be true?

DON LORENZO. Her signature, her handwriting—it is here—in my power.

DR. TOMÁS. [_Aside._] Ah, if it were so.

DON LORENZO. Then when the proof is delivered up, you, my poor Inés, and I will at once leave this house—this house which already has ceased to be ours, and which this very day the law will take into possession until it is handed over to the heirs of Avendaña. [_With increasing animation._] And in a little while we shall wander forth without resources, without a name, bearing a dying child in our arms—for have you not assured us that Inés will die? [_to Dr. Tomás_]—fronting a despairing solitude——no, 'twas not well said—I blasphemed. We will bear away with us an unstained honour and a tranquil conscience, and our heads will be held high, while God is with us. What matter if the world forsake us, thus accompanied?

DOÑA ÁNGELA. [_Embracing him._] Before, I said with my lips only: 'Your will is law, Lorenzo.' Now I say it with my heart.

DR. TOMÁS. [_Aside._] If the proof exists, this man is a saint. But, alas! if it does not exist, the unfortunate fellow is nothing but a lunatic. [_Enter servant._]

SERVANT. The Duchess of Almonte, and his Grace the Duke.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Show them in. [_To Dr. Tomás._] Have you informed them?

DR. TOMÁS. [_To Doña Ángela._] I told them last night. The duchess promised to come. You see, she has kept her word.

DON LORENZO. I cannot see them. I must be alone, unless you are with me—only you. Good-bye, Ángela.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Good-bye, Lorenzo.

DON LORENZO. [_Looking at his watch._] How slowly time passes! [_Goes to door R. Dr. Tomás follows him._] Have you given notice to the witnesses? [_At door._]

DR. TOMÁS. I have two inside waiting, and another will be here presently.

DON LORENZO. Who are they?

DR. TOMÁS. You don't know them. They are friends of mine.

DON LORENZO. And why not mine too?

DR. TOMÁS. I always considered my friends as yours.

DON LORENZO. [_Looks at him for a moment._] So they are. [_Aside._] Ah, this complaisance! I would have preferred to see them resist—struggle against me!

SCENE V

_Doña Ángela, the Duchess, Edward, and Dr. Tomás._

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Duchess!

DUCHESS. Madam! [_Salutes affectionately._]

DOÑA ÁNGELA. You are always so good to us.

DUCHESS. It is my duty to offer the consolations of sincere friendship
in your cruel trouble. God has willed that the same misfortune should
strike us all though in different ways. [_Lowers her voice and points
to Edward on uttering the last word._]

DOÑA ÁNGELA. But what then do you call the misfortune that has struck
me? I know not.

EDWARD. Well, madam, the moment for naming it has arrived. It is called
poverty, and shame, and the death of Inés, or——

DOÑA ÁNGELA _and_ DUCHESS, [_At same time._] Edward!

EDWARD. Forgive me, mother. We should each and all speak out the truth
to-day. You have already said: 'I will compromise with Don Lorenzo's
calamity for the sake of the love I bear you and that which you bear
me; but I will never compromise with his public dishonour,—never, not
even for the price of your life.' My life, mother, was it not so 'twas
said?

DUCHESS. [_With energy, but sadly._] Yes.

EDWARD. [_Going toward Doña Ángela._] Then, madam, let us probe the
misfortune that has struck you. Whether is it called dishonour or
madness? This is the problem we have to solve. Should Don Lorenzo be
correct, should he be in his sound senses, should there be proof
forthcoming of his assertion, it is for us to respect his cruel
virtue. But if, as I (by a thousand signs that almost constitute
evidence) believe, an eternal cloud has dimmed his intellect, and the
light of his reason is for ever quenched,—then defend yourself, Doña
Ángela. It is your most sacred duty. Defend the name you bear, your
social position, even Don Lorenzo's honour, against his own raving;
defend,—why should I keep it back?—Inés' life and her life's felicity.
Do not, madam, leave such almighty interests and so dear an object at
the mercy of a madman.

DUCHESS. Edward!

EDWARD. The word is a harsh one, but the time has come to pronounce it.
Once for all, let us learn the fact whether this battle for reputation
and existence into which Don Lorenzo has cast us is what it seems or
what I fear:—whether, finally, the heroic sacrifice of this implacable
scholar is insanity or sanctity.

DUCHESS. Enough, Edward. [_Doña Ángela sits down on sofa, weeping
bitterly. Duchess goes over to her._]

DR. TOMÁS. [_To Edward._] The happiness of this family affects me as
closely as my own. What you propose to do has already been considered,
and both the law and science will be called in to decide.

DUCHESS. I hope to Heaven the darkness will be illuminated for you. [_To
Doña Ángela._] Come, come, madam: courage, resignation! Where is Inés?

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Do you wish to see her?

DUCHESS. Yes.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Come, then. [_To Dr. Tomás._] And you too. I would like you
to see her. For the past three days fever alone has lent her strength.
My daughter, my dear child is very ill.

DR. TOMÁS. Poor girl!

[_Exeunt Doña Ángela, Duchess, and Dr. Tomás._]

SCENE VI

EDWARD. They persist in doubting. What blindness! They can't understand
that the unfortunate gentleman, from force of seeking, not the
righting of wrongs, like the Errant Knight, but the reason of all the
varied rights invented by the accumulated wisdom of centuries, has
ended by losing the only one that Providence saw fit to bestow upon
him—namely, natural reason. Oh, but this must not be. I cannot allow
them to sacrifice my dear one's life to the extravagances of a poor
madman.

SCENE VII

_Edward, Inés, comes out by closet R., where the keepers are
concealed, agitated, and as if fleeing._

INÉS. What are those men? Who are they?

EDWARD. [_Rushing towards her._] Inés, my beloved! How pale you are!
Your divine glance is hemmed round by deep purple shadow.

INÉS. But answer me. Who are they? What are they waiting for? Send them
away. [_Approaches the door cautiously and peeps in; Edward endeavours
to lead her down the stage._] There is something sinister about them.
My father—where is my father? I was looking for him between the
drawing-room and yonder closet, and I saw them—I can't bear the sight
of them, and yet I cannot take my eyes from off them.

EDWARD. But what is the matter with you, dearest? Why do your eyes seem
to shun me? Is it from me that you are running away? Inés, have you
wearied of my love?

INÉS. [_Coming down the stage._] Wearied of your love? You must know
that it is my life. But oh, Edward, to what a frightful ordeal fate
has subjected us! You do not understand it. For me supreme bliss lies
in your love, and the hope I place in your love is a still greater
bliss—a far, far greater. The one is our present, the other contains
all our future. And yet, Edward, dearest, that same hope has now
become a crime for your Inés, yes, a crime. Can a cruelty more
exquisite be conceived? That which destiny denies no other living
being it denies me. Yesterday I was but a child. My thoughts floated
upon laughter in a sphere of white transparency, like a vapoury mist
in moonlight. To-day they are as heavy as lead, as burning as lava.
Could you but hear their horrible whispers in the silence of night.
And these thoughts are not mine. It is not my will that gives them
birth. They come I know not whence. I cast them from me, and still
they return. They vex me with chiding complaints: 'your poor father,'
one moment, and then assail me with tempting voices, murmuring: 'Inés,
Inés, who knows?—you may yet be happy—love may yet smile upon
you—hope, hope, poor little thing.' Can you think of anything more
horrible—surely it must be my bad angel—than to hear within oneself
the voice of Satan whispering of hope to one bidden to say farewell to
it?

EDWARD. You are not yourself, my dear Inés.

INÉS. [_Approaching Edward._] I am filled with remorse.

EDWARD. For what?

INÉS. I don't know. I have done nothing wrong. My father! My poor
father!

EDWARD. You angel of my life, my heart's desire, be calm, be calm. I beg
of you to spare yourself.

INÉS. Whisper, Edward. I could almost wish I were dead.

SCENE VIII

_Don Lorenzo, Inés, and Edward. Don Lorenzo enters C.,
and stands listening to Inés._

DON LORENZO. [_Aside._] Dead, she said?

EDWARD. You dead! No, Inés, don't say such a thing.

INÉS. Why not? If I do not die of sorrow—should fortune ever again smile
upon me, then must I die of remorse.

DON LORENZO. [_Aside._] Of remorse! She! Should fortune ever again smile
upon her! What worse fate floats in the air and hangs threateningly
above my head? Remorse!—I have again caught another passing word. I
traverse rooms and galleries, and wander from one place to another,
pricked by insufferable anguish. I hear talk that I do not understand,
and meet glances still further from my comprehension. I see tears
here, smiles there, and nobody opposes me,—all either fly from me or
watch me. [_Aloud._] What is this? What is this?

INÉS. [_Rushing to his arms._] Oh, father!

DON LORENZO. Inés, how white you are? Whence this dolorous constriction
of your lips? Why do you essay a smile only to end in sobbing? How
lovely she is in her sorrow! And it is all my fault.

INÉS. No, father.

DON LORENZO. I am cruel. Oh, if you do not say it, you think it.

EDWARD. Inés is too sweet-natured to harbour rebellious thoughts. But we
who see her suffer cannot help thinking and saying it for her.

DON LORENZO. It is but natural you should do so.

EDWARD. [_Passionately._] Then if I am right, you are wrong.

DON LORENZO. I am not in the wrong for that. There is something more
pallid than the white brow of a lovesick maid; there are tears sadder
far than the crystal drops of her beautiful eyes, something still
crueller than the curving smiles of her lips, and something yet more
tragic than the death of our beloved.

EDWARD. [_With violence and contempt._] What is this worse pallor, these
sadder tears, and still mournfuller tragedies?

DON LORENZO. [_Seizing his arm._] Madman! The pallor of crime, the tears
of remorse, the consciousness of one's own infamy.

EDWARD. And this infamy, this remorse, this crime would lie in
furthering your daughter's happiness?

DON LORENZO. [_Despairingly._] It should not be—but so it is
nevertheless. [_Pause._] And this makes my torment. This is the idea
that will drive me mad.

INÉS. No, no, father. You must not say that. Do what you think best
without thought of me. What does it matter whether I live or die?

DON LORENZO. Inés!

INÉS. Only, do not be uncertain in it—above all, do not let others see
your uncertainty. Let your speech be clear and persuasive, as it is
now, and do not let worry blind you. Be calm, father. I implore you by
all that is sacred.

DON LORENZO. What do you mean? I do not understand.

INÉS. Do I myself know rightly what I mean? Adieu, adieu. I cannot bear
to grieve you.

EDWARD. [_To Don Lorenzo._] Alas, if 'twere possible for you to take
counsel with your heart, and silence the prompting of thought.

INÉS. [_To Edward._] Do not vex him. Come with me—if you thwart him
maybe 'twill force his hate.

DON LORENZO. Poor child!—she also is struggling—but she will conquer.
She is not my daughter for nothing.

[_Utters this proudly. Inés and Edward go up the stage; passing the
door of the closet, Inés sees the keepers, and makes a movement of
horror._]

INÉS. What sinister vision is it that frights my gaze? Those men? Oh,
father, do not enter there.

EDWARD. Come, Inés, come.

INÉS. [_To her father._] No, no. I beseech you, father.

DON LORENZO. [_Going towards her._] Inés!

INÉS. Those men—there—look! [_Points to closet. Don Lorenzo stands and
follows her eyes. At that moment the keepers, hearing her cry, lift
the curtain and show themselves._]

EDWARD. [_Leading Inés away._] At last!

SCENE IX

_Don Lorenzo, Braulio and Benito._ [_Pause._]

DON LORENZO. Who can they be? Enter, pray. [_The keepers advance
timidly, and speak abruptly._]

BRAULIO. Dr. Tomás——

DON LORENZO. [_Aside._] Ah, I understand.

BENITO. Told us to wait there——

DON LORENZO. Excuse me, I did not know——

BRAULIO. Not at all, sir.

DON LORENZO. [_Aside._] How odd they look, in sooth. Pray, be seated.

BENITO. Thanks, sir.

BRAULIO. We are well enough standing.

DON LORENZO. I cannot permit it——

BRAULIO. Don't trouble yourself, sir.

BENITO. If the gentleman orders it, it is better to take a seat. [_Both
sit down on sofa. Don Lorenzo remains standing._]

DON LORENZO. [_Aside._] Their looks seem to bode no good, or is it,
perhaps, that my eyes only reflect the flashes that dart across my
mind? [_Inspects them again attentively. Aloud._] It was Miss Avendaña
who saw you when she passed, and mentioned it to me.

BRAULIO. Yes, that beautiful young lady.

BENITO. Who looked so sorrowful.

BRAULIO. Like the picture of the Dolorosa. [_The keepers speak shortly,
and after these remarks fall into sudden silence, remaining stiff and
immovable, looking vaguely before them._]

DON LORENZO. You frightened her, and she almost ran away at the sight of
you. But you must not be astonished. The poor girl is very ill—indeed,
she is scarce other than a child yet.

BRAULIO. [_Smiling sillily._] It always happens to us in every house.

DON LORENZO. [_Aside, wondering._] In every house!

BENITO. [_Looking for the first time at Don Lorenzo, and again looking
steadily in front of him._] Can she be that poor gentleman's
daughter,—eh?

DON LORENZO. What poor gentleman?

BENITO. [_Without looking at him._] The gentleman who is—— [_Touches his
forehead, still not looking at Don Lorenzo, who, unobserved by the
keepers, makes a gesture of surprise._]

DON LORENZO. [_Aside._] Ah—no—what an idea! [_Aloud, with an effort of
self-control._] Just so. She is the daughter of—— [_Observes them with
increasing anxiety._]

BENITO. Well, she is very beautiful, though so sad.

BRAULIO. 'Tis reason enough she has to be sad.

DON LORENZO. You know——?

BRAULIO. Everything. [_Looks a moment at Don Lorenzo and then away._]

DON LORENZO. Dr. Tomás told you?

BENITO. Not to us.

BRAULIO. He told the doctor.

BENITO. Why should he talk to us? We, in doing our duty——

DON LORENZO. [_Aside._] All my body is bathed in a cold sweat, like the
sweat of death. I am raving—This can't possibly be true. [_Repeats
mechanically._] In doing your duty——

BRAULIO. We are here on the look-out in case he should become
obstreperous.

DON LORENZO. In case he should become obstreperous?—who?

BRAULIO. Why, the gentleman.

DON LORENZO. [_Falls back staring at him in terror; passes his hand over
his forehead as if to brush away an idea; retreats still further,
staggers, and leans against the table. Then speaks low and abruptly in
a dead voice._] So you know everything.

BRAULIO. Nearly everything.

BENITO. As we have been waiting here for some time, we have heard the
servants talk.

DON LORENZO. They said——?

BRAULIO. They didn't leave us in the dark, you may be sure. It appears
Don Lorenzo had an attack the night before last. You know all about it
better than we do.

DON LORENZO. [_In a heavy sombre tone._] Yes.

BENITO. They say he strangled a poor old woman. [_Don Lorenzo recoils in
horror, and covers his face with his hands._]

BRAULIO. There's a fellow for you! A good beginning—that's clear enough.
It's always the same thing. The family——

DON LORENZO. The family! [_Removes his hands from his face, walks a few
steps as if shaken by an electric shock, and stares at them with keen
anxiety, speaking in the same dead voice._]

BRAULIO. Yes, the family—'tis natural enough.—Don't they say he wanted
to give all his fortune away? ever so many millions. The devil of a
lunatic altogether. Nothing else for it but what has been decided—to
pack him off. We take him away and the poor ladies are left in peace.

DON LORENZO. I!—they?—Ángela?—Inés—no, no—not possible. [_Recoils again
R._]

BRAULIO. [_Staring after him. Aside._] What's the matter with the
gentleman? [_To Benito._] Look at him, look. [_Both keepers draw
together and bend forward in direction R. looking curiously at Don
Lorenzo. This group should be made important._]

DON LORENZO. Air, light! No, not light—darkness! I do not want to see. I
do not want to think. [_Falls into arm-chair and lets his head drop
into his palms._]

BENITO. I say, I believe that's——

BRAULIO. This is a fine fix.

BENITO. Who would think it!

BRAULIO. Let us go back to our hiding-place.

BENITO. Sh! Say nothing about it. [_They rise and walk cautiously to the
closet, closely watching Don Lorenzo._]

BRAULIO. That's settled. Not a word. We were told to stay in here. Then
let us stay, and we'd have done better not to budge.

BENITO. Somebody is crying and sobbing. [_They reach the door, stand and
look at Don Lorenzo, who has not changed his attitude. Servant enters
C., crosses and goes out R._] Leave him alone, leave him alone. Now
that he is calm. [_They enter closet and shut door._]

SCENE X

_Don Lorenzo. Dr. Tomás and servant enter R._

DON LORENZO. My God, remove this chalice from my lips—I can endure no
more—no more. Oh, strength fails me. [_Sobs despairingly._] Thou who
madest me believe in them. Thou who madest me love them!—and now
they—oh, traitors! No, no. Lord who hast given me life, relieve me of
its burden soon. See, Lord, how close upon me is the temptation to
thrust from me with my own hands this putrid garb of flesh. To die!
How I yearn for death! Dost thou not see it? See me kneel to implore
it of thee—on my knees. Thou art kind, thou art compassionate. Death,
only death. Send me death, the pallid messenger of thy love. [_Falls
kneeling beside the arm-chair and drops his head upon folded arms._]

DR. TOMÁS. [_In low voice to servant._] Have they both come?

SERVANT. [_In same tone to Dr. Tomás._] Yes, sir; both the notary and
Dr. Bermúdez. [_Dr. Tomás and servant stand in middle of stage
observing Don Lorenzo, who is kneeling and sobbing._]

DR. TOMÁS. Poor fellow! [_Steps towards Don Lorenzo, changes his mind
and goes up C._] Why should I? Let us make an end of it.

[_Exeunt Dr. Tomás and servant._]

SCENE XI

_Don Lorenzo. Afterwards Dr. Tomás and Dr. Bermúdez._

DON LORENZO. Now am I calmer. The hurt is mortal. I feel it—here at the
heart's core. Thanks, Almighty consoler. [_Dr. Tomás and Dr. Bermúdez
enter C. and stand watching him._]

DR. TOMÁS. You see him there—beside the arm-chair.

BERMÚDEZ. Unfortunate man!

DON LORENZO. [_Rising. Aside._] Ah, miserable being—still,
still—cherishing impossible hopes. Impossible! And suppose they
honestly believe that I——? Oh, but if they loved me, surely they would
not believe it. [_Despairingly. Pause._] Did I not hear Inés—the child
I so greatly love—speak of remorse? Why should she speak of remorse?
[_Aloud with increasing agitation._] All of them—wretches!—They would
almost rejoice at my death. No, then I will not die, no, not until I
have fulfilled my duty as an honourable man, not before I have brought
the question of my madness to an end.

DR. TOMÁS. [_Placing a hand upon his arm._] Lorenzo.

DON LORENZO. [_Turning, recognises him, and retreats angrily._] He!

DR. TOMÁS. Let me introduce one of my best friends, Dr. Bermúdez.
[_Pause. Don Lorenzo looks at both strangely._]

BERMÚDEZ. [_In low voice to Dr. Tomás._] You can see the effort he is
making to control himself. There can be no doubt that he is vaguely
conscious of his condition.

DON LORENZO. One of your best friends—one of your best friends——

BERMÚDEZ. [_Aside to Dr. Tomás._] An idea is escaping him, and he is
struggling to retain it.

DON LORENZO. [_Ironically._] Then if he is one of your best friends,
your loyalty will be a guarantee of his.

BERMÚDEZ. [_Aside to Dr. Tomás._] At last he has found the word, but
note the unnatural tones of his voice. [_Aloud._] I come, Dr. Tomás
assures me, to witness a most noble deed.

DON LORENZO. And an act of unworthy treason as well.

DR. TOMÁS. Lorenzo!

BERMÚDEZ. [_Aside to Dr. Tomás._] Let him say what he likes.

DON LORENZO. And of an exemplary chastisement.

BERMÚDEZ. [_Aside to Dr. Tomás._] It is very serious, my friend, very
serious.

DON LORENZO. [_To Dr. Tomás._] Call everybody, everybody, my own and
strangers alike. Let them come here, and let them await my orders here
while I am doing my duty elsewhere. What are you waiting for?

BERMÚDEZ. [_Aside to Dr. Tomás._] You must not contradict him. Call
them. [_Dr. Tomás rings a bell. Enter servant, to whom he speaks in
low voice, and then goes out R._]

DON LORENZO. 'Tis the last test. They almost inspire me with pity, the
traitors! Oh, I am well sustained by the certainty of triumph. Be
still, my heart. There they are, there they are! I can't see them—I
who loved them so fondly. I cannot, and still my eyes turn to them,
seeking them, seeking them ever.

SCENE XII

_Don Lorenzo, Dr. Tomás and Bermúdez. Doña Ángela.
Inés, the Duchess and Edward, R._

DON LORENZO. Inés! It is not possible. She! No, no, it cannot be, my
child! [_Goes towards her with outstretched arms. Inés runs to him._]

INÉS. Father! [_Bermúdez hastens to interpose, and separates them
roughly._]

BERMÚDEZ. Come, come, Don Lorenzo, you might hurt your daughter very
seriously.

DON LORENZO. [_Seizing his arm and shaking him violently._] You
scoundrel! Who are you to tear my child away from me?

DR. TOMÁS. Lorenzo!

EDWARD. Don Lorenzo!

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Oh, heavens! [_The ladies group together instinctively.
Inés in her mother's arms, the Duchess near_ _them. Dr. Tomás and
Edward rush to free Bermúdez of Don Lorenzo's grasp._]

DON LORENZO. [_Aside, controlling himself._] So! the imbeciles believe
it is another access of madness. Madness! Ha, ha, ha! [_Laughs in a
suppressed way. Everybody watches him._]

BERMÚDEZ. [_Aside to Dr. Tomás._] It is quite evident.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. [_Aside._] Oh, my poor husband!

INÉS. [_Aside._] My father!

DON LORENZO. [_Aside._] Now they will see how my madness is going to
end. Before I leave this house with what a hearty pleasure will I kick
that doctor out. Fresh vigour already animates me. What! Since when
has it become reason sufficient to declare a man mad because he is
resolved to perform his duty? Ah, that's not very likely. Humanity is
neither so blind nor so base, though it is bad enough. Softly now.
Treason has begun its work; then let the punishment begin too.
[_Aloud._] The hour has come for me to accomplish a sacred obligation,
however sharp a sorrow it may be. It were a useless trouble to insist
upon your presence at the necessary legal formalities. It would only
bore you. The representative of law awaits me in yonder room. I, in
obeying a higher law, am about to renounce a fortune that is not mine,
as well as a name that neither I nor my family can any longer bear
with a clear conscience. Afterwards I will return here, and with my
wife and—and—my daughter, will leave this house, which in the past has
only sheltered love and felicity, and to-day offers me nothing but
treason and wickedness. Let no one seek to prevent me, for none of you
can resist my will. Gentlemen [_to Dr. Tomás and Bermúdez_], do me the
favour to go before—I beg you. [_All slowly enter closet R. On the
threshold Don Lorenzo looks back once at Inés._]

SCENE XIII

_Doña Ángela, Inés, Duchess, and Edward._

_The three women in the middle of the stage, Edward
listening at the closet door._

INÉS. Oh, pity, Heaven, and save him.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. [_Embracing her._] You are right. Let us only think of him,
pray for him alone.

DUCHESS. It is a sacred duty for you to place poor Don Lorenzo's welfare
before your own happiness; but in any case, it is no less a sacred
obligation to conform to a higher will than ours. [_Pause._]

INÉS. [_To Edward._] What are they saying? Tell us, Edward, what they
are saying.

EDWARD. He is talking; his words are cold and severe, but not in the
least uncertain or troubled. [_Edward returns to the door._]

DOÑA ÁNGELA. What anguish! What anxiety! Death were preferable to this
torture.

INÉS. What can it matter what my father says since he is already judged
beforehand?

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Don't say such a thing, child.

INÉS. I say it because I feel it to be true, and I see it in the faces
of those who are now his judges.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. But what—what is it you see?

INÉS. In those persons the monomania of specialists.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. In Tomás?

INÉS. Yes—his scientific opinions—whatever they may be—his own special
follies——

DOÑA ÁNGELA. But in me, Inés?

INÉS. [_Embracing her._] Your love of me.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Hush, child, hush!

INÉS. They are all against my father, every one. Poor father!

DUCHESS. You are raving, Inés.

INÉS. Yes, I am raving, and so are you, and so are all of us—all
excepting him, excepting him—my heart tells me so. You yourself,
madam, what is it you desire but Edward's happiness; and Edward wants
my love, and I his. My father, with his virtue and his honour, is our
mutual obstacle, while in us something obscure twists itself about us
till conscience is enveloped in shadows. Oh, my father, my dearest
father!

DOÑA ÁNGELA. For pity's sake, Inés! What ideas!

INÉS. What is he saying—tell me what he is saying! I hear his voice.

EDWARD. [_Approaching._] He is speaking of conclusive evidence.

INÉS. Would to God there were. [_To Edward._] And now?

EDWARD. They are demanding to see the evidence in order to draw up the
act and present it to the judge.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. And he?

EDWARD. He is smiling triumphantly. He is pale, fearfully pale, but
composed and dignified. Here they are coming. [_Edward comes down the
stage and says aside._] That man terrifies me.

INÉS. [_Aside._] God grant it may be true—though my love should perish.

DOÑA ÁNGELA. [_To the Duchess._] Can it be true?

DUCHESS. [_To Doña Ángela._] Can it be true?

EDWARD. [_Aside, seeing Don Lorenzo enter._] Ah, is it I who am mad?

LAST SCENE

_Doña Ángela, Inés, the Duchess, Edward, Don Lorenzo,
Bermúdez, and Dr. Tomás._

_The position of the persons is as follows. The three women form a group
at sofa; Edward behind the sofa looking at Don Lorenzo in terror,
dominated by him. Don Lorenzo advances to the middle of the stage,
with a proud, calm bearing. Behind him come Dr. Tomás and Bermúdez,
who remain standing near door C._

DON LORENZO. [_Approaches table, and triumphantly places one hand on
desk._] Here is the proof. Here lies the truth! [_Pause. Opens desk
and takes out envelope with blank sheet. Comes down stage. On one side
Dr. Tomás and Bermúdez. Edward approaches him on the other._] Woe to
them who think to sacrifice me to their own interests and passions!
Bitter will be their deception and most cruel their punishment! Would
to God my forgiveness could mitigate it for them. [_Deeply moved._]

DOÑA ÁNGELA. [_Coming nearer._] Lorenzo!

INÉS. Father——

DON LORENZO. Here is the proof, Tomás; here is the proof, Ángela, here,
my child, is the proof. Listen. [_Pause. Don Lorenzo opens envelope.
All gather round him._] This is—what is this? [_Holds paper away from
his eyes, over which he rubs his hand._] What shade is this that dims
my eyes? Can it be that there are tears in them which impede clear
vision? No,—I cried before—but now I am not weeping. [_Looks at paper
again with horrible anxiety, opens it altogether, and seeks for
writing on all sides._] Where are the words that woman wrote? I have
read them a thousand times—and now I can't——[_To Dr. Tomás, holding
out paper to him._] What does it say?—read, read—quickly—only tell me
what it says.

DR. TOMÁS. Nothing, my poor friend.

DON LORENZO. Nothing! [_Again looks at paper._] You are deceiving me.
Dr. Bermúdez, that fellow is deceiving me. He is one of the scoundrels
who have plotted this wretched treason. Read it you—read it.

BERMÚDEZ. There is nothing written on the paper.

DON LORENZO. Nothing written on it! You say there is nothing written
upon it! It is not true—no, it is not true. Inés, my daughter, my best
beloved, come and save your father.—What does it say?

INÉS. Oh, father, I see nothing.

DON LORENZO. Nothing!—she also!—But is this not the proof?

DR. TOMÁS. Yes, my unhappy friend—the proof—but a far too cruel one.

DON LORENZO. [_Striking his forehead._] Ah, I understand. [_Looks at Dr.
Tomás and Doña Ángela._] I heard them once before talking of a proof.
You! [_to Dr. Tomás_] and you! [_To Doña Ángela._] You have taken it
away. God in Heaven! [_Recoils from them in horror. The rest move away
from him, and he stands alone in the middle of the stage. Pause._] Be
it so,—be it so!—I am defeated—most miserably defeated! How they
rejoice in their triumph! See how they gaze at me in their
hypocritical distress! And they feign to weep, too. They are all
feigning. [_Pause._] Alas! my heart—alas! for my life's illusion—alas!
for love, and oh, alas! alas! my child—phantoms that whirl about and
fly from me—for ever fly away!—I who believed in all things good—in
the blue above, in the purity of my daughter's brow—what is there now
left me to believe in? You see for yourselves. I make no resistance. I
yield myself up. Yours the victory. Why have you brought those men
here when I do not seek to oppose your will? I will go wherever you
bid me. Adieu. Don't touch me. [_To Dr._ _Tomás, who approaches and
takes his hand._] When human flesh comes in contact with mine, it
seems to me that vipers crawl along my skin. Alone—alone will I ascend
my Calvary bearing my cross of sorrows without an infamous Cyrenean to
assist me. Farewell, loyal friend [_still addresses Dr. Tomás_], who
have saved the fortune of this disconsolate family from the hands of a
madman. Farewell, Ángela, my tender-hearted wife. Twenty years ago,
mad with love of you, I gave you my first kiss. To-day, no less a
madman, I send you the last. [_Kisses his hand to her with cry and
expression of desperate grief._]

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Lorenzo!

DON LORENZO. Don't come near me. I might strangle you in my arms.
[_Ángela recoils._] Farewell, Inés, my only child. Be happy—if you
can. To you I say nothing. I could not speak to you unkindly. [_Walks
a few steps feebly, then stops. Repulses roughly those who rush to his
assistance._] Let me be. I require no one. My brow is damp with sweat,
and thirst is upon my dry lips, and a fiery heat seems to swell my
eyelids. [_Stops again._] Listen to me, Inés, my child.—If you still
retain any love for me,—if by chance your heart is touched with pity
for your father,—if you feel regret for what you have done against me
along with the rest of them—come once to my arms. Let me carry away
into the hell of suffering that awaits me one tear of your eyes upon
my cheek, one kiss of your dear lips upon mine.

INÉS. Father! [_All endeavour to restrain her, but she breaks from them
and runs to Don Lorenzo, who catches her in his arms and holds her
closely clasped to his breast._]

DON LORENZO. My child! [_The rest advance to them, but make no effort to
separate them._]

INÉS. No—they must not take you away—I love you dearly,—every one lies
but you.

DON LORENZO. You would not have those men carry me off?

INÉS. No, no; I will defend you—and you defend me.

DON LORENZO. Yes! I will defend you—Let them drag you from my arms if
they can. [_Makes a movement to carry her away._]

DOÑA ÁNGELA. My child, my child! Help! [_Edward, Dr. Tomás and Bermúdez
struggle to separate father and daughter._]

DON LORENZO. I will not let her go—for ever in my arms!

INÉS. Yes, yes, father. Defend me.

BERMÚDEZ. It is imperative.

EDWARD. Don Lorenzo!

DR. TOMÁS. Lorenzo!

DUCHESS. Merciful god, he will kill her as he killed Juana!

DOÑA ÁNGELA. Inés! [_These exclamations are simultaneous: the struggle
is swift. Keepers enter. The men hold Don Lorenzo, and the women
restrain Inés, keeping her by force from her father._]

EDWARD. At last!

INÉS. Father! [_Holds her arms out to Don Lorenzo._]

DON LORENZO. I was not able, child.—I could do no more.—Here upon my
cheek I feel your kisses and your tears.—She at least loved me—she was
innocent—I see it now. God above, thou hast accepted my martyrdom in
that night of agony and temptation in exchange for her happiness. I do
not regret it. Make her happy—very happy! and let the cup of
bitterness be mine alone—only mine!

INÉS. Adieu, father—I will save you yet.

DON LORENZO. What can you do, child—when God himself has not seen fit to
save me? [_Remains near closet between keepers, guarded by Edward, Dr.
Tomás and Bermúdez. Inés, held back by the other women, stands with
arms strained towards him._]

CURTAIN

------------------------------------

Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty
at the Edinburgh University Press

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Transcriber’s Note

Small irregularities of punctuation in the stage directions have been
corrected, with no further notice. This includes the placement of
punctuation and any inconsistencies in diacritical marks.

The abbreviation of "Don" as "D." in the speaker's name is sometimes
not used, and has not been added where that is the case.

Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the
original.

61.31 do not say that[.] Added.

88.23 and he staggers back[:/.] Replaced.

89.17 He holds Teodora more tightly clasped[:/.] Replaced.

122.23 be sure and not delay[,/.] Replaced.

158.12 INÉS. Father[!] Added. Most
likely.

165.10 And who were the two men that accompanied Replaced.
him[./?]