e agreed?

_St. Clair._ We are: in a just cause we would uphold our abbot's rights;
but when such judges have prounounc'd her traitress, and such brave
warriors will support that judgment, shall we, upon the word of one who
will adduce no proof of innocence--we, the calm advocates of peace, not
war--shall we devote our abbey and ourselves to ruin most inevitable?

_Bern._ No, haughty prelate! we will teach you now, that those who
raised you to your splendid height, have still the power to humble and
to crush you. And they who this night come to grace your installation,
shall view their idol's downfall. Unbar the gates! (_the abbot appears
in the aisle, unseen by the monks._) Give the prince palatine free
entrance; and let the vengeance of the secret knights fall, as it ought,
on those who have provoked it.

_Ab._ (_advancing hastily from the aisle._) Who's he dare utter such
profane commands?

_Bern._ Bellarmin! I!--Unbar the gates!

_Ab._ Forbear! And think not, brothers, that I court this contest, or
willingly involve ye in hard office. But we, who vested with bright
mercy's power, can feel the bliss of sparing the unfortunate; shall we,
when barbarism, mask'd by pious, plausible pretext, strikes at the
growth of every liberal feeling; shall we forego our edict, or uphold
it? I say, uphold it! And chiefly on one proof--Manfredi had no
daughter! That charge I know to be most groundless.

_Bern._ You knew Manfredi then! (_abbot shows agitation._) He, our new
oracle, proclaims he was no stranger to this murderer.

_Ab._ (_with suppressed indignation._) Murderer!

_Bern._ The worst of murderers! False to the man who raised him from low
fortune--false to his patron, the brave prince Palatine!

_Ab._ To him!

_Bern._ To him! Who on his brother's, the late prince's death, anxious
to see and guard that brother's child, then some leagues distant from
the court, despatched Manfredi, as his trustiest friend to be the
princess's escort; when, on the way, most artfully dismissing all her
train, and mov'd not by the smile of infant innocence, mixing
ingratitude with traitorous cruelty, this foe to virtue, but Bellarmin's
friend, plung'd his fell poniard in Theresa's heart, and fled, and died
the victim of despair.

_Ab._ Wert thou a winged messenger from Heaven, my father's spirit, nay,
e'en fate itself! I'd tell you, vile detractor, it is false! false as
_thy_ friend, the brave prince palatine! who fired by daring and