Another time.

FREDERICK [endeavouring to conceal his emotion]. No, no--I am still
your son--and you are still my mother. Only tell me, who is my father?

AGATHA. When we parted five years ago, you were too young to be
intrusted with a secret of so much importance.--But the time is come
when I can, in confidence, open my heart, and unload that burthen with
which it has been long oppressed. And yet, to reveal my errors to my
child, and sue for his mild judgment on my conduct ----

FREDERICK. You have nothing to sue for; only explain this mystery.

AGATHA. I will, I will. But--my tongue is locked with remorse and
shame. You must not look at me.

FREDERICK. Not look at you! Cursed be that son who could find his
mother guilty, although the world should call her so.

AGATHA. Then listen to me, and take notice of that village, [pointing]
of that castle, and of that church. In that village I was born--in
that church I was baptized. My parents were poor, but reputable
farmers.--The lady of that castle and estate requested them to let me
live with her, and she would provide for me through life. They
resigned me; and at the age of fourteen I went to my patroness. She
took pleasure to instruct me in all kinds of female literature and
accomplishments, and three happy years had passed under protection,
when her only son, who was an officer in the Saxon service, obtained
permission to come home. I had never seen him before--he was a
handsome young man--in my eyes a prodigy; for he talked of love, and