GORDON. (rushes in out of breath.)
'Tis a mistake,
'Tis not the Swedes—Ye must proceed no further—
Butler! O God! Where is he?
(then observing the Countess.)
Countess! Say———
COUNTESS.
You are come then from the castle? Where's my husband?
GORDON. (in an agony of affright.)
Your husband!—Ask not!—To the Duke—
COUNTESS.
Not till
You have discover'd to me———
GORDON.
On this moment
Does the world hang. For God's sake! to the Duke.
While we are speaking—
(calling loudly.)
Butler! Butler! God!
COUNTESS.
Why, he is at the castle with my husband.
(Butler comes from the gallery.)
GORDON.
'Twas a mistake—'Tis not the Swedes—It is
The Imperialist's Lieutenant-General
Has sent me hither, will be here himself
Instantly.—You must not proceed.
BUTLER.
He comes
Too late.
(Gordon dashes himself against the wall.)
GORDON.
O God of mercy!
COUNTESS.
What too late?
Who will be here himself? Octavio
In Egra? Treason! Treason! Where's the Duke?
(She rushes to the gallery.)