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Her. Not yet.

Rai. Not yet, nor ever! Let me die
In a lost battle first!

Her. Hath he let go
Name—kindred—honour—for an infidel,
And will he grasp his faith?

Rai. (after a gloomy pause.)
That which bears poison—should it not be crush’d?
What though the weed look lovely?
[Suddenly addressing Du Mornay.
You have seen
My native halls, Du Mornay, far away
In Languedoc?

Du Mor. I was your father's friend—
I knew them well.

Rai. (thoughtfully) The weight of gloom that hangs—
The very banners seem to droop with it—
O'er some of those old rooms! Were we there now,
With a dull wind heaving the pale tapestries,
Why, I could tell you——
[Coming closer to Du Mornay.
There's a dark-red spot
Grain'd in the floor of one—you know the tale?

Du Mor. I may have heard it by the winter fires,
—Now 'tis of things gone by.

Rai. (turning from him displeased.) Such legends give
Some minds a deeper tone.
(To Herman.) If you had heard
That tale i' the shadowy tower——

Her. Nay, tell it now!

Rai. They say the place is haunted—moaning sounds
Come thence at midnight—sounds of woman's voice.

Her. And you believe——

Rai. I but believe the deed
Done there of old. I had an ancestor—
Bertrand, the lion-chief—whose son went forth
(A younger son—I am not of his line)
To the wars of Palestine. He fought there well—
Ay, all his race were brave; but he return'd,
And with a Paynim bride.

Her. The recreant!—say,
How bore your ancestor?

Rai. Well may you think
It chafed him—but he bore it—for the love
Of that fair son, the child of his old age.
He pined in heart, yet gave the infidel
A place in his own halls.

Her. But did this last?

Rai. How should it last? Again the trumpet blew,
And men were summon'd from their homes to guard
The city of the Cross. But he seem'd cold—
That youth! He shunn'd his father's eye, and took
No armour from the walls.