_Matthew, (humbly.)_ At least, we desire to. Our pious lord--

_Theobald_. Gottfried is then a nobleman?

_Matthew_. My master is the Count of Winkelthal.

_Theobald, (with agitation.)_ The Count of Winkelthal, Matthew? Arnold,
the Lion, was then his son? Am I then, indeed, in the house of his
father?

_Matthew_. Arnold is the only son of my master; and he is not dead!

"Not dead!" exclaimed Theobald, extending his hands to the domestic.
"Tell me, Matthew, are you sure of this?"

_Matthew_. Arnold is living. God has preserved him, and he is here; he
is near you--yes, in the room adjoining!

"Now I can weep!" said Theobald, putting his hands over his face, and
sobbing aloud.

Matthew approached him with emotion, and Theobald, passing his arm
around the neck of the servant, leaned his head upon his bosom, weeping
abundantly, and saying,

"Have pity on me, Matthew. My soul is overwhelmed!"

"O, my lord!" said the Christian to him, "it is God himself who has
visited you and who calls you. Fear not; and let your tears flow before
him."