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"Who goeth there?" three times the sentry cried. "Woe!" answered many voices wild and strange. Resistance none the sentry might oppose; The door could not withstand the heavy shocks. The invaders passed the lower galleries through, And mounted up the winding iron stair That led to Wallenrod's last dwelling-place. Alf with the iron bolt secured the door, His sabre drew, a cup raised from the board, Drew near the window. "It is done!" he cried. He filled, and drank. "Old man, 'tis in thy hands."

Halban grew pale. With motion of his hand He thought to spill the draught—he stopt in thought. The sounds aye nearer through the doors were heard, His hand relaxed. "'Tis they, the foes are come!"

"Old man, thou knowest what this uproar means? What are thy thoughts? Thou hast the goblet full— I have drunk my portion. In thy hands, old man."

Halban gazed on in silence of despair. "No, no, I will survive even thee, my son!