[pg 12]

 Count. Unhand him. I should know thee; I have seen

  Features like thine. Answer me, wert thou found

  As these men say?

 Theod. I was.

 Count. And what thy purpose?

 Theod. Chance brought me there.

 Count. And did chance lead thee, too,

  To aid a fugitive?

 Theod. They saw not that.

 Count. They saw it not! How! could her delicate hands,

  Weak, soft, and yielding to the gentlest touch,

  Sustain that pond'rous mass? No; those tough arms,

  Thy force, assisted; else, thou young dissembler——

 Theod. She had been seiz'd, and by compulsion brought

  Where I stand now.

 Count. Thou dost avow it then,

  Boast it even to my face, audacious stripling!

  Such insolence, and these coarse rustic weeds

  Are contradictions. Answer me, who art thou?

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