_Eginhardt._ Brave Heart, together, yes together we'll stem The tide; but 'tis for thee I fear, for one So gently nurtured.
_Emma._ Remember, Eginhardt, My ancestors: the Pepin of Landen, the Pepin Of Herestal; iron-handed Charles who cowed The Saracen; his son who trembled not From royal power; and his, in turn, my Father, Who scaled fresh heights and slipped not back when offered Imperial pomp and dignity. Each rose To circumstance. Shall I, who boast such race, Grow pale, show fear, lay down my arms before So slight a foe as seeming poverty. For poverty, what is't? but just a nought, A nothingness and I have thee so I Am rich.
_Eginhardt._ And I far richer! So let us shape Our future. This stag will nourish us and more Whence it has come. For shelter here's a hut With fire, utensils—poor but clean.
_Emma._ Could we Not further go from those old folk? I liked Them not! A something calls me toward the thickets, As though the inky depth they fringe held safe Asylum. There must be entrance where the stag Came forth. Let us push through the coppice, search What lies beyond.
_Eginhardt._ 'Tis mystery, unsafe To penetrate. The peasants say that dwarfs Dwell there, that wild hill-women dance. They say Some few of mortal birth have forced a way; But what they saw none know, for none have since Returned.
_Emma._ Ay, peasants' talk; but e'en if true— St. Augustine, I've heard, hath not denied There may be other hidden agencies Than those of scriptural warrant—yet this silk Will serve as amulet. I have no fear. Hast thou?
_Eginhardt._ I'd be ashamed to so confess And once indeed I peeped.
_Eginhardt._ We'll let It be for now. Thou'rt weak and famished. Rest Thee here. I'll do some foraging.
_Emma._ [_After a pause, gathering up the silk._] Yes, yes We must go further then. A call from out Those tangled depths comes loud, insistent. There Solution lies. But first this precious silk Must he repacked, the cross unwound. What's here? A shimmering droplet, a gem that must have slipped Its setting. Eginhardt! please come!
[_Enter Eginhardt with some hunks of bread and a mug of milk._]
A jewel Has fallen from its royal resting place. Last night I handled the King, my Father's crown. It lay beside the holy silk, whose folds Have not disdained earth's wealth though they were used To fairer things. The sun gives warmth; but this Pale imitation chills my hand, what shall We do with it? and how return?