Rol. What is to be his fate?

Sent. He dies at sunrise.

Rol. Ha! then I am come in time.

Sent. Just—to witness his death.

Rol. Soldier, I must speak with him.

Sent. Back, back! It is impossible!

Rol. I do entreat thee but for one moment!

Sent. You entreat in vain; my orders are most strict.

Rol. Even now, I saw a messenger go hence.

Sent. He brought a pass, which we are all accustomed to obey.

Rol. Look on this wedge of massive gold—look on these precious gems. In thy own land they will be wealth for thee and thine beyond thy hope or wish. Take them—they are thine. Let me but pass one minute with Alonzo.

Sent. Away! wouldst thou corrupt me—me, an old Castilian? I know my duty better.

Rol. Soldier, hast thou a wife?

Sent. I have.

Rol. Hast thou children?

Sent. Four—honest, lovely boys.

Rol. Where didst thou leave them?

Sent. In my native village—even in the cot where myself was born.

Rol. Dost thou love thy children and thy wife?

Sent. Do I love them! God knows my heart—I do.

Rol. Soldier!—imagine thou wert doomed to die a cruel death in this strange land; what would be thy last request?

Sent. That some of my comrades should carry my dying blessing to my wife and children.

Rol. Oh, but if that comrade was at thy prison gate—and should there be told, thy fellow-soldier dies at sunrise, yet thou shalt not for a moment see him, nor shalt thou bear his dying blessing to his poor children or his wretched wife—what wouldst thou think of him who thus could drive thy comrade from the door?

Sent. How!

Rol. Alonzo has a wife and child—I am come but to receive for her and for her babe the last blessing of my friend.