Anhalt.
I left him juſt in the moment the diſcovery was made. By this time your ſon is, perhaps, in the arms of his father.
Agatha.
Oh! is it poſſible that a man, who has been twenty years deaf to the voice of nature, ſhould change ſo ſuddenly?
Anhalt.
I do not mean to juſtify the Baron, but—he has loved you—and fear of his noble kindred alone cauſed his breach of faith to you.
Agatha.
But to deſert me wholly and wed another—
Anhalt.
War called him away—Wounded in the field, he was taken to the adjacent ſeat of a nobleman, whoſe only daughter, by anxious attention to his recovery, won his gratitude; and, influenced by the will of his worldly friends, he married. But no ſooner was I received into the family, and admitted to his confidence, than he related to me your ſtory; and at times would exclaim in anguiſh—"The proud imperious Baroneſs avenges the wrongs of my deſerted Agatha." Again, when he preſented me this living, and I left France to take poſſeſſion of it, his laſt words before we parted, were—"The moment you arrive at Wildenhaim, make all enquiries to find out my poor Agatha." Every letter I afterwards received from him contained "Still, ſtill, no tidings of my Agatha." And fate ordained it mould be ſo, till this fortunate day.
Agatha.
What you have ſaid has made my heart overflow—where will this end?
