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Waa geil ste tea Wabi iaen ey Iai any sesh sy ya sa HEARS DOSUCL PR TMU ELAS OS Bh Sl Chun) alnens cit PATROL PAME EES TOCeS IM ebab Uther erat St wart wn Wri A athotha ata Wat aban: SAV AYOETL tatty Meith awed Naive shay WARE RES NY Raa He MOREA: WHEN Waly sath» ease van % ‘tin ANN Rae ‘ VN AA, wi) Wegh, Aa " nya Hen Vit ei Dims eatin wha 1 away We Se Ramin Ty Vit } Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2021 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign httos://archive.org/details/dramaticpoetical01 mars THE DRAMATIC AND POETICAL WORKS OF WESTLAND MARSTON. ay _ ee ~— -~ 7 - aS te i ys 7 ° —— om eS eae ie oa =p te se iat See in ‘a : ' 2" Ag) g S wee i i ¢ oo at) oat eo §. 4. = i hl , *? * f] - r es . l : + S rh : i . ‘ ¥ % : PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. We og ~ RARE EDINBURGH AND LONDON a 7 T=, ih . ie oid ‘ “ - ¢ F P bh - : ‘ et ¥ 4 b rt 2 ; 7 LZ - - Re & « Fi ‘ is 7 ¢ = : = - - 7 ; ae CAS ‘ yy o.« A : f i . ae ~ H , ns - - - ‘2 a - : - naa” a i\ we one oa vn a - } 3 7 | aA xe ‘ . o} An) of ® ce + : a” i Sz Vials sa! e| © ae) ein 7 aa? i Willen ae ee o> Dae! THE DRAMATIC AND POETICAL WORKS OF SWESTLAND MARSTON IN TWO VOLUMES—VOL. I. COLLECTIVE EDITION. London: ata AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY. 1876, Bere ot These poor fruits of many years are offered to the Memory of one who had the best claim to any tribute of mine. tke Nee OTe OF the plays included in these volumes, three, though already performed, are now printed for the first time ; these are the serious drama entitled “ Life for Life,” and the comedies of ‘A Favourite of Fortune” and “Donna Diana.” Amongst the dramatic fragments and poems, the scene from ‘‘ Montezuma,” ‘A Lost Life,” “A Dream-Journey,” and about half of the Sonnets, have also been hitherto unpublished, The work generally has received careful revision. In the case of one or two plays, that of ‘ Strathmore” especi- ally, considerable alteration has been made, with a view of concentrating action, and giving fuller development to character, After the lapse of many years since its production, a brief reference may be made to the “ Patrician’s Daughter,” the earliest work of the writer. It would ill become him to forget the generous reception accorded on the whole to that early production, though from the political elements involved in the plot, and from the fact that the action was placed in the very period represented, it was the not unnatural fate of the drama viii PREFACE, to excite much controversy, and in some quarters keen hostility. The end proposed was simply to exhibit, as impartially as might be, the conflict between the pride of Aristocracy and that of Democracy, with the evils resulting from their collision. There were not wanting, however, those who sought to identify the dramatist with his “ Radical” hero; while some, on the other hand, were found to reproach him with a Tory bias, A little reflection, however, would have shown that if it had been intended to hold up Mordaunt’s conduct for approval, he would hardly have been visited with the retribution which befell him at the close, However warmly the writer might have espoused the doctrine that claims derived from human qualities outweigh those of accident and convention, it might have been thought obvious that he had given no sanction to the retaliation (though not unprovoked) by which Mordaunt asserts the doctrine, The hero of the piece, indeed, is clearly represented as a man who, deluded by the sophistry of wounded pride, has unconsciously indulged a passion in the belief that he was vindicating a prin- ciple. To one charge, however, that of revenging him- self upon his betrothed, this much-erring Mordaunt may fairly plead—Not guilty. It is against the Patrician House, which has wronged and humiliated him—not against the daughter of that house—that his retaliation is levelled. The language of the play clearly shows that Mordaunt PREFACE, 1x regards Mabel in the proposed marriage as the victim of her father’s selfish policy, and conceives that he frees her from a hateful tie by rejecting her alliance. Still, words which suffice for the reader of a drama, will some- times escape the spectator ; the motives which influence Mordaunt in the fourth act have therefore now received fuller exposition. It may also be borne in mind that the: play represents a period when the fierce class animosities excited by the first Reform Bill had by no means subsided. Passing to the tragedy of ‘‘ Marie* de Méranie,” it should be stated that although some of the most stirring events of a stirring reign are there introduced, much of the domestic interest springs solely from the writer’s invention. It is true, for instance, that Philip Augustus forestalled, from motives of outraged pride, the decision of the Church on his marriage ; true, also, that his voluntary repudiation of Marie de Méranie was cruel in its selfish policy. But it is right to say that the dishonouring proposals which he addresses to her in the fourth act have no historical basis, and that the unfavourable light thrown, for the purposes of the story, upon Ingerburge of Denmark (a lady of whom little is known) is equally without warrant. The exciting struggles of the period are used chiefly to frame a mental interest. It is less the astute politician, * This lady is by some writers called Agnes ; but somine Mariam are the express words of Rigord. x PREFACE. than the Philip capable of the; noblest and most benevolent impulses, yet weak, and even cruel, before his ambition, that is here sought to be portrayed, Marie, who may be said to impersonate for the King the ideal to which his “divided nature” vainly aspires, is purely a creature of the imagination, In a work of this kind the licence* always accorded in a measure to dramatic poets may perhaps be claimed with some confidence, Some other plays in this collection,t though based on public events, are in their details the mere ‘‘ coinage of the brain ; ” their connection with history is too slight to need comment, So many years have elapsed, so many changes tran- spired, since some of these dramas saw the light, that the original dedications, if now reprinted, would in some cases be mournful in their suggestiveness ; in others even inappropriate, The author, however, may still record the connection with his works of distinguished friends * As a further example of this licence, I may refer to the independent attitude given in the tragedy to the Bishop of Paris, in order to depict the ecclesiastical domination of the period ; though in point of fact nothing could have been more servile than the attitude of the clergy towards the King previous to the interdict. t+ Some misconception having prevailed on the point, it may be desirable to state that the acting right in all the following dramas (with some reservations affecting “The Wife’s Portrait ” and ‘‘ Borough Politics”) is the exclusive property of the author. PREFACE. xi and ‘contemporaries, some of whom were his associates in dramatic art. ‘‘Strathmore” was inscribed to Sir William Allan, late President of the Royal Scottish Academy ; ‘‘ The Patrician’s Daughter ” to Mr Macready; ‘“Marie de Méranie” to Miss Helen Faucit; ‘‘ Anne Inlake” to Mr and, Mrs- Charles Kean; “A Life’s Ransom ” to Dr Forbes Winslow; ‘‘ The Heart and the World” to Mr Sheridan Knowles; and the dramatic poem entitled ‘‘ Gerald” to the late Mr Charles Dickens. The two latter efforts were, it must be confessed, too immature to justify reproduction; they are represented in these pages only by a few extracts, LONDON, January 1876. CONTENTS OF VOLUME L Vita he ges Pe OIA, } , “a PAGE a5 STRATHMORE . Dae ° > : . . I e ra . 4 MARIE DE MERANIE ; : : 59 a BRIIFE POR LIFE -.° =. bia . : f° $ee; i f . oS i Pr A LIFE’S RANSOM ? A Ae é =e 107 eee 42 | THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. ; Berk} x as b , : 2 , é - ANNE BLAKE) . : A ; , Se LIOT i. ~ STRATHMORE; yi OR, > ie LOVE AND DUTY. ‘a “a A Tragedy, TNE Oe ALCT S, Strathmore. First performed at the THEATRE ROYAL, HAYMARKET, 20¢h of June 1849. CHARACTERS, SiR RupeErT Lorn, a Loyalist, ; Mr H. HUGHES. HENRY LOoRN, his son, . ‘ ; Mr H. VANDENHOFF. HALBERT STRATHMORE, @ gentleman of loyal family, ; ; : ; Mr CHARLES KEAN. JouNn BALFOUR, of Burley, insurgent Oe a ROBERT HAMILTON, Covenanters, atta” CRAIGBURN, aba tii BRYCEFIELD, az English gentleman of decayed fortunes, in league with the Covenanters, : , : : Mr HoweE. ROLAND, Ais servant, . ; 3 Mr BUCKSTONE. ALLAN, servant to Hamilton, . : Mr COE. KEITH, ax aged minister, : ; Mr BLAND. ROBERT, Feipinersef Sir: Rupen, Mr CAE SIMON, Mr BRINDAL. Other Retainers, Soldiers, Covenanters. KATHARINE Lorn, betrothed to Strath- more, . : ; , : : Mrs CHARLES KEAN. ISABEL LORN, wife of Henry Lorn, . Miss REYNOLDS.’ JANET, her maid, . j : : Mrs FITZWILLIAM. Scene, Scotland. Time, 1679. Sal ON Raley 0 AGIs SCENE A room in HAMILTON’S country house, near the mountains. CRAIGBURN, BRYCEFIELD, aad HAMILTON discovered. Bryce. The night is bitter. Flam. Heap the fagots higher, Let’s have a glow as fierce as the brave hearts That kindle at the stroke of wrong, to fire ! Craig. Was that the tramp of horse? Bryce. No; but the roar Of the swoll’n torrent in the pausing wind. Flam. How long, just Heaven, wilt Thou forbear to smite These sons of Belial? In the book of time No page of bloody tyranny is writ More foul than theirs. Our people hunted down, Put to the sword, or from the cruel rack- Borne to the scaffold! Why? Because they cleave To Scotland’s ancient faith, and will not brook The claim of England’s Church to bind their souls. Craig. Woe to these wolves of Edom! Double woe To this licentious king, who desolates The sanctuary he swore to spare !. Lryce. To spare! Nay, to defend. But what to Charles are oaths? 4 STRATHMORE, [ACT I. False to his friend as to his land, what boon Requites the wealth my father lost for his ? Our home, seized by his foes, Charles repossess’d But not restored. A wanton and a flatterer Divide our fief between them ! Ham. Peace, John Brycefield ! Too much thou broodest on a private wrong, Too little on a suffering Church. Bryce. My injuries Are warrant for my truth. [A distant report of carbines. Ah! now your ears, That was no brawl of rivers. [Another and nearer volley. There again ! Mars, sirs, is up! I’ve known his strain from boyhood. Ham. Put by this heathenish lingo. Bryce. Heathen names Consort with heathen deeds, The ring of hoofs— They come! Flam. |Drawing.| Then death to him who enters first ! Craig. Too hasty, Robert! What are cloaks for? See! [/e snatches his cloak, and conceals his sword under tt; the rest do the like. Bryce. The tramp grows fainter—now it dies away ; They hawk at other quarry. flam. Footsteps ! [A low knocking ts heard at door, and twice repeated. Craig. Hist! ’Tis Allan’s signal. Quick! unbar the door. [BRYCEFIELD opens the door, and admits JOHN BAL- FOUR of Burley, and ANDREW KEITH. Ham. Burley ! Bur. The same. Ham. (Giving his hand.| Yowre welcome, and your comrade— What, Andrew Keith! More outrage! Bur. [To KEITH. | Speak thou, pastor, And be thy speech the trumpet which proclaims The pouring forth of vials. BCT.) STRATHMORE, 5 Keith. To the vale Our scatter’d children, eager for the food | Which more than bread sustains, their footsteps bent ; A strain of supplication blent with praise Rose with one voice from hundreds, when a cry Rang from the hills—“The foe !—the oppressor !—hence!”’ Unarmed, we fled ; but malice, swifter far Than love of life, pursued. From throats of fire The deadly missile leapt. Some sank in flight : Others with upraised hands, whose happy souls O’ertook their mounting prayers. Then midst our band Plunged the destroyers. With fierce yells they cried, * The Test, the Test!” The lifted sabre fell On all who spurned that oath ; the goodly youth— The old man’s prop—dropped from him and expired ; The mother’s arm, locked round her boy, relaxed, And left the orphan to the orphan’s God ! Flam. And how escaped you? eith. Their impetuous haste O’erleaped the spot I stood on, and the thirst Of carnage drove them onwards. When they passed By the ravine, I sought for shelter here, And so encountered Burley. FTam. Have we hearts, And hands, and bear this? Shall no blow be struck To tell the oppressors we are men? Craig. There shall: But yet be wary, learn our strength. How stand we? Bur. Hundreds await my signal, humble folk The most part ; but in resolution fixed, By trial bred to patience. Most we need Wealth and high names to aid; and yet I count On Cochrane, Mowbray, Hume, and you methinks [Zo HAMILTON. A convert pledged whose aid outweighs them all. Craig. Whom? Bur. Halbert Strathmore. Craig. Strathmore ! are you mad? 6 STRATHMORE. [ACT I. You never broke this enterprise to him! Ham. 1 did—why not? Craig. He’s of a line whose boast Is fealty to the Stewart—the near friend Of that malignant Rupert Lorn, betrothed Unto his daughter ! Ham. Grant this, and then add What Strathmore is himself. I know him best, So best can speak him—generous, firm, and just. Keith. My much-loved pupil While he was yet a child. He still hath been Temperate and mild, and though by birth allied To the oppressors, oft hath curb’d their hate. - Bur. What answer made he? Flam. That he needed time And thought for his decision. In deep strife ’Twas plain his spirit travailed. Custom, name, The ties of kindred and of love—that sense Of nearer kin than blood—together leagued Against his struggling conscience. bryce. Of such war, Too clear the issue. Strathmore will disown us, Perhaps betray. Ham. Betray! You think of Brycefield And _ speak of Strathmore. [A low knocking, as before. Allan! Hush! [He admits ALLAN. Your news? Allan. A messenger from Strathmore; he - brings letters. [He goes out. ffam. From Strathmore! Did you heed? He has decided : The issue shall condemn, or free me. Come, Our frugal meal is spread ; while that recruits Our bodily strength, I trust for news shall fire Our souls with hope and vigour! Keith. Peace prevail If peace consist with duty. [Ad go out but BRYCEFIELD, who lingers behind. SC. It.] STRATHMORE. - Bryce. So, so, friends, Tis thus ye guerdon service! Hamilton Distrusts and taunts me ; Craigburn just endures ; The vengeance that I bear to ingrate Charles Had need be deep, that I should brook these taunts And write my soldier name upon the list Of these fierce bigots. Yet, will I be true For my own ends. Oh, bitter curse when pride Is slave to want, and crawls ; but crawls to climb ! [He goes out. SCENE II. A spacious apartment in Lorn Castle. KATHARINE LORN seated at embroidery ; on the opposite side, ISABEL. HENRY LORN stands by his wife's chatr. SIR RUPERT faces the room in thought. Hen. And you knew Grammont ? Isa. The dear Count! These eyes Have brightened in his glance, this hand has lain Within his own a good half-hour—don’t frown ; We danced together at the Court, the dance, That dear cotillon! [27szug as if to practise it.| Vve quite lost the step. ’Twas said in London I’d a well-turned foot ; It did look fairly in tight amber hose, With sky-blue cloaks. Ah me! I dance not now! And what’s the worth of a fine instep here, With no one to admire it but one’s husband? London, rare London! Oh, what days, what nights, What dresses, what gallants! Think—Buckingham, Rochester, Robert Sydney, Jermyn, Russell, The peerless Hamilton ! Flen. |Laughing. | Add fifty more, And ask if all be worth one husband, Bell ; Am I not constant to thee? 8 STRATHMORE. [ACT I. Isa. Yes, in sooth. Your love’s:the proper pattern ; but one dress Makes not a wardrobe. flen. jilt! Isa. I wore my lovers Even as my robes—a change for every mood. To-day I put on scarlet—in a soldier ; A courtier—for my purple velvet, next ; The third, a skirt of spangles—in a wit. You frown again! nay, love, for common wear There’s nought like that drab constancy of thine! You'll not be angry ? flen. Can I, when you smile? Oh, what a vassal is this despot—man, Ruld by a smile, his sceptre but the sign Of an imperial slave ! Isa. That’s the true faith Which, prythee Kate, teach Strathmore when you wed. Dost mark me, girl? He has long been a truant, And must be punished. Kath. [Looking up.| Punished ! That might make him Still more the truant. SIR RUPERT appears at door at back. Tsu. Well, you bear it meekly ! Kath, Bear what? Isa. His absence, which in other maids Would waken doubt. Kath. Doubt! Do we doubt the sun When he is absent? Know we not he.shines, Though unbeheld awhile, and will return In his bright course, to cheer us? So will Strathmore ! Sir R. [Coming forward and breaking in.| Heaven grant it, and in time to save his honour ! Myself, your brother—all true hearts go forth To serve the king, while only Halbert Strathmore, The royal trumpet sounding in his ear, Forbears a soldier’s answer. sc. 11.] STRATHMORE. 9 flen. Pardon, sir ! You judge my friend too harshly. Isa. So I think. Strathmore’s of noble lineage, and in him ~ Sedition were more treason to his blood Than to his monarch. Sir R. So it should be. Yet, He shows too fair a front to schism, hints At mediation and redress—redress For this base swarm of canters gendering wrong From their own spleen to charge it on the law! Oh, I’d redress them ! . Hen. I own Strathmore lenient, But not disloyal. Sir FR. What withholds him, then, From us—from me, his father’s friend—from her His late betrothed? She is the fairest shoot Of this rude trunk ; yet would I rather blight Should canker root and bough, than see one leaf Plucked for a traitor’s garland. Isa. Katharine, You love this man; defend him ! Kath. You have said I love him, Isa. Well? Kath. That’s my defence. I'll not Assert in words the truth on which I’ve cast The stake of life! I love him, and am silent. Sir R. These doubts torment me. He, brave Strath- more’s son ! I'll to his house at daybreak, and extort His hidden purpose. STRATHMORE enters behind, unpercetved. I’ll be answered ; nought Shall serve but yes or no. Speak, Strathmore—thus Will I demand him—friend or foe? true man, Or recreant? You shall not evade me, Strathmore ! IO STRATHMORE. [ACT I. Strath. (Coming forward.) And did I ever? You'll not take my hand ? Szy 2. First tell me, can it grasp a sword ? Strath, |Afier a moment's pause, It can, When duty bids it. F[en. Ah, I said so. [KATHARINE rushes up to STRATHMORE. Strath. Wait, Wait, Katharine! I said I never stooped To subterfuge, nor will I. What is duty ? Sir R. We owe it first to Heaven ; next to the powers Which Heaven ordains on earth. Strath. When these conflict— The earthly with the heavenly—where points duty ? Str &. Serve you the king? Strath. I’d shed my blood to guard him. Str &. Your father did. Strath. Vd guard his life, but still more guard his jus- tice. When cruel impious men in the king’s name, As I believe without his gracious will, Slaughter his subjects for no crime but this, That they would worship Heaven as conscience prompts, I hold him loyal who takes heart to say— ‘“* This blot on the king’s honour goes no further.” Sir R. Enough, you stand a traitor by my hearth, And yet I draw not! Sir, I cannot pledge This temperance long ; the path of safety’s there. [Pointing to the door. Strath. He who has dared your anger and her grief Can meet all after-perils. f1en. Strathmore—friend, You are deluded : these mad hypocrites Provoke their fate. The Government exacts No heavy tribute—a mere change of form And ritual in the Church. How little then Submission costs. Strath, It costs no gold, no sweat sc. I1.] STRATHMORE. I! Of brow, no toil of limb. It costs the man. What is man without conscience ? Sir R. Talk no more! ffen. Misguided, lost, farewell for ever ! Kath. Stay ! [Zo SIR RUPERT.] Will you surrender thus the only son Of your lost friend? Let me plead with him ; leave us! You'll not refuse me, Halbert, some brief words, Perhaps our last! [Zo StR RUPERT.] Oh, by your ancient love, Permit this intercession ! Sir R. Be it short. So much I grant his father in the grave: Resolve you soon, I shall return anon. My gallant boy! My precious Isabel! [He leads her out, followed by HENRY. Kath. [After a pause, laying her hand on STRATH- MORE’S arm.| Halbert, speak to me! You'll not speak, shall I ? Strath. Yes, speak. Kath. Then answer; but not rashly, for my doom Is in your breath—you love me? Strath. Katharine! Kath. You do, and know what love is—that it draws Into itself all passion, hope, and thought, The heart of life, to which all currents flow Through every vein of being, which if chill’d The streams are ice for ever ? Strath. Even so. Kath, Was this your love for me? Strath. Was it? Kath. It is! Thanks for that dear rebuke. You'll not renounce me? No, I defy you, Strathmore! Strath. Ah! you may ; Discords may sever, pathways may divide, Midst all God’s creatures I may never more Gaze on that unit which could fill for me 12 STRATHMORE. [ACT I. A vacant world—yourself! And you may learn— I do not think you will, but you may learn— The strain of bitter tongues, reproach or scorn For him who quits you now; but through all change, Time, distance, suffering, shall this tide of love Sweep ebbless to your memory ! Kath. Yet you quit me! Love speaks in deeds, not words ; you never loved me. Strath. I never loved you, Katharine ! Kath. Oh, forgive me! My anguish spoke. Strath. And would there not befall A keener anguish, could the man you loved Prove false to right? [Zaking her in his arms.| So, on my shoulder, sweet, The old way yet once more. We know that grief Must try true hearts ; but from its fire they're plucked Here or hereafter, and the stamp of God Is set on them for ever. All is well At last for those who do well; nothing well For those who, to be well, would shrink from duty. Kath. From duty ? Strath. Katharine, duty. I have seen Men pious, loyal, brave ; do I say men? Nay, wives and children perish, gashed by stabs, Or pierced by ball, or drop into the grave A-swoon from the rack’s torture, their sole claim To serve in freedom Him who made them free. Could I see this, and know that gallant hearts Were leagued against such wrong, and stifle mine? I struggled, for I loved ; but everywhere My conscience tracked me. In the woods the leaves Quivered reproaches ; the peaks frowned ; the stars Gleamed down in wrath, and life with every tongue Cried, “ Man, do right ; be worthy of thy world!” I turned in thought to thee; thine eyes of truth Rebuked my swerving spirit, “ Man, do right ; Be worthy of thy love!” sc, 11.] STRATHMORE. 13 Kath. Delirium ‘Has warped thy reason, Halbert, strive, oh strive Against this madness! It will pass, but think ,That it may pass too late ! wrath. * Farewell ! Kath, Be silent ! ‘I will be heard. Perhaps I might have borne To lose thee ; but thou leav’st me for dishonour, And that’s past sufferance! Base and traitorous men Must henceforth be thy comrades—shouldst thou fall, I cannot weep a hero! Strath. Katharine ! Life rarely knows its heroes. Obloquy, Like dust, defiles the champion ; still he strives, And at the grave, the sullied vesture falls From his worn limbs, his memory takes its stand Upon the tomb, and the world shouts—“ A HERO !” Re-enter SIR RUPERT. Sir R. Have you decided? Kath, | Clinging to STRATHMORE.| Oh, no—no! Strath. I have. Sweet, we must part! What strength is in the clasp Of these soft arms? I must unwind them, love, | These fibres of my heart that bleeds to rend them. There, gently! Take her, sir! Farewell—farewell! [He rushes out, she sinks into SIR RUPERT'S arms. ACT LL SCENE I. The interior of a hut,in which BRYCEFIELD Zs discovered in his horseman’s cloak, asleep. The open door admits a view of the field of battle. A solemn strain of voices tn the distance, and occasional accla- mations. Lenter ROLAND, Brycefiela’s servant. Rol. Ho! my good master, Master Brycefield! Faith, 14 STRATHMORE. [acT 1; He’s sound asleep, and well has earned the rest Our sour-faced captains grudge !—It irks my will To rouse him; but then orders! What, your honour! | Vaking him. Bryce.|Who springs up and snatches his sword.| Who’s there ? Rol. A friend! DBryce. You, Roland! Rol. Even myself ! Here’s Hamilton and Craigburn, sorely pricked— That’s pricked in conscience—that you were not seen At the thanksgiving. Bryce. For their victory ! What, if I called it mine? But for my brain They could not wag their envious tongues—these churls ! Who forced them, who, but I, a soldier bred, To keep their vantage-ground? ‘They else had rushed Into the marsh, and, overwhelmed by Claverhouse, Have choked it with their bodies? By my aid They won their triumph, drove the foremost troops In Scotland from the field, and thus they thank me ! Rol. Tohear them talk this morning ! One would guess They’d king and country under lock. Cried some— “We'll treat with Charles!” Then others—“ No, the Kirk Alone shall rule in Britain!” Some were hot To march on Babylon ; some to pull down The carved work and the idols; but all swore That Claverhouse should be hung ;—that’s when they caught him ! Bryce. Silence! Was’t thou not snatched from the Philistines - To be a chosen vessel ? Rol. Maybe so. I know I’ve often been an empty vessel, For our new masters, whew ! their diet’s thin, And their she vessels—by which I intend The covenanting damsels—are not comely. No, sir ; give me the days, the good old days SU. LJ STRATHMORE. 15 When your brave father rode in arms for Stewart In merry England, when the cup and song Filled up the pause of cannon, and bright eyes Rained blessings on our march! Bryce. Ah ! fix my belt. Those times are over. Rol. Not forgotten, sir. A.can to those old times! It’s ill going forth Without your draught ; good wine’s the soldier’s porridge, And here’s your meal-cask. [He produces a flask, fills two drinking-cans, and presents one to BRYCEFIELD. bryce. Varlet! Well the years That chill the blood mature the grape. [Both drink. Rol. And that Thaws the chill blood, and makes us young again, As young as when we sang—how runs it?—so!_ [.Szzgs. “ Here’s an arm for my king, and a curse for old Noll, And a smile for all danger that chances ;” Fall in, sir! [Both sing. “ Here’s an arm for my king, and a curse for old Noll, And a smile for all danger that chances ; Here’s a throat for my glass, and a lip for my lass, And a bright eye to pay back her glances ! Merrily ! merrily ! shall my life pass— Hurrah for my king, and my glass, and my lass !” [ They repeat the chorus, “ Merrily! merrily!” &c. fol. Hist! here come no friends to mirth. Lryce. Hamilton, Craigburn, and that recreant, Strath- more ! Why do I prate of recreants? Little guessed Our fathers we should wear this livery. Yet, In one point, Strathmore justifies his stock, No coward he! He fought as if the fray Hung on his single arm. L£nter HAMILTON, CRAIGBURN, azd STRATHMORE. Ham. | To BRYCEFIELD.] We’ve waited for you, 16 STRATHMORE. [ACT II. Whence rose those sounds of revel? III befit - Such strains our sober camp. Rol. Just a wee crow, My masters, over Moab ! Craig. Hence! begone! Rol. Well, well! Ye’re not such pleasant company. [Goes out, muttering the chorus, “Merrily! merrily!” &c. Ham. It is the hour for council. For you, Strathmore, Who helped this great deliverance, and whose post In our victorious ranks we might have known Best by its peril—in acknowledgment Burley has named you captain in our host, Next to himself in power. Strath. ~ Methinks to-day Our Scotland hails her children, that their praise Breaks from her torrent tongues and to the plain Leaps down exulting, that this morning’s sun, Rending the mist, pressed on her mountain brow His warmest kiss, for he found Freedom’s there— Heaven send with Freedom—Peace! Craig. See, here comes Burley ! Enter BURLEY. Ham. With so dark a brow, When Ammon flies our arm! Bur. It is a race Must be chastised with scorpions. Our main force I lead towards Glasgow ; but some choicer few A nearer duty summons. Covenant blood Again hath flowed, and asks a separate vengeance. Craig. Speak ! what new horror? Bur. Cruel in their flight, As in their strength, the foe who ’scaped the sword Came on a handful of our people, met By a burnside for worship. Mark, our friends Were met in peace, unarmed ; all, all were slaughtered, Save two who bore the tidings, and amongst them Fell Keith, the Pastor! SC, I.] STRATHMORE, 17 Strath. Andrew Keith !—The good, The venerable man! He was my friend, Preceptor, almost father! In my breast There springs no grain for good, but he did sow it. Bur. What doom pronounce you on his murderer? Strath. Asternone. Weare bound to warn these tigers From further havoc. For a deed so foul, Earth’s law and heaven’s have but one sentence—death. Bur. Thou sayest well; and now, be firm! Whose, think you, Was the fell hate to which that gentle mein, Those silver hairs, appealed in vain for life? Who murdered Andrew Keith ? Strath. Why ask of me? Am I the mate of wretches ? Bur, No, thy feet Now shun their path of blood; yet, didst thou walk Consenting for a season even with him Who wrought this deed accursed. Strath, His name? Bur. Again, I say, be firm! The hand that slaughter’d Keith Was Rupert Lorn’s. Strath. Sir Rupert Lorn’s ? Bur. I said it. Strath. Man, you profane that name if but in thought You slur it with such charge. You know him not. Sir Rupert is a soldier—no assassin ! Bur. He was your friend ; you therefore may be blind. Strath. He is my foe ; I therefore would be just. Bur. As we would. Though I little doubt his guilt, Strict proof alone shall harm him. Public weal Requires, meanwhile, we seize upon his hold— The hilly towers of Lorn, by nature girt With rare defences ; thus, if beaten back, We gain a strong retreat and time for succour. Craig. An enterprise of peril. Bur. No; the castle VOL; 1, B Tene 7 18 \ STRATHMORE. [ACT II. Is slightly guarded. Its chief strength has marched Under young Lorn to Claverhouse. Sir Rupert Lies, aidless, in his fortress. Ere remanned We must surprise and take it. Craig. Such a post Some few determined men might hold from thousands. Bur. A secret path winds rearward to the heights, And one who knew the route might thereby gain An unsuspected entrance. [All turn thetr eyes on STRATHMORE, Flam. [After a pause.| Strathmore ! Strath. Speak. Flam. Familiar from your boyhood with this pass, ’Tis you must lead us. Strath. Iv Bur. Do we demand More than a leader’s duty? Strath. You have said Sir Rupert was my friend ! Flam. Have you not sworn To be your country’s ? Strath. *Twas my oath—I’ll keep it! Give me the van of some most desperate hope, Some breach to force even in the cannon’s mouth ; Or bid me singly breast the tide of war, With honour beckoning on the further shore, And I will plunge! But do not arm my conscience Against my will, and make my truth to duty A treason to my heart ! Craig. | To BURLEY.] You see his bent. To choose such guidance were to risk our end. Bur. [Apart to him.| Peace! None but he, who knows each separate step, So well can thread the passage. Hamilton, With Brycefield and yourself, shall share his march ; So, if he falter, justice rests with you. [Zo STRATHMORE.] I grieve to find thee in the snare emeshed Scaiz] STRATHMORE. 19 Of creature yearnings. Howbeit, we yoke No doubting spirit to this work. You, Craigburn And Hamilton, must undertake the task ! If Lorn be guilty of this crime, he dies. Strath. He dies! Bur. Decreed you not his death? Strath. But how, If he prove innocent? Crazg. A slender hope. Strath. Why, see! You do prejudge him. In your face I read his doom already. Bur. You have shunned A leader’s office ; else your hand had borne The scales of judgment here. Craig. A partial hand Should never hold the balance. Strath. | Apart. | It is fixed— The old man’s fate! To their impatient eyes Film’d with a brother’s blood, all evidence Will take that sanguine colour. He will perish ! Bur. Time speeds; I part for Glasgow! You Strath. Stay, Burley ! [ Aszde.| My presence would ensure him justice ; this At least, he claims ; for this his child appeals, His Katharine—once my own ! Ham. See, he is racked By a sore conflict. Bur. Note him not ; he'll yield! Strath. {Still apart.| But say what yet I hold in- credible Were true, that Lorn were guilty, and had dyed His soul in stains more crimson than his sword’s, Shedding the pastor’s life! say this were proved, And I the judge, Heaven’s eye upon me, men Exacting righteous sentence, while old love, Plucking my heart-strings, cried for mercy ! Bur. [To CRAIGBURN azd HAMILTON.] Forth 20 STRATHMORE. [ACT II. With faces set like flints against the slayer ; Blood only expiates blood ! Craig. We will not fail. Strath. Mad with the thirst of vengeance, faintest hints Will read like damning proof! no arm but mine Can save him innocent ; if guilty, why Even that risk of horror for his sake Must be encountered.—Burley, Hamilton, I take my office—I will head this charge. Bur, You'll march on Lorn? Strath. I will. Crazg. Ere you resolve— Dare you fulfil this task ? Strath. Dare I assume it? See, Brycefield, that our force be straight equipped ! We march at noon. Craig. We need the mask of night And will not stir till sunset. Strath. Heed my orders, Brycefield ! we march at noon. Your captain wills it. [STRATHMORE avd BRYCEFIELD go out. Bur. He’s right ; delay might give them time for aid. Come, friends. You know your duty should he fail. [They go out. SCENE II. Before Lorn Castle. A terrace with ramparts overlook- ing an extensive prospect bounded by the hills. Enter KATHARINE and ISABEL meeting. KATHARINE 7s passing on without perceiving ISABEL, who inter- cepts her. Isa. No, no, sweet Kate, you are my lawful prize, Won dearly, not to be relinquished soon ! These lonely walks and indoor solitudes Fit meditative age; but you are young. See iit STRATHMORE. 21 Kath. Ay, by the kalendar ! Isa. Ill suit such moods With loyal maiden’s pride—this grief for him Who in one breath disowned his double oath To you and to his king. For shame—abjure him ! Kath. Idolatry abjures not! It despairs, Isa. Tut, tut! despair’s a word, a good broad phrase To signify the heartache or weak nerves. All women have it ere they wed. It means That epidemic of young blood called love, And only asks time’s lancet for its cure ; It takes a thousand shapes! The schoolboy has it At close of holidays; the maiden feels it When her pet pigeon dies! Sometimes it comes As a November fog! Count Grammont had it— And sharply, when his valet brought not home His suit for the Court ball ; but—he recovered! [Aszde.| Poor Katharine! I know she thinks me heart- less, And yet, to humour were to feed her grief. Here comes your father ! Enter SIR RUPERT. Dear Sir Rupert—smile ! Sir Fk. In times like these, when the king’s flag retires Before a horde of rebels ! Isa. Your defeat, If such it may be termed, chanced, as you said, - From inconsiderate zeal. So strong a post The foe secured. You fought at desperate odds. Siy R. ’Tis a disaster we shall soon retrieve. What can a wild, ungoverned mob effect ’?Gainst the trained force of kingdoms? Isa. Well then, smile ! Sir R. [Taking her hand.\ There, there! Zsa. Your lips smiled, not your eyes. Sir R, I know it. 22 STRATHMORE. [ACT II. A foolish thought distracts me! Long inured To the stern trade of war, I’ve seen armed men Fall in a heap before me, and then slept Unvexed by conscience ; but that aged face I spake of—haunts my sight. I never drew Before on the defenceless ! Isa. Not a heart But mourns the old man’s fate ; but still reflect ’Twas in an act denounced by law [Hesttates. Ser it. The law Required, at least, that we should warn ere strike. I struck and warned not, and my sword became A knife for shambles. Keith had been my friend, Sat at my board, clasped hand with me. Girl, girl, As I rode thence, I felt as feels a murderer ! Isa. {Aside.| How hard to strive with self-reproach when just. Sir R. Stung by defeat, we found them in our path, And ere reflection cooled our boiling rage, It overflowed in fury. Isa. It is done, Repented, and must be forgotten. SET AEG Come ; Some other theme then! [Zhey walk up the terrace. Kath. Does my father stand Thus self-condemned of cruelty? My kind, My generous father! Who shall vouch for pity. In sterner hearts, or that the cause is just Which casts it out? O Halbert! Were you right ? Have those whom—tutored in a loyal faith My heart denounced as traitors, been indeed Ground down by injury? O, were you right ? So noble, so discerning, could you arm In a base quarrel? No; it is a thought To soothe my anguish. If thou wert deceived, ’Twas by misconstrued duty. So thy worth Shines through my gloom, and, though for ever gone, Thou art not lost while I can still adore! [She goes out. SC..11.] STRATHMORE. 23 SIR RUPERT and ISABEL return to front. Zsa. Brave Henry! Worthy of his name and sire My gallant husband ! Str R. Should the royal troops Be duly reinforced, we may expect him The traitors who infest us to dislodge. Our garrison is scanty, and we need Some score stout fellows yet. Isa. These girding hills Are a sure rampart. Str R. True; we may defy The knaves for weeks, and mock them till they starve. [Shouts are heard, and the bell of the Castle sounds an alarm. What mean those shouts? ‘They ring the alarm! Enter several RETAINERS. How now! Simon. The castle is surprised. S27 FR. Who kept the watch ? Robert. Each man was at his post ; the enemy Assailed us under cover of the woods. Sir R. The bell is silenced ; ’sdeath, they’ve forced the gates ! Ring round me, lads, for honour and your king ! Zsa. Vl with you. Str Lr. No, to Katharine! If I fall Bear her a father’s blessing. On, brave hearts! Stone bulwarks yield ;—brave hearts are adamant. On, cheerily, Lorn, for the king! [He rushes out, followed by RETAINERS. Déscharge of musketry, and shouts of conflict without. Zsa. Heaven speed you ! Would I were of them! Yet our Katharine’s safety? The clamour’s at its height. [4 jpazuse.] Now conflict’s thunder Mutters itself away ; the bolt has fallen. On whom? Dear Katharine! What, beset! 24 STRATHMORE. [ACT I. As she is going, entey SOLDIERS, headed by BRYCEFIELD. Bryce. [Advancing to her.) Fear not! Sir Rupert, lady, is our prisoner ; But his fair daughter—such I deem you are— Needs dread no violence. Isa. We do not dread, sir, The thing we scorn. Bryce. Harsh payment for harsh duty, Zsa. Fulfil it without words. Bryce. That you are safe. Accept this proof—our band is led by Strathmore. Isa. By Strathmore ! Bryce. Once your father’s friend. Isa. Is't true ? [He stontfies assent. Why then forgive my scorn. Your treason’s white Beside his foulness. Bryce. |Aside.| She is wondrous fair ! Zsa. A something in your mien Denotes you foreign to these boors :, you learned not This courtly grace from them. Bryce. |Aside.| By heaven, a wench Of rare discernment! Beauty’s presence, lady, Can civilise the savage. Isa. Speech so bland I fain would couple with a name, and yours is Bryce. One that was honourable till I bore it ; My name is Brycefield. /sa. You were ill baptized ; That name is writ in loyal annals. Bryce. Ay! And by my father’s sword. Tsa. If this be so, You bear within more keen reproach than mine. Is’t possible? Your escort to the castle ! Bryce. Way, there; fall back! I am your beauty’s debtor. [She gives him her hand; martial muste heard behind; he conducts her out. SC, III.] STRATHMORE, 25 SCENE, Hl. Corridor in Lorn Castle. A small table, with writing matertals, and lighted taper, chair, &c. Enter HAMILTON azd CRAIGBURN. Flam. Thus far no signs of flinching. By his guidance We've gained the fortress, seized the man of blood, And straight proceed to trial. Craig. Yet)! tear, Lest creature pity should in Strathmore’s heart O’ermaster duty. It devolves on him, As chief in rank, to be the prisoner’s judge. fTam. Let’s to him. Craig. And remember, if he fail, We must assume his office. Lorn must die. [HAMILTON azd@ CRAIGBURN go out. Enter ROLAND, followed hastily by JANET. Fanet. Not that way, Master, Master—what’s your name ? Rol. |Clasping his hands with a Puritanical air.| In the flesh, Roland : and thy name, young damsel ? Fanet. |{mitating hin.]| In the flesh, Janet. Ifa saint like you Can e’er feel hunger, there’s good beef and ale Waiting your pleasure. Rol. I’ve no creature wants, Fanet. | Aside.) Now must I ply him as my mistress bade. [Aloud.]| I prythee come; I find such benefit In devout company ; and grant one favour. There are, ’midst Strathmore’s followers, some brave hearts My mistress knew of old, and fain would speak with. Rol. She’ll bring me into trouble. Hence, avoid thee ! 26 STRATHMORE. [ACT II. See’st thou not I’m a vessel? [Aszde.] Of a surety The damsel’s comely. Fanet. Nay, thou’lt not refuse? Rol. | Astde.| I fear the carnal man is strong within me. Lo, I will testify! Thou shalt no more Entice me with thine eyes, which are a snare, Fanet. I will not. Rol. Nor entice me with thy lips, Which are a net. : Fanet. I say I will not, Lol. Neither Shalt thou gaze in my face unlawfully ; Nor take my hand thus. [Taking her hand. Fanet. You surprise me. Rol. No; Nor, worst of all—— Fanet. | Struggling.] I will not, sir Rol. Do this. [Kzsses her. Fanet. (Breaking away.) Shame! shame! you have forgot you are a vessel. [JANET goes out. Rol. Faith, I half like the jade; and little hke — The work that brings me here. I saw the old man Torn from his children’s arms. I fear the worst. Enter BRYCEFIELD. Lryce. This is a sorry business, Rol. Sorry, sir ; It takes away all relish for my food. ’Twill break my sleep. Think of the old knight's daughters. Bryce. [(Musing.| So fair, ’tis strange that neither yet are wed. Rol. There’s Lady Isabel. What eyes! Their flash Half blinds you, till a hazy sorrow comes To let one see their brightness. Then her voice! ’Tis the proud sad smile speaking. ‘Time has been You would have risked your life for her least whisper. Lryce. What say you, rogue? sc. 111. | STRATHMORE, 27 Rol. That she’s a helpless woman, And you a soldier. Bryce. [Astde.| Does he read my thought? I have drunk in her beauty till it floods Each vein and pulse. To call her mine—to grasp At once both love and fortune—'twere a prize Indeed for the spurned beggared cavalier ! She comes! Withdraw, sir. Rol. Hey, they’re winsome dears ! [ROLAND goes out. Enter ISABEL and KATHARINE; ¢he latter sits apart absorbed. Isa. How, Master Brycefield! We entreat a boon. Bryce. You grant one if you grant the right to serve you. Isa. | Aside. 1 like not those smooth tones. My sister, too. Bryce. (Bowing low.| Lady, she is your sister. Isa. [A side.] There again ! I took him for a friend ; but ours, I fear, Must be a game of wits; we'll say, a game At chess. Bryce. [Astde, catching her last words.) A game at chess! What does she mean? Zsa, You have the ordering of Sir Rupert’s guard. Our prayer is this—that you set over him Strathmore’s own followers. They’re of better nurture Than their rude comrades, and at least will show Sorrow, respect. Bryce. ’Tis done. Isa. [A side. | So the game opens. That’s move the first. ; Bryce. Your next command ? Isa, Request— That privately you send for and admit Sir Rupert’s chaplain. The good man dwells near. [Shows a litter. 28 STRATHMORE. [ACT II. Bryce. That letter’s for him ? Tsa. Read it. Bryce. If you insist. [Reads, then aside.| No danger. This concealment Is against my captain’s orders ; but Isa. Well, friend ? Bryce. |Significantly.| 1 obey yours. sa. I thank you. Shall I seal The letter? [She takes it to the lighted taper, and, watching him narrowly, drops the seal—a ring.| The seal’s fallen. Bryce. Madam ! [He stoops for the seal. Isa. [Aside.| Now, To drop these lines in. [She takes from her bosom a note, and places tt in the letter, which she quickly folds. BRYCEFIELD rises and gives her the seal.| Sir, I trouble you. | As¢de.| He has not seen it. Move the second! Bryce. Trouble! And to your friend ! Isa. [Sealing the letter,and giving tt to him.) Who saved my father’s life Were more than friend—a brother ! Bryce. , That’s a joy Beyond my hope. And yet, I would outwear My brain in plots, my knee in prayers to Strathmore, If that might save Sir Rupert. Meanwhile, duties—- In which I rank your interest chief-—demand me. [Offers his hand. Tsa. [After a pause, giving him her hand.| Farewell! I will not thank vour zeal with words. Bryce. |Who bows and retires, aside.| No! not with words, bright siren, save they pledge A richer payment ; not thy gifts, but thee. [He goes out. Isa. [To KATHARINE.| He deems your father mine, and, as I think, Suspects not I am married ; these thick gems Have hid so well the slender marriage pledge. Sc. 11I.] STRATHMORE, 29 It might be well to fix him in his error, I see his selfish game. Had he been worthy, I’d trusted all with him ; being false, I’ll use him. I stoop but for your father. Kath, Ah, my father ! Zsa. Laments are vain. When danger threats, they hinder ; Should the worst chance, yourself must plead with Strath- And when it bursts, avail not. Katharine, more ! Kath. Nay, not that name! Zsa. Remember, though you loathe him, - He holds your father’s life. Kath. My father! Strathmore ! My sense drifts helpless on this tide of horror ! Loathe him! loathe Strathmore! Why? He’s here, you say ; Why came he? Isa. Well you know—with bloody men In league against your father. Kath. To destroy him? Isa. Why ask? Kath. And Strathmore was his friend? Isa. His friend ! Kath. And knew their purpose, yet he came! Isa. To aid it. Kath. Wait—wait! Ha, ha! The blackness bursts, tis day! Isa. What mean you? Kath. That he came, a friend with foes, Knowing their hate to curb it. He is here To save my father! lLoathe thee, loathe thee, Hal- bert ! I trust and bless thee. Isa. This is madness ! Kath. No, Tis reason’s safeguard, the last hold it grasps ; 30 STRATHMORE. [AcT II. Uproot it, and I perish. In, dear sister, Wait but this hour’s event ! Isa. Alas! Kath. Remonstrance But kills where it would save. Come, come, let’s in. i [ They go out. SCENE*IV. A room in Lorn Castle, as in Act I. The apartment arranged for the trial of SIR RUPERT. Ax antique elbow-chatr ts placed near the front. STRATHMORE alone, and seated. Strath. There was no way but this. My comrades bent To find him guilty, thirsting for revenge, His fate was certain. Either I must judge, If guilty doom him ; or, to ’scape that pang, A dastard, yield him to their blind tribunal And murder by my silence. Could he slay The meek and pious Keith? O friend beloved, First fosterer of my thought! as thou didst stand On Time’s far brink, and Death forbore to snatch thee, Was he than Death less pitying? This foul charge He can refute—he will! If—that zf/wrongs him. Enter HAMILTON and CRAIGBURN. Flam. Already here ! you're prompt in your commission. Strath. Justice delayed is half denied. Flam. Most true. The guilt that’s late avenged is almost sanctioned. Craig. Strathmore, be warned and hear me! If you hope Disproof of crime will free the prisoner And make your office light, your hope is vain. Most clear and certain evidence convicts him. Strath. Am I judge here ? sc. Iv.] STRATHMORE. 31 Craig. You know it. Strath. Then, if judge, I take no counsel with the accuser while The accused is absent. Flam. Mark, our people cry For vengeance on the murderer ; if withheld, Thou wilt provoke revolt, and stab the cause Which thou hast sworn to guard. Craig. If I but thought He dared to tamper with his trust, I’d | Approaches STRATHMORE menacingly. Strath. | Stamping twice.| Ho, there! The door opens. Enter BRYCEFIELD; SOLDIERS are discovered tn waiting. [Zo BRYCEFIELD.] Your guard’s in waiting? I may need you, sir. Craigburn, you stand too near—fall back. [Zo BRYCE- FIELD as CRAIGBURN odeys.] Not now. Bryce. The prisoner, Sir Rupert, waits without. Strath. [After a pause.| Conduct him hither. [BRYCE- FIELD goes out. Apari.| Oh, the time is sudden ; Sustain me, Heaven ; let proof like thine own beams Shine on his innocence; for sake of him I thought to call a father, for her sake I dare not name, scarce think of, hear me, hear me ! Flam. They come ; prepare ! [STRATHMORE motions them to the table, and sits. Enter SIR RUPERT, preceded by GUARDS ; BRYCEFIELD walking by his side; a number of the Covenanting SOLDIERS follow, uttering menacing exclamations, and line either side of the apartment. Sol, Justice ! we will have justice! Death to the murderer ! Ham. Peace! Strath. Sir Rupert Lorn! 32 STRATHMORE. [ACT II, Sir R. [ Astde.| It is the face in which I once read honour... Still frank, no covert glance, no craven bend, Thou forgery on nature! Strath. Pray you, sit ! Sziv R. In your illustrious presence and your colleagues’ ? My modesty forbids! What would you with me? Strath. The chance of these stern times, when savage power Tramples on life and freedom, makes us foes, Not to yourself, but wrong which you abet. That wrong to curb, we have possessed your castle, And held you in restraint. No penalty Harsher than this impends, if you confute, As I must hope you will, a crime so black Your name denies it credence! You are charged That, not in heat of war or private feud, By you and yours, unarmed and simple men, In exercise devout, were foully slain. No warning given, no order to disperse— A right which even your cruel laws demand— And, chief, that by your hand fell Andrew Keith, The gracious shepherd of this ravaged fold! What answer make you? [SIR RUPERT regards him in stern silence. Craig. He is dumb. Strath. Produce Your evidence. Stir Rk. Hold there. [Zo HAMILTON avd CRAIGBURN.] I speak Not to this man—perjured to king, name, friend, > Whose baseness Heaven permits that men may know, And loathe a traitor ;—but to your more human And moderate infamies. Hear this! I mourned,— A sickly fool !—because his locks were white, The death of Andrew Keith ; but now, beholding The pestilent harvest of his seed, rejoice, Both that I mowed the ear and slew the sower, The deed was mine,—I slew him! Se; Ly,| * STRATHMORE. 33 Ham. He avows it ! Craig. Justice ! Sol. Ay, justice ! we'll have justice ! Strath. Who Calls upon justice, and with clamour wakes Her sacred halls, that should be hushed as heaven, Ere doom’s dread book be opened? Peace !—Sir Rupert, If, guiltless of this crime, it be avowed In hasty scorn, or from security, Since I have been your friend—reflect, recant ! My heart is frozen—and it cannot beat ; My memory stifled—and it cannot plead ; I am a pen in the great hand of Conscience, To write its bidding merely ! Str R. [To HAMILTON aud CRAIGBURN.] Pray inter- pret Me to your master. Tell him that we rate Gifts by the givers; that could he give me life, I would not own it, branded by his pity ! . Bryce. Pshaw, pshaw, you rave ! Sor, Place me upon the heath, My good sword in my gripe! The deed I’ve done I'll do again, and grind beneath my heel This brood of canting priests and armed revolt ! Sof. His sentence! Quick, his sentence ! Flam. By his own lips Is he condemned. For further proof we hold This letter, written by the prisoner, And found upon his servant. ’Tis addressed Unto that man of wrath, Ralph Malcolm! Listen! | Reads.| “These, good friends, shall bring you to know that I have been entrapped by a gang of Puritan traitors. If you can give the alarm, and send help, well. Once free, on the faith of a loyal man, I will show the knaves no mercy. I will hunt them down, whether they bear sword or psalter, by the hearth or in the field, in conventicle or by the hill-side.x—Yours in the king’s cause—RUPERT LORN.” [Gives letter to STRATHMORE. VOL. I. C 34 STRATHMORE. [ACT II. Sol. Vengeance! Tear him to pieces! Judgment! Sentence ! Bryce. Sheer lunacy! You would not heed a maniac ; Try fasting and the dungeon. Flam. Ay ! and wait Until some rescue, mightier than our stop, Loose him to carnage. We are weak; our foes Are strong, and may redeem him. Strathmore, think ; ’Tis not alone the life that he has quenched, But those his cruel purpose yearns to strike, That claim his death? If they through him expire, Thy voice that frees him—murders them! Then, stand Between this black soul and thy brethren’s lives, And tell us which shall perish ! Sol. Justice! Death! Strath. That shout again! [Zo SIR RUPERT.] List to that shout, old man ! I hear it and I live; but do not check it ! Who dares? Who stays the planets or arrests The wheels of destiny? They roll, they roll! [He rises and comes forward. Ham. | To CRAIGBURN.] He’s rapt as in a trance. [Zo STRATHMORE. | What hear’st thou, brother? Strath. |To StR R.] The cry of thy great sin, per- formed and purposed, Has entered heaven, and space reverberates Thy doom in thunder! Murder’s doom is death! Craig. [To SIR RUPERT.] Thy sentence ! [Zo STRATH- MORE.] And it’s hour? Flam. He does not heed thee. Remove the prisoner. Thy farewell take Of earth to-day! Thou diest on the morrow! [SIR RUPERT goes out guarded, followed by BRYCE- FIELD aud SOLDIERS. STRATHMORE remains standing tn abstraction. Ham. [To STRATHMORE.] My friend! my brother ! Craig. Pray you, speak not to him. Leave him to silence. sc. IV.] STRATHMORE. 35 Flam. Oh, this sacrifice Outweighed a thousand lives ; my friend! my friend! [HAMILTON azd CRAIGBURN go out. Strath. Where am 1? Is this earth, or has the world Swerved from its path in terror, and recoiled To the first chaos? Is yon light the sun? Are those green hills? And is yon roar that swells, And sinks and swells, the sea? That’s the oak roof,; A slanting sunbeam strikes it. I stand here,,. Alone; yet do not turn, lest fearful shapes Should give the lie to sense.. Alone! ah, see, That old man stalks before me! Speak? I'll answer. He’s dumb. And now fromthe quick-breeding air There looms another form—dark, stern—my father’s ! He points to him, and asks me for his friend ! And ’twixt the two there glides a cold face, blanched With a child’s agony! Katharine, away! I cannot bear those eyes ! [Rallying himself.|. Nay, gaze ! Pll front them.— Dim spectres of the living and the dead Cite me, impeach me! As I then shall answer,. When Heaven waits breathless, and its shining ranks Fix me at once with their demanding eyes, I answer now. ‘Truth has no choice: it must. Be true or not be! Duty claimed my heart ; I plucked it forth and gave! .. . . Ah, now ye fade— I am alone—alone with fate and heaven ! [He stands motionless. The curtain slowly descends. Peele tli am BN Mile Ante-room in Lorn Castle, opening on terrace. BRYCEFIELD avd ROLAND discovered. Bryce. V faith, rare wine. Rol. You’re merry, sir. 36 STRATHMORE. [ACT III. Bryce. Such juice, Drunk in Elysium, would make nectar cheap And all the gods forswear it. Rol. Ah! you laugh ; You could not if you thought that brave Sir Rupert Would die to-morrow. Bryce. Humph! Rol. | Significantly. | You head the watch. Bryce. How, sirrah ? Rol. For his children, for the sake Of Lady Isabel, whose grateful smiles Hail you as her deliverer, you will save him? Bryce. Humph! Is that sure? Rol. Why did you bid her hope ? Bryce. Concerns that you? For my own ends. Rol. A brave man, Who sees a woman’s grief, can have no ends— None of his own, I mean—he acts for her. Bryce. Away, sir! Rol. [Aside.] No; he cannot be a man, And deaf to grief like hers. [He goes out. Bryce. ’ So for her sake, I shall corrupt the watch. By my connivance, Nay, special aid, Sir Rupert shall escape— That’s if none scent the plot, while for my thanks There’s gratitude, a curtsey, and good morrow! Notso. Her spells have charmed me—the proud carriage And quick eye battling with reverse, the smile That breeze-like ripples her still face, and flits ’Twixt love and scorn, her hand, whose lingering touch Can make its farewell kinder than its clasp ! She must be mine! Yet if she spurn me—me, Though kindly born a thriftless outcast now ?— No, no, her father’s life at stake, she dares not. Enter ISABEL, looking cautiously round. Zsa. My friend, preserver ! _—_ scr 1.] STRATHMORE. 37 Bryce. ’Tis a title, lady, As yet unearned. Isa. But gratitude and faith Forestall thy deed, and pay it in intent. Bryce. | Aside.| There, gratitude! You're liberal, but not prudent. Intents are known by acts; intents may change— Mere vanes to winds of humour! Isa. Good intents Are fixed like goodness : you did give me hope That by your means Sir Rupert should be free— A bless’d intent ! Bryce. Still, a mere vane ! Isa. Where points it? Bryce. To summer, if the wind be southerly. Isa. Southerly ? Bryce. Ay ; what brings the South Wind, lady? Isa. Pray tell me! Bryce. Warmth and odour! Her soft arms Twine round the vigorous Spring, a perfume steals Upon him from her locks, her glowing breath Fires his cold cheek with blushes, while she weaves A chain of garlands round him, and he sinks Before her feet—a slave ! Isa. Tis a deep riddle. I pray you solve it. Bryce. Be thy love this wind To my bleak life, which then shall teem with acts Obedient to thy will. Bright Isabel, I love thee, and would wed thee ! Isa. Wed me, sirrah !—[ Restraining herself. How if my hand were pledged? Bryce. Had it been given, Ay, to a husband, he should lose his clasp. Consent—your father’s free. Isa. If I refuse? Bryce. Why, then, the wind sets northerly; Im ce! 38 STRATHMORE. [ACT IIL. I’ve solved the meaning of your words to-day, You'd play a game at chess! ’Tis my move now. Tsa. [With indignation, immediately repressed.) Oh, thou Bryce. Nay, speak it, madam ! Isa. Oh, thou soldier ! [With assumed laughter Which fit thee best, thy tactics or thy valour? Bryce. Make me thy soldier, and with those ripe lips Seal my commission. Even now I’ve dared Much peril for you, tampering with the guard. Come, we rough soldiers capture hearts like forts— By storm ! Isa. Sir, for the credit of the fort, I'd make a show of conflict. Grant me time ! Bryce. Have you so much to spare. But be it so; In an hour I will return. I do but deal ‘By the world’s commerce, lady. All men fix Their price on service. For my own, I ask Yourself, your hand. If you deny me, say Why I should venture aught for her that scorns me. [He goes out. Isa. Ay ! scorns thee, wretch, the more that terror choked Scorn’s utterance! But that I did control My struggling heart, he had betrayed our hope— Our hope on such conditions? There’s no hope. Stay—Katharine! She must at once to Strathmore ! Heaven aid the wrestling of a child’s despair. [Goes out. Enter ROLAND and JANET. Rol. Poor lady, in what haste she went ! Fanet. | What grief ! Thy master bears himself unkindly to her. Rol. [Musing.| It may be so. Fanet. It may be so! Where is thy wit to help? You say you love me; where’s the proof of love? Rol, What canI do? Sir Rupert’s too well guarded. Fanet. Entice the guard away. Rol, Impossible ! oe STRATHMORE. 39 ’Twere death to quit their post. Fanet. V’ll drug their drink. Rol. They dare not drink on duty. Fanet. Be valiant, then. Provide my master’s men With swords, and use thine own. Rol. My master’s men Would use their carbines, then. I should be shot. Fanet. Well, I should weep for thee. Lol. I should not see thee. Fanet. Jest on; I was mistaken ; you’ve no heart. Rol. Exactly so, Fanet. The brave knight will be murdered, My ladies—orphans! What is that to thee? Thou'lt sleep as soundly, Rol. Mistress, you have ta’en My very measure. Fanet. Thou 'lt be rid of me. What matters that? There'll still be ale and beef, And thou lt be merry with the cup and trencher. Why talk to thee of courage, love, or glory? Rol. Thou hast it; yes, thou hast it; I am just The thing thou say’st Iam. Oh, shame on me, To let the light lash of thy tongue draw tears ! [ Viping his eyes. Fanet. Forgive me, Roland! Rol. Set me some plain task, Talk not to me of glory. Say but this— An old man’s life in danger ; two young hearts, Just breaking for his sake, implore your help ; Show me the way to save them—any way That’s likely, possible—and though the odds Be such as risk my neck, I’ll take that way, Vile trencherman as I am! Fanet. I see too well, However brave, thou canst do little here. Yet grant the boon I asked before. Conduct My mistress, in disguise, to Strathmore’s followers, Sir Rupert’s guard. ” 40 STRATHMORE. [ACT III. Rol. And what will that avail? Fanet. Nothing, I fear ; but still, ’tis her desire. Rol, Vl manage it, this hour. Fanet. You have a heart. Forgive me! Rol. And have you a heart? Fanet. |Archly.| Ah, Roland! [Zhey go out hand in hand. SCENE II. Spacious roou as before. An armed SOLDIER watts with despatches. Enter HAMILTON azd CRAIGBURN. Craig. Comes Strathmore hither? Ham. Yes, you see despatches Await him from the camp. Craig. Has he yet eyes To spell the text of war with, or does grief For yon malignant, who to-morrow dies, Blind his friend’s sight ? Ham. Shame, shame, thou ruthless man ! No vain laments express his mighty woe ; But a calm reigns, like the immovable heavens When they look down on earthquake. Peace, he comes! Enter STRATHMORE, Despatches wait you, sir, from Burley. Sol. [Presenting despatches to STRATHMORE.] Ay, From godly Burley. Strath. [In a low level tone, and with passtonless dig- nity. | Hold you ready then For prompt return. No, stay, you‘re worn with travel. Se 11.) STRATHMORE. 41 Bid young Moncrieff with some six more to horse, Then ask my orders here. | [SOLDIER goes out, STRATHMORE szfs and reads despatches. Craig. What’s Burley’s news? Strath. He wishes reinforcements. Craig. And should have them straightway. Flam. Can you grant them ? Strath. No; Our slender force would weigh but as a grain In the great balance, and would nothing stead him, While foes would seize on these deserted walls, And our retreat spread panic through our friends. Ham. ’Tis well resolved. Strath. |Writing.| Are yet those stores arrived Of corn and cattle? flam, Not yet. Strath. Hasten them. Flam. 1 will betimes to-morrow, sir, Strath. [Dropping the pen, and sitting motionless.| To- morrow ! fTam. I know what that dread morrow brings; yet think Even had you wavered, you could not have saved him ; The attempt had roused rebellion through our band. Your truth as man, your oath as judge, your duty As chief enforced, and Heaven ordained his death. Strath. [Rising.| Then leave it, friend, to Heaven to grant the strength For that which Heaven ordains. [le again writes; beckons to SOLDIER who has re- entered ; seals and gives him despatch. Straight to the camp ! [SOLDIER goes out. Enter ROLAND. fol. [To STRATHMORE. ] Your pardon, noble sir ! [.Sees HAMILTON—“e hesztates.| I bear a message. Ham, Speak it ! 42 STRATHMORE. {ACT UI Rol, ’Tis only for your captain’s ear. Craig. A mystery ! Strath. Friend, your business ? Rol. Nay, sir ; ’Tis with yourself in private. Craig. [Zo HAMILTON.] Marked you that ? Strath. Declare your errand to these gentlemen. Rol. |Reluctantly.| The Lady Katharine would see your honour. Strath. See me ! Craig. It cannot be: go. Rol, Friend, I’ll take Your answers when I ask them, [7a STRATHMORE.] Sir, she pleads Most weighty reasons. Crazg. Are you gone ? Rol. Such reasons As touch her father’s life ! Strath. Say you, his life? Rol. [Doggedly.| ’Twas thus she charged me—say, by Strathmore’s oath, As upright judge, as he would ’scape the curse Of needless blood, I claim to speak with him Alone, and instantly. Strath. [To CRAIGBURN.] You hear! Craig. Again I do deny her suit. What afterproof Can clear the self-condemned ? Strath. We know not that Until we know the proof. What if her father Vaunted in rage an uncommitted deed, Or hid its provocation ? Craig. Do you hope it ? Strath. I dare not; but as little dare refuse The right to prove it. We must meet alone. Flam. Alone? Strath. It is her will. Craig. Her will! SC, 11.] STRATHMORE. 43 Strath. Then mine. [Zo ROLAND.] Say that I wait the Lady Katharine. [ROLAND goes out. Ham, {Aside.| Is he true? The waves of Ashdod poison those of Canaan Whene’er they mingle. [Zo CRAIGBURN.] Fear not, well observe him; Ere night I will compel him change the watch. [HAMILTON avd CRAIGBURN go out. Strath. | Alone, dropping into achair.| Seeher!. . see Katharine!... Katharine! .. .-That name Comes to my ear as though I long had passed Into the realm of souls, and caught, perplexed, A sound once dear on,earth, . . . Katharine!. A face Gleams on me as through mist—brows wide and white Neath rippling auburn ; eyes like springs, that hint Love’s soundless depths! . . . Speak, speak! . do I not hear That voice which was thy heart made audible Answering to mine—to mine, as when we stood Last by the scutcheon’d gate while tremulous love Broke through the hush as through the dusk—the star ! Again, good night! we clasp, part, linger still. Now she glides homeward ; but her low farewell Sums all the unseen sweetness of her face, And follows me in blessing. Ay, ’tis she, My joy incarnate, self of self, love, life. Katharine, my Katharine! [He pauses, overwhelmed with emotion, then suddenly restrains himself,| What if she should come, And find me thus swept down by this wild flood Of bursting grief, and from that sight draw hope, When hope there’s none, and I should so delude her! [Starting up.| Freeze, freeze, ye naked heavens, and keep me stone— For her sake, freeze ! 44 STRATHMORE. [ACT III. Re-enter ROLAND, followed by KATHARINE, Cath. Retire! [ROLAND goes out. Tis he—he moves not, speaks not ! [Advancing to him ] Strathmore ! Strath. What would you with me, lady? Kath. Is it thus That Halbert speaks to Katharine ? Strath. Hush! those names Belong to a past world. Kath. False! there’s no past To fates so knit as ours. Thou may’st stab love, But not love’s ever-haunting ghost, remembrance. Strath. Your errand ? Kath. I’m a child: my father’s life Hangs on your breath. My errand! Strath. Hark ! yon sea ; You hear it break? Kath. Ay, on a rock. Strath. A rock That shivers it and dashes it to spray. Still the tide flows; ’tis ocean’s law. So man Obeys his law—the conscience. Though it drive On ruin, he obeys. Kath. On ruin! Ay, You feel it such. You'd save my father; but Your comrades hem you round and force your hand— Your shrinking hand—to strike. It is not Strathmore Who with a double murder stabs the sire, And, through the sire, the child! Strath, No, ’tis not Strathmore. You look on Justice. Kath. [| Softening.| “albert, no; thou still Art human. Human woe has ploughed thy cheek ; Thine eyes crave human tears. Before them glides A dream of our past love—perchance that sunset When on thy breast I leaned and took thy ring— SC. II] STRATHMORE. 45 The ring which pledged us! [Showing a ring which she wears.| Ah! thou know’st it—start, And feel thou art a man ! Strath. [Involuntarily.| lam,I am! Kath. Then save my father. Strath. Canrelic Kath. Yes! Strath. Oh, cruel to ask that question of thee. Kath. Yes! Strath. Mistake not— His innocence must save him. Dared I dream That thou couldst prove it—that his pride belied him When he avowed the crime; or that, withstood, He smote but in defence—aught that disproves Or can excuse the deed—how would I clasp Thy feet in transport ! Not the cry, ‘A sail!” To gasping swimmers ; not the shout, ‘‘ Reprieve !” When gleams the axe ; not the wife’s sudden face, From far-off home, beside the dying exile— Oh, I but mock my joy, comparing it ! Give earth a new bliss, give my dead hope life, By one word—“ Innocent!” Speak, if thou canst. Kath. Why you have spoken. Since you will his life, Effect your will, Strath. Your evidence? Kath. ’Tis here. You were almost his son. Strath. Your evidence ? Kath. |Desperately.| I have none! Wilt thou save him? There are means Which yet you guess not—we can balk the hounds Even at their spring. Defer Sir Rupert’s fate A week—nay, grant three days ; ere then my brother Strath. Ah! Kath. Now you guess. My brother may return Head of a force with which your scanty band Must cope in vain. As you would spare their blood, Preserve this secret. 46 STRATHMORE, [ACT III. Strath. That the enemy May find us unprepared ? Kath. Your followers few—ill-armed, undisciplined— Must perish in the conflict. But submit, No hair of theirs shall suffer! ’tis my oath. Strath. [Astde.| Another moment, and I’m lost! Right, conscience, Like lapsing earth, slip from me! Ere three days The foe may be upon us ! even to-night ! The storm may gather while we dream of safety, And wake us with its. bolt! Scouts, scouts, forthwith On every road, bid others watch the coast, And each man sleep in arms! Ho, Hamilton! Craigburn ! [He rushes towards the door. Kath. [Intercepting him.) You shall net pass! Strath, I must! Kath. My arms are frail ; They cannot bar thee! Canst thou. pass these eyes Once lit by thine? Strath, I pass ! Kath. [Still confronting him.| Thou canst not ; Nature Revolts against the deed! Thy feet are fixed To the detaining earth ; thy face is stone ; A cry peals from these shuddering walls to pierce The vault of Time ; and, lo, the shrouded years Leap from their graves! [Grasping his arm.] Here, by the old man’s side, Thy boyish steps have pattered ; by yon hearth He held thee at his knee—his playful hand Entangled in thy hair—and stooped his ear To catch thy prattle! Dost thou still advance? Then over me! Look, by that chair we knelt To plight our troth before him, while his voice— A soldier’s voice, weak with the weight of love— Faltered his blessing! Come, be bold! Fulfil Thy work! Stand on my father’s hearth, and there, There where he blessed us, speak his doom ! [Dragging him to the hearth. se. 11] STRATHMORE. 47 Strath, | Breaking from her.| Craigburn ! [He extends his hands towards the door, and falls senseless. ACT IV., SCENE I. Ante-room in Lorn Castle, opening upon terrace as in Act Ill. Moonlight. Enter ISABEL and ROLAND. Zsa. How shall I thank thee—how repay this debt ? Rol, With one of your kind smiles. Isa. And Janet’s love ; Is it not so? Though generous hearts like thine Find in themselves reward. Yet, if Heaven help me, Thy lot shall match thy worth, Now to my sister, And bid her join me. Rol. Straight. [Going.| Stay, I’d forgot In our discourse this letter. [Gives it. Isa. Ah, for me? Rol. One, whom I think his peasant’s garb disguised, Gave it me at the gate. His suit was urgent That it should reach you. Tsa. | Aside, opening letter.|.| From my husband! ’Tis precious news, my Henry comes. Speed, speed ! Rol. Madam, your sister ! [ROLAND goes out. Enter KATHARINE. Isa. Well, your face tells all. You sued to Strathmore, and in vain ! Kath. He swooned In anguish at my feet—his frame a reed, But, oh ! his honour—rock ! Isa. His honour, girl! Kath. ’Yis not for minds like ours to judge of Strath- more. Jsa. You love him! 48 STRATHMORE. [ACT IV. Kath. Peace, I say! You speak to one Frenzied by grief ! Tsa. There may be hope. Kath, Hope! Isa. ; Ay! Strathmore’s dependants form Sir Rupert’s guard— Men whom your father did of old befriend. I’ve seen them, thanks to Roland, moved their hearts By memories of past kindness. Let but Henry Appear before the walls, my life on’t, these Go over to his banner ! ath. O my brother ! If he could guess our strait ! Isa. He does, and waits But to collect his force ;—here’s tidings from him. See, by the date, with those in his command, He should be here already ! Kath. If he fail ! Ah me! an inner voice knells in my heart. My brother vanquished—where’s my father’s life ? Victorious—where is Strathmore’s? Nota wind But drives me on the rock : Isa. Your gloom infects me. Forth upon the terrace ; There watch you; ’tisa balmy night. Nay, sweet, I’ll have it so, for I must plan alone. [She leads KATHARINE @o the terrace, and returns. To gain delay. How best to compass that ? Who comes? Brycefield, the caitiff who would trade With a wrung heart! Must I dissemble yet ? Enter BRYCEFIELD. Bryce. Rebuke me not, fair sorceress, with a frown, That I o’erstaid my time. Tsa. Sir, I most freely Forgive your absence. Bryce. |Approaching her.| Scorner! I must weo Those lips to seal my bliss, must hear them pledge sc. 1] STRATHMORE. 49 The prize my own for which I venture life— Your hand, your love! Isa. But love, sir, has its duties, And these ask time to learn. Bryce. No need of time To teach thee how to love. Isa. & Oh, it needs much To love you after your desert! So brave, So stamped with honour are you, modesty, Summing your riches, is abashed to claim them. Bryce. What ! do you trifle, lady—do you mock My flag of amity? Then I hoist war’s ! If that fond siege be war which would subdue Only to cherish thee. I know your wiles— That you have practised on my guard! A word Of that—suspicion roused—your father’s fate Waits not for dawn : he dies this hour! - Isa. O: heartless—— Bryce. Madam, the game at chess grows critical. I move again. Isa. | Aside.| On what a brink I stand ! [She moves to terrace and returns. Fly, Henry, fly! [With feigned gaiety.| So you play boldly, sir. Bryce. You dally with me, while each moment lost Doubles our risk. I have provided all For instant flight. Be thou but kind, the bolt Falls from Sir Rupert’s dungeon! In his name I seize that beauteous hand ! Isa. | Turning to the terrace.| How looks the night ? Bryce. Sweet, tis a night for love ! Isa. The moon doth wear Her full-orbed crown, and through a special court Of stars, moves queenlike. [Intently gazing from the terrace. bryce. Turn thee to the earth, Thy glance makes brighter ! gaze not at the stars ! Isa. Of old, men read their fate there. I seek mine. VOLs I, D 50 STRATHMORE, [ACT Iv. Bryce. What dost thou ask them? Isa. If it be my lot To find a husband. Bryce. And with one accord They answer Isa. Hush ! [Aszde.] Methought I heard a sound. [A pause. ’Tis but the far sea flowing. Bryce. Are the skies Dumb, or thou blind? Thou canst not read their speech ! Isa. Canst thou? Bryce. Plainly ; why, look ! love’s radiant star— Bright Venus—laughs reply ; and all the spheres Around her echo—Thou shalt find a husband ! Say they not so? Isa, [With sudden transport.| They do—they do ! Bryce. [Sinking on his knee.] Behold him ! Isa. Up, up, and give him welcome! See, he comes First in a tide of plumes ! a thousand swords Flash in his wake! He will requite your love, Doubt not ! KATHARINE rushes in. Kath. *Tis Henry—my brother ! [Martial music heard in the distance. Lryce. How ! Isa. My husband! Bryce. Husband ! _ Isa. Summoned by you. ‘That letter to the chaplain, By you despatched, contained another scroll ! ’Twas superscribed, “ To Henry Lorn ; ride, ride For life !”—he’s here. I won on you to change Sir Rupert’s guard, and you unwittingly Placed friends for gaolers. The game’s won—check- mate ! Bryce. 1 like thy spirit, wench ! but I have yet pe. IT.) STRATHMORE. 51 A pawn to move perchance may queen the board ; The game’s not over. Tremble if I win. [Rushes out by the terrace. Kath. He may devise some evil to my father ! Zsa. Well thought of, girl! Let’s seek out honest Roland. Fear not! the guard are ours. Kath. Quick, to Sir Rupert! [Zzey go out. SCENE II. Spacious room in Lorn Castle, as before. Enter HAMILTON azd CRAIGBURN. Craig. I tell thee, I mistrust him! He gave audience To the malignant’s daughter ; yea, we found him, When she went forth, prone on the very ground ! Thence, being raised, there struggled through his speech Vague hints of coming rescue. [Artillery heard without, repeatedly, Flam. ’Gainst which he had provided. See, he comes. That head erect, and frank eye, speak no traitor ! Enter STRATHMORE, his sword drawn. Strath. Forth, brothers, forth ! the foe is at the gates! Craig. Is there no foe within the walls ? Strath. What mean you? Enter BRYCEFIELD. Bryce. Revolt and treason! Your dependants, Strath- more, Throw off the yoke of fealty, and join hands With the invaders! Terror strikes the rest. Ham. Have you betrayed us ? Craig. Answer, at what price Is Israel sold to Edom ? Strath, Craigburn! [Restraining himself| No, 52 STRATHMORE. [ACT Iv. ’Tis not for thee at such an hour to move me. Think of our cause ! Ham. Your cause? Strath. Have we not staked Name, home, love, life—the sum of all our being— On freedom’s ransom ? Craig. Heed him not, retreat ! Retreat, Isay! As yet the rearward path Lies open. Strath. Quit your ground of vantage ? No, Forth with me to the ramparts ! Those who doubt Shall trust again, and our live torch of honour Rekindle those in ashes, till the walls Blaze with one glory ! Flam. He says well. Craig. Beware ! Strath. Alone I’ll meet them ! Bryce. I’m your mate. Flam. Nay, follow. [Ad go out. Alarums. Isa. | Without.| Forth to the fray! Then to me with your tidings. Enter ISABEL. Still they contend. Would that the fight were o’er, And Henry safe. A lull! ah, many a wreck That sanguine tide shall leave upon the strand ! Enter ROLAND. What news ? Rol. Brave news. They yield! Tsa. Who yield ? the rebels ? Rol. Panic has seized them, and your husband’s troops Force easy passage. Brave Sir Rupert’s free ! Isa. Where is my sister ? Rol. At her father’s side. By her command I brought her where he is. [Hurried steps and voices heard without. ee ~~ —— SC. IL] STRATHMORE. 53 ‘sa. The tramp of hurrying steps. That voice! Rol. Sir Rupert’s! sa. My husband with him ! Enter HENRY LORN, SIR RUPERT, amd KATHARINE leaning on her father. WROLAND goes out. Flen. - Isabel! fsa. My hero! [They embrace.| Dear Sir Rupert ! [ Zaking his hand. Str R. So,lass ! my brave boy’s succour has postponed Your heritage awhile. But for that aid, Another sun had seen him Lord of Lorn! How went it with the knaves? fren. Some few were slain, Some taken; but their leaders, by the steeps Where horsemen might not follow, have escaped— Save one I shrink to name. Isa. Strathmore ! Flen. Yes, wounded. Our force had beat him down: he must have perished But for my rescue. Sir R. Though he merits death, Yet am I glad he fell not by our sword. fFTen. Alas! his doom is but delayed. Fierce Dalzell, Who, under Monmouth, through a bloody field Has chased the rebels, hither hastes his march. He will demand the prisoners at our hands. Kath. My father ! fen. Dalzell bears a heart of flint That ne’er knew pity ; I have heard him name Strathmore with those whose doom, when seized, is death— Without reprieve or trial. Kath. Do you hear? Sir R. My child! I would not cloud this day with grief, Nor can thy father stoop to base revenge. 54 =v STRATHMORE. [ACT Iv. Yet, mark! I will not shield persisting treason. If Halbert Strathmore formally subscribe Such recantation of his guilt as I Will forthwith frame, and, to atone it, pledge A loyal future, by our tried allegiance I will beseech his life. I think even Dalzell Will grant that boon to service proved like ours. But heed me, Katharine, if Strathmore spurn These terms of mercy, though he were my son, I would not waste a breath ! Flen. His party crushed, Persistence now were madness. Kath. One more boon— That your conditions I may bear to Strathmore. Sir Ie. Be it so, girl! He may prove obdurate. Remember, though, this meeting is your last. You parley with the rebel, not the friend ! Come! [Ill prepare the bond. Kath. Pll follow you. [SIR RUPERT, HENRY, avd ISABEL go out. Rebel! what means that word? Fear for my father Has blinded me to truth: now I see all! Right trampled on—pure conscience counted crime— And hatred banqueting on good men’s groans ! My brother owned it ! And the man who beards This wrong’s a rebel! Sure, the courts of heaven Are peopled with the outcasts of this world ! My Halbert! Oh, he will reject these terms! I dare not think on that. One last farewell— One prayer to save him ends my dream of life ! [She goes out. Enter STRATHMORE, wounded, supported by ROLAND. Rol. Lean on me, sir; leanon me! You are faint, I saw you struck. Your wound needs rest and quiet. Strath. [Sttting.| Good friend, I feel it not ! - Rol. So sharp a hurt Asks better surgery than you afford. SC. 11. ] STRATHMORE. 55: Strath. Dalzell, you say, comes hither ? Rol. Ay, sir! Strath. Then Each captive’s fate is sealed. Beseech Sir Rupert To give me audience. [Aszde.] My offence being chief, My death should free the rest. Rol. Vil do your bidding. [ He goes out. Strath. Could I save the rest, I'd know no other care! My soul breathes freely— Leaving all with God. As through half-open gates Of Death’s grim arch, I catch the fields of day. Yet, Katharine! there earth’s fond, last weakness clings. To her my name must be a thought to shrink from. I shall not have a tomb in that fair realm Where I had once a home. Enter KATHARINE, with a paper. [Azszzg.| Has my heart’s cry To look on thee been heard ? Kath. We meet once more— To part for ever ! Strath. With a faltering voice You say it—not in hatred ! Kath. Hatred ! [Looking mournfully in his face.| Oh, * how fierce Has been thy struggle ! Strath, Can you feel That I have struggled ? Kath. Nobly! Yes, I know it. Strath. You know it, and absolve me! You will bear To think upon my memory ! Kath. Thy memory ! While I can bear to think. Strath. I did not hope For this. I shall die smiling ! Kath. Die ! thou shalt not ! 56 STRATHMORE. [ACT Iv. My father and my brother, who have served The royal cause so well, will plead with Dalzell. Sign but this scroll ! [Gives tt to him. Strath. | Feebly, after perusing tt.| Ah! know’st thou what conditions The bond demands ? Kath. I de. Strath. That I confess My treason, and abjure it, never more Further my righteous cause by tongue or sword, In act become a traitor—to escape A traitor’s sentence ! Kath. But your cause is crushed ! Strath. Crushed! No, it triumphs still. Though free- dom’s hosts Bleach the green earth with death, that cause is safe That has its Chief above? Kath. You will not sign ? Strath. And canst thou ask me? Kath. Ay, while I have breath. Who gave thee right to quench my life in thine? Though we must part, ’tis comfort still to think One world contains us. I should curse the sun If it could light a world that held not thee! Strath. My Katharine! Kath. "Twas you upheld my steps When we were children. On the hill-side flowers The golden gorse, from which you plucked the thorn That else had harmed me. In the brook still float Lilies like those we wove, Another spring Will find them there—but thou! [Falling on his neck. Strath. My truth! my truth! Kath. I will not let thee go. Ere see thee perish, I'll burst all ties of duty, dare all shame, Renounce all kindred! They are gone! Be thou Friend, father, brother, home, and universe ! Strath, Forbear, forbear ! [Szaks into chatr. Kath. Whate’er I know or feel 5c, iT. } STRATHMORE. 57 Of good, you taught me. You relent; you'll sign? Strath. |Feebly, but with increasing energy as he pro- ceeds.| You shall decide. [She kneels by his side. | Two paths before me lie, The one through death to honour—— Kath, Halbert ! Strath. Nay, There are but two! First, say we choose the nobler— Then wilt thou think of Strathmore as of one Who, by his last act, fitly sealed a life He would bequeath thee spotless. Kath, Ah, bequeath ! And I shall never see thee more ! Strath. |Pointing upwards. | Yes, Katharine! Kath. The other path? Strath. It leads to life through shame. Wouldst have me take it—live to own no bond But with dishonour; when I catch the tale Of heroes, vainly groan— Such once I was!” And when the coward’s shudder—“ Such I am !” Kath, This gloom will melt in a bright future. Strath. No; He has no future who betrays his past. Kath. Still live ! Strath. To give the lie To my true youth ; find every stream of joy, When I would drink, reflect my branded brow, And so recoil; shrink, when thy straining breast Throbs to a traitor’s; read in those dear eyes The temptress, not the wife ! Kain. Cease, Halbert ! cease! Strath. | Rising.| Speak, shall I sign? Kath, | Starting to her feet. | No—die ! Strath. [Embracing her.| My wife! my Katharine! we are one for ever. Kath, Teach Fate that truth, that we may die to- gether. Strath. Fount of my peace! my own! 58 STRATHMORE. [ACT Iv. Kath. I am at rest. How is it with thee? Strath. Sweet, sharp care has mined The bulwarks of my life, and thy great sea Of love doth overflow it ! Enter HENRY LORN, SIR RUPERT, avd ISABEL. Flen. Where’s the confession? Dalzell comes; your judge ! Kath. Help, Henry! Flen. Strathmore ! [Supporting him as he sinks. Kath. You are come too late! Strath. No, love is ne’er too late. Harry! old play- mate ! Is that Sir Rupert ? FTei. Speak to him ! AST gy tin A night Deepens upon his face. Halbert, this hour Blots all our rancours, and I but behold Thy father in thee ! Strath. We're at peace—all, all ! I pray you to deal gently with my brethren, Zsa. Lean on my bosom, sister ! Kath. No; ’tis well! Strath, Where art thou, Katharine? [She kneels, and places her hand in his.| So—I turn my life To the bright East, where all its beauty rose, And sleep beneath its beam—we do not part ! [Dies ISABEL and SIR RUPERT advance as tf to re- move KATHARINE, who motions them away. Kath. 1 am his now—I am his own in death ! [She falls prostrate on the body. END OF STRATHMORE. 7 ae MARIE DE MERANIE. A Tragedy, ENS EV ie A GT's: Warie De Weranie, First performed at the OLYMPIC THEATRE, Movember 1856. CHARACTERS. PHILIP AuGusTUS, Aing of France, Mr G. V. BROOKE. GUERIN, a@ Knight Hospitaller—his Chancellor, . j : : ARCHBISHOP OF RHEIMS, . ‘ Mr G. CooKE. DE FONTAINE, } Nobles secretly dis- ( Mr HENRY FARREN. Dr TOURNET, affected to Philip < Mr NORTON. DE LA ROCHE, Augustus, | Mr KINLOCH. BISHOP OF PARIS, : / ; Mr JAMES JOHNSTONE. SIR LUCIEN DE LARRANTE, atlached tothe household of Marie de Meéranie, ADOLPHE, page to Marte de Méranie, Miss ISABEL ADAMS. \ Mr DIDDEAR. Mr W. FARREN, Jun. BRIORN, Danish envoy, ; : Mr C. BENDER. OFFICER, . ; : ; ; Mr GEOFFREY. Messrs HENRY and USHERS, BRADY. r Messrs CLIFTON, HAr- CITIZENS, : RIS, and TANNER. Bishops, Priests, Nobles, Citizens, Guards, Retainers, Attendants, &c. INGERBURGE, Queen of France, . Miss ADAMS. MARIE DE MERANIE, . ‘ ; Miss HELEN FAUCIT. ANNE DE VIGNOILES, . ‘ : Mrs LEIGH MURRAY. Period, end of the 12th and beginning of the 13th centurtes. MARIE DE MERANIE. A el ON Bek Paris. A public place in the vicinity of the Palace. FONTAINE, LA ROCHE, avd TOURNET standing apart. Citizens, youths, and maidens dancing at back ; occa- - stonal acclamations. Ist Czt, Long live King Philip! ea C7. And Queen Ingerburge ! Is¢ Cz¢. I say, long live King Philip ; and the Queen May live too—till she tires him ! Mey Ode Ill for her Had she wed thee on such conditions ! Is? C72. Truly, ’Twere ill for both had I wed her on any ! Pardie, a white-faced Dane, with yellow 2d Cit. Friend, Beware my cudgel! Faith, a likely knave To prate of a queen’s hair ! Ist C77. Well, all I say, Poor lady, of her Danish face, is this—: If her heart be not cold and sour, the wine They drink in Denmark must be very thin. 3d Czt. Not so is that which all to-day hath flowed Along our streets, in honour of her marriage. Pity a king can’t marry every day ! [Several Nobles pass through the crowd with a haughty carriage. 62 MARIE DE MERANIE., [ACT I. 2d@ C7t. Hush, masters ! doff your caps ! Ay, there they go ! Now there’s a mouth would fall into a sneer, After the draining of a well-brimm’d cup. ye Oe Fa Ay, Because the king forbids them hang their serfs For a morn’s pastime, they grow sullen. Would They’d kindly feed our mirth that way themselves ! 2d Czt. Always except the brave Fontaine, and those His loyal comrades of the household. See, He stands, a knightly pattern ! 3a Cit. Well, let’s on— Long live the King! aaCrt And Queen ! Sd C74. And song ! Ise C7, And dance! [Zhey join the dancers in the background, and rush _ out with cheering and music. La Roche. Where fall thy musings ? Tour. Faith, on loyalty. Fon. Now, what is loyalty? Tour. Once in an age, A people’s echoed love ; oft but a vent For the national superfluity of sound. The essence of this ardour towards the king Is his despite to us. La Roche. Ay, the appeal He gave our vassals from us to himself. One may not scourge, or-chain, or hang one’s serfs Without the king’s good pleasure. That’s to rate A peasant’s life as richly as a noble’s. Our cattle soon shall have their justice-halls, And fine the herdsman for his blows ! Tour. Fontaine, Shall we thus tamely yield our rights and honours ? Thy kinsman rose ’gainst this unnatural wrong ! Fon. And lost his head. You see, I’m tame. Tour. Thou art ! eC..1. | MARIE DE MERANIE. 6g Fon. Had I been king, he should have lost his head. Power, when assail’d, must sternly strike or die. La Roche. Dost praise the king ? Fon. yes, Tour. Dost forgive him ? fon. No. Yet do I hate him not; but must wipe out By my necessity the stain wherewith His own necessity disgraced my house. Besides he hath despoiled us of our rights— Perilled our very order ; and my aim Slackens no whit, under this guise of love, To work his downfall. Still I like the man— I like him for a foe. Though wily, brave, And bounteous like heaven. Tour. Ay, sir, to those Who rate him as a god; but cross his pride Fon. And he’s ademon. So the brightest torch Flings deadliest glare on the opposing wind. Let’s own the quarry noble that we fly at— I would he had not slain my kinsman, though. Tour. What must be done? | Fon. Nothing. La foche. Nothing? Be sure Much always hides in Fontaine’s nothings. Fon. Friends ! The king—just wed with Ingerburge—has girt His throne with a new bulwark, Denmark’s aid. His foes abroad put up their half-drawn swords, And wait their season : we must do the same. La Roche. A bitter physic for his kingdom’s ills, Finds Philip in his wife! OUP. ’T was a strange union ; No note of preparation. In one week They were betrothed and wed! La Roche. Fontaine, didst mark His bearing at the altar? 64 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT I. Fon. It scarce spoke The bridegroom an idolater. La Roche. The lady, Thou knowest, was his kinswoman. That staled him. Fon. His kinswoman! Ay! near? La Roche. So near, indeed, That your wits jest and cynics frown distaste. Tour. They are so close akin, ’tis said their marriage Borders upon offence to Holy Church. Fon.. Borders upon it ? Tour One or two degrees Had made the bond unlawful. Fon. Good ! degrees Are what construction makes them, and construction Is a most pliant servant to the will. Borders? humph ! La Roche. Speak ! Fon. Don’t shake the vat wherein The liquor should ferment. I will—— Tour. What ? Fon. Join These loyal revellers. Citizens and others re-enter. Saints, what an eye That dancing nymph hath ! ankles, too, that gleam Like two mad stars at play! Tour. And can thy brain Stoop to these follies ? La Roche. ’Tis his whim. Fon. Sage Tournet ! Thy moody face too well reports thy heart. Jovial La Roche! thy wits too oft escape Through that wide, ever-open gate—thy mouth. And so I quit ye both, Why, life’s a game Whose zest’s variety! Plots, festivals, SC. IL] MARIE DE MERANIE. 65 Rose-wreaths and lances, council-chambers, bowers Alternate bravely. Nay, look, what an ankle! [He breaks from them, and joins the throng in the background, SCENE II. An apartment in the Palace. Enter PHILIP, INGERBURGE, GUERIN. Guér. Your royal consort, sire, has cause for speech. Forgive me if, as priest still more than knight, I here uphold her claims. Ing. Sir! if in aught I have displeased you, name my sin. If not, Use me as innocent, and as your wife. Phil. What lacks your grace? A larger retinue? More liberal pomps or pleasures? They are yours, Though our exchequer fail. Ing. These are my due: Yet, more—your countenance, society, Public respect. Why do you shun my sight, And make my lofty station void of honour? Courts quickly learn to slight whom kings despise. Phil. Whate’er was mine to give is yours already. We eannot take hearts in our hands and give them. /ng. Yours is not mine then ? Phil. Did you give me yours? Ing. I claim at least the decent shows of honour. Nor is King Canute’s sister so unfriended That she should brook contempt of just demands. Sir ! see my ladies wait. [Zo GUERIN. She makes a profound reverence, and guits the apartment. Phil. Claim, said she? Claim! For this cold prudence whose ambition, even, Voyages by map, not starlight—have I thee VOL, I. E 66 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT 1. For ever lost, my Marie? To this ruin Thou didst persuade me, Guérin ! Guér. By your marriage, Austria and Flanders, who, with English John, Stand leagued against your peace, are held in awe ; So, too, your disaffected nobles here. Phil. Ay, true. The crafty Canute saw my strait, And that crown’d usurer proffer’>d Denmark’s aid Provided Philip made his sister queen ! Guér. The Lady Ingerburge is now your wife. Brood on the past no more ; improve the present ! Phil. Cold-hearted priest! That past enfolds a Marie. She was my chosen: we were wed in heart. [Aszde.] Marie, thou know’st not yet thy wrong; thou _ know’st not Thy Philip perjured ; but confiding still, Still loving, dost await him. Guér. Sire, bethink you, Monarchs are born for thousands, not for one ; For duties, not affections. Phil. Ay, wise craft ! With kings ’tis war with Nature from their birth. Cold form sits by their cradles ; childhood’s trust And impulse curbed, a boy-prince rarely knows Boy-fellowship, nor princely youth a friend. And when, surviving still, the sense he drew From heaven of beauty doth expand to love Of some bright form of goodness ; when he yearns In honour of the worshipped one to rear That stateliest column, a great life ! when most He feels his Nature’s grandeur, strength, and joy, A courtly custom intercepts his path To the bright goal—love was not made for kings ! Guér. Great ones must crush their hearts to pave their power. Phil. ’Tis false ; the crushed heart’s powerless. Stifling that, We stifle ardour, hope, and enterprise ; —_— ~~ sc. II.] MARIE DE MERANIE. 67 And what God means for man dwarfs to a form, A feeble puppet with a golden rim, That doses life away, and dies unmissed ! Enter FONTAINE. How, sir! We're private! Fon. Pardon, sire ! methought I had your gracious privilege—if not, My tidings might atone me. Phil. Leave us, Guérin, Bear with thy master, Stephen. a [Apart to him, and taking his hand. GUERIN goes out. Well, speak on! Fon, The insurgent nobles in the south submit Unto your grace’s arms, which news to crown, From Otho—late your foe—have envoys sped To hail you on your nuptials. Phil. | Bitterly.| To the queen ! The might of Denmark quells these foes, extorts These novel courtesies, Think’st thou not so? Fon. From your own seed hath sprung this harvest, sire.) The glorious issue of his acts whose fame Unwearied echo sounds, and to whose robe Cling widowed majesty and orphan right ; Whose very wards are monarchs ! Phil. Bid them fling. A cushion for me to the foot of the throne ! Is’t meet that I should sit with her who gave it:?- Well, friend? That glance has meaning; speak your thought. Fon. Ah, my liege, pardon me, and bear with her ! I grieve ’tis noted that division lives Between your princely hearts ;—but I presume.. Phil. Of all men have we singled thee for love. Fear not. Fon. ‘Thentill you chide I speak. Your consort holds 68 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT I. A double claim on duty ; first, as queen, Then as your kinswoman. O sir, ’twere well Those slanderous tongues were checked which dare im- peach Her title to that name you deigned confer. Phil. Ah! what name? Fon. Wife, my liege. Phil. Wife ! say you, wife ? They question that ? Fon. Pretending, sir, that bonds Of such close kinship knit you, ere you wed, That marriage did invade their sanctity. Phil. Is’t said so! Dare they. Enter TOURNET and LA ROCHE. Fon.” Here come two, my lord, Whose swords, incensed by men’s audacious jests, Have blushed to keep their sheaths. Phil. Can I believe Licence has grown so bold ? Fon. As though a king Were bound within the limits priests prescribe The commonalty. Phil. What ! you have heard this marriage Laughed at, discussed, reproved ? [Zo TOURNET and LA ROCHE. Tour. [Apart io LA ROCHE.] What shall we say? La Roche. Oh, travel by the light of Fontaine’s eye. Fon. Forgive them, sire, if awe restrain their tongues. Friends, witness for me that my words are true ! Phil. Speak frankly all. La Roche. In every point, my lord, Must I confirm the words of brave Fontaine, Tour. So humbly I repeat, can I with grief That reverence for your grace forbade my hand To smite the scoffers. Phil. [Sternly.] Well, you did refrain ! i i sc. I1.] MARIE DE MERANIE. 69 Judge not in the king’s quarrel, nor revile Those whom you count his foes, more kin perchance Than meddlers, to his pleasure. Sirs, retire! [TOURNET avd LA ROCHE go out. Fontaine, we need thee still. We'll breathe the air. Walk by our side. We rate thee highly, friend ; And honour thee with fullest trust. [Eatends his hand to him. Fon, (Kneeling. | Your grace Is rich in bounty and in confidence To your poor vassal ; [Aszde.| tendering him this hand Red with a brother’s blood ! [FONTAINE rises; PHILIP motions him to follow. Fon. (Bowing deeply.| Sire, I attend you. [Zhe KING goes out, followed by FONTAINE. SCENE III. Gardens adjoining the Chateau of MARTE DE MERANIE, some leagues from Paris. The garden is laid out in grass plots, bordered with trees, Rustic seats are placed here and there. Entrance to Chateau, which ts visible at side. Enter ADOLPHE, CECILE, and other retainers of MARIE DE MERANIE’S household, including women and children. They sing as they enter. SONG. To our noble lady hail! Now from every hill and vale Let our prayers and praises sound ; Be her years with blessings crowned, All earth’s choicest gifts attend her, All Heaven's gracious powers befriend her. Adolphe. {To the rest.| Now for a dance, a blithe dance; let the foot 70 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT I. Bound lightly to the pulses of the heart, For ’tis our lady’s birthday, Cécile. Brightest féte Of all we keep ; to-day the Princess Marie, So loved by all, so well deserving love, Attains her twentieth birthday. Adolphe. Her first birthday Since she left Méranie ; the duke, her father, Desired that she should learn the life of courts In polished France, and at King Philip’s prayer Did send her hither. Cécile. Ah! life’s gay enough When she’s at court ; but this, her country home, Where no news travels, six long leagues from Paris, Is dull as gaol or convent. Adolphe. We'd make merry Even in gaol upon her birthday. Many Voices. Ay! Adolphe. ’Twould be no gaol if she were there. The dance ! Your hand, Cécile! [A rustic dance, in which all join. Adolphe. See, see, the princess comes! | Enter MARIE DE MERANIE, attended by ANNE DE VIGNOLLES. All. Long live the princess ! Cécile. Long live the Lady Marie! Now, Elise! [ELISE, a child, led by CECILE, advances from the group, kneels, and presents flowers to MARIE. Marie. (Graciously receiving them, and embracing ELISE.| Thanks, thanks, my sweet Elise ; Thanks, thanks, kind friends ; This is a happy birthday. She, indeed, Has right to count it such who year by year Finds old friends still more loving, and new friends To ripen into old ones. Follow now The Lady Anne. There is a feast prepared ; sc. III.] MARIE DE MERANTE. 71 And ere you quit the board, myself will join you. Conduct them, Anne ; you too, Adolphe, go with them. [She makes a gracious inclination, which the group answer with obetsances, and retire into the Chateau, conducted by ANNE and ADOLPHE. As they retire, they resume the song with which the scene opens. Marie. [Who has sunk into a rustic chair.) A happy birthday ! Ay, the happiest! Past years seemed bright ; but oh! how wan appears Their brightness set by this ; just as, at eve, The early stars seem bright, until the moon, Like a new birth in heaven, breaks forth and drowns them. So my past joys fade in a rarer bliss — A bliss so pure, I scarce dare whisper it— I love and Iam loved! Am I not, Philip? [Draws a letter from her bosom. Here are thy words. [Aeads.| “Marie, my life, having thee, I were earth’s richest man ; earth’s poorest man, Having earth itself without thee. Doubt me not, Though I delay. The acts of kings must wait On policy, and on their people’s need. Yet, sure as rivers, howsoe’er they wind, Tend to the sea, my love shall find thee out, And claim thee of thy father ; doubt me not !” Doubt thee? Not while thy Marie is thy Marie! [ She sets absorbed, her eyes riveted on the letter. Re-enter ANNE. Anne. (Aside, observing her.] Still wrapt in dreams— in happy dreams of love, Hid in joy’s very core, as is a bee In a rose’s heart. O cruel task to wake her ! Yet she must wake. ’Tis months now since King Philip Pledged her that love which she has secret held From all but me. He vowed ere many days 72 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT I. To ask her of her father, but forbears To claim his prize. One letter, which she wears And hoards as ’twere some life-protecting charm, Is all since then that she has heard of Philip. [MARIE turns and sees ANNE; then, as tf waking Jrom reverte, replaces letter in her bosom. Marie. So, Anne; how goes the feast ? Anne. O, gaily, madam ! On this your birthday every face puts on Its happiest smile. Marie. Except, dear Anne, thine own. How comes it that to-day thy lively wit Deserts thee, and thy clear, smooth brow grows clouded? Anne. Is it so, madam? Marie. | Taking her hand playfully,| Ah! I guess the cause: Our knight, Sir Lucien, stays too long in Paris. Thou’dst have him home ? Anne. Have Lucien home ? for what? To tire my eyes by day with love-sick looks, And break my rest at night with serenades ! Marie. Perverseone! Hide thy secret from thy friend, Who tells thee all? Thou long’st for his return. Yet, faith, scarce more than I. He may bring tidings— Thou know’st of whom ? Anne. You mean he may bring tidings From Paris of the king. Marie. He may. Anne. [Aside.| Fond heart, That harbours not a doubt ; so unprepared For the stern blow I dread! [AJloud.| Dear mistress, He may, indeed, bear tidings of the king ; But is’t not strange ? [ Zesttates. Marie. Go on. Anne. That months should pass With no word from the king—no little message Or sign of memory ? Marie. |Smiling.| Dost thou doubt him, Anne? Sc,-117.] MARIE DE MERANIE. 73 Anne. Dost thou ne’er doubt ? Marie. I love ; love cannot doubt. Anne. His silence and his absence then—— Marte. Are tests That prove my faithe What! Think’st thou, when this king— The pride of Europe, Champion of the Cross, The serf’s deliverer, the people’s friend— Deigned proffer of his love to one like me, I should requite his love with base suspicion ? He pledged me in himself the sum of all That man could give. Shall I not give him trust ? Anne. Heaven make him worthy of it. You might choose Less grandeur with more peace. Report gives out This king for stern and crafty —— Marie. Envy still Defames the life above it—— Anne. And, at least, The king’s not young. Marie. The great are ever young. Anne. [With a sad smile.| We make things as we will them. [Breaking of.| Hush ! a voice. Sir L. [Wrtthout.| My lady here, you say? Marie. [To ANNE.]| Ay, and a step! And by that blush thou knowest whose. ’Tis Lucien. Enter SIR LUCIEN. Said I not so ?—You’re welcome, friend ; we long Have looked for your return. What news from Court? Sir £. Events both strange and sudden, gracious lady. I come from Amiens, where three days since The city, dressed in banners, with a shout Of mingling bells, that pealed from dawn to midnight, Proclaimed the royal marriage. Marie. |With unsuspecting interest.| Royal marriage ! Who were the bride and bridegroom? Came the king there ? . 74 MARIE DE MERANIE. [Act I. Sir L. |Surprised.| How, madam! Marie. Came the king there? Str Z. Surely, princess. Methought I told you that the king himself Was married three days since at Amiens. Anne. | Aside.| Worse than I feared! Rash blunderer ! [Apart to him.| Hold, Sir Lucien ! Marie. Married! The king! What king ? Sir L. King Philip, please you, To Princess Ingerburge, great Denmark’s sister. Marie. [After a pause, mastering her emotion by a great — effort.| You know this—saw it. Tis not mere report ? Sir L. I know and saw it, madam. Marie. [Forcing a smile.) So twas sudden. Sir LZ. Twas most unlooked for. Marie. And the bride, you say—— Sir Z. Is Princess Ingerburge. Marie. A gracious lady, As I have heard. We'll not detain you, Lucien. Some other time we’ll ask you of the pageant. [Str LUCIEN dows, and goes out, Anne. Sweet mistress: she is tranced. O, speak to me ! [After a pause.| Break, break this silence. Marie. [Rousing herself.| Anne? * Anne. Your faithful friend, Who knows your grief.’ Marie. Then, if thou know’st it, speak not: Anne. Shame on this forsworn king, this recreant knight ! Marie. Is this thy comfort P—Peace! Anne. Thy trust in him Was thy soul’s life, and he has slain it ! Marie. Then; Respect the dead, and leave it to its silence. [ANNE zs about to speak.| I'd be alone; retire. [ANNE, anxiously observing her, withdraws to back, but still remains on the scene. gC, II1.] MARIE DE MERANIE. 75 Marie. [After a long pause.| Dead! Would it were— this heart that he has crushed! But ah! though crushed, it beats, and must writhe on, Trailing a wounded life out. Philip false ! Do I so brand him ?—I who, on his breast, Have drunk his vows, and from one smile have spun A life’s whole sunshine—I who, had one said But yesterday—O Heaven ! how many lives Is yesterday from this! He has been tempted, Driven to this marriage. Some stern need of State Has forced him on, while his resisting heart Still yearned to Marie. *Twere a keener pang To think him faithless than to know him lost, Though lost for ever. Lost! in that one word My life is henceforth written. Lost! still lost! [She totters forward. ANNE, who has observed her emotion, hastens to support her. Anne. Sweet lady, gentle friend, ’tis I! Mare. [Falling on ANNE'S neck with a cry.| Anne, Anne! [As ANNE supports her, and slowly leads her out, the drop-curtain falls. AC Dele eSCENE I. The Palace. An ante-room leading to the Council Chaméer. FONTAINE, TOURNET, azd LA ROCHE. WVodles and others occasionally pass across the stage at the back. Fon. (Bringing TOURNET and LA ROCHE forward. | See, they go in to council! Not so loud. La Roche. And so from that poor hint, that casual breath, Thy art is like to work the queen’s divorce! 76 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT 11. Fron. Ay, if the council be but the king’s clerk, Crying amen to what he prays for. Tour. Count not on that. The Churchmen whose ad- vice Is like to sway the synod may not strain The law to such extremes. Divorce the queen Because she was akin to Philip’s wife, Betrothed in boyhood! Thou dost prop our hope On basement fine and frail as spider’s line. Fon. A most substantial bridge—that spider’s line. The iron wills all earth can scarce roll on, Are zephyrs when themselves elect to move, Our spider’s line will do. The queen’s divorce The king wills, and the bishops will to please The king’s will, save the reverend Lord of Paris, whom The rest must overrule. Tour. I doubt the issue. Fon. Sir, the king’s hate is threefold ; in it blend Jealousy of the Dane, disrelish fixed Of Ingerburge, which she by threats and coldness Has more inflamed, and passion for another. La Roche. How will this serve us? Fon. How? Art thou a mole, That cannot see the daylight? Philip breaks His oath to Ingerburge, and lays his crown At Marie’s feet. They wed. The incensed Dane, His sister thus disgraced, withdraws his aids ; Nay, turns them to offence! John, Otho—seize The auspicious hour! The Pope has been or- looked By these impatient prelates. Ingerburge Appeals to Rome. Rome, glad to arbitrate In royal feuds, her quarrel doth espouse. The Pope is Philip’s foe. _What penal fires Sleep in those words !—what crushing consequence ! Then is our time for action and revenge. Then slaughtered kinsman, then dishonoured line, Ee sc. I1.] MARIE DE MERANIE. 77 Your retribution quickens! Well, Sir Mole, Dost thou yet see? La Roche. I see. Fon. The council waits. Come, come, the game proceeds! Craft matched with craft ! O conflict nobler far than sword with sword! [ They go out. SCENE II. The Council Chamber, PHILIP oz the throne. GUERIN; ARCHBISHOP OF RHEIMS; BISHOP OF PARIS and other Bishops ; TOURNET, LA ROCHE, FONTAINE; other Nodles, Officers, &c. &c. Guér. My gracious lord! As counsellor, priest, soldier, friend, and man, Do I abjure this deed. ’Twill shake your throne, Stain your religion, blot your knighthood. What! On this unheard-of cause ere scarce the sounds Of marriage-bells have ceased—divorce your queen ! Sire, hear your servant ! Phil. Guérin! Not with us These issues rest. The king is passive here, Waits sentence, doth not give it; but obeys In all the synod’s voice. Fon, [Aside.] Apt policy ! On others lights the odium whom his will _Governs unseen. Great king! Guér. I turn to you Whose mitred heads pledge justice. Sanction you The queen’s dismissal from his grace’s arms ? Will you confirm a deed whose startling shame Grows ranker if you gloss it; a vile deed In all its aspects, unredeemed by pleas 78 MARIE DE MERANTE. [act II. Of precedent, necessity, or gain; A deed whose nature but one question bears— Whether its madness or its sin exceed ? LB. of Paris. 1 think with you, Yet must our private wills Yield to the force of numbers. Guer. Not when numbers Would counsel majesty to fraud and wrong. A. of Rheims. My lord, this vehemence denies respect Unto the general voice o’erruling yours. Phil. Kind father! deem not harshly of his zeal ; None hold we dearer, Fon. | Aside.| A sagacious prince ! Arch. Reason is oftener the will’s instrument Than ruler. It doth gloss the act we wish, But ne’er persuade to undesired conclusions. Therefore, from argument I little hope. I hold the marriage void, and shall record My oath so in due time. B. of Paris. |Coldly.| 1 yield submission To your more reverend wisdom. Arch. Then why tarry? We with our holy brethren have conferred And are as one agreed. Enter OFFICER. Officer. In Denmark’s name, Ambassadors crave audience, Phil,” Shoals so near port! [Asdde. In very season ! Straight conduct them hither. Enter BRIORN, the Danish envoy, and others, preceded by a HERALD. Speak ; your lord’s errand, Briorn ! [HERALD sounds his trumpet. Bri. Denmark’s king Greets thee, King Philip, with accustomed love, Sc. 11.] MARIE DE MERANIE. 79 No credence deigning to the fame that tells Thou wouldst divorce and shame his royal sister. Phil. How if this fame speak truth ? Bri. Then princely Canute Recalls his succours, and disowns his pact, Holds thee, till death, worse foe than Death himself, And bids thee know he hath appealed to Rome, Whose mandate, disallowing thy intent, I but some hours outspeed. Guér. Thank Heaven! the Pope From this black deed shall save us! B. of Paris. [To the Bishops.| Rome! methinks, ’Twere best deliberate. Her supremacy We peril by this act. Phil. Wavering! [Aszde. To BRIORN.] Return! Tell Canute, who would play upon our fear With Rome’s dread wrath, our cause already seeks Judgment from Rome’s sworn ministers—our bishops ; Who, though we may augment, reduce, or wrest From them entire rank, profit, and revenue, As vagrant friars would rather beg than sell Their conscience for reward. Fon. Sagacious prince! Most aptly put ; their all depends on him. [A stde. Arch, |To BISHOP OF PARIS.| We do but ill to dread the morrow’s storm When the fire-gendering cloud o’erhangs our heads, The king’s displeasure ! [Other Bishops signify assent. B. of Paris. Even as you will. Lay not this servile weakness to my charge. Arch. This embassy, that threats the Pontiff’s wrath, Bears no credentials from him. We maintain Our purpose here. [Zo BRIORN. Guér. Oh madness—infamy ! Defy the Pope? Our buckler cast away— The Dane’s alliance? while on every side Foes draw their arrows headward! Rome, insulted, Applauds each shaft, and lends her arm to crush ! 80 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT IL. O valiant nobles ! save us from this doom.— I see you heed. Tour. |Apart to FONTAINE.] By heaven, they quail ! Our stake Is one with Philip’s. We shall lose. Fon. {Apart to TOURNET and LA ROCHE.] Mark, mark! His brows contract and ope: his hands unite, And straight unclench; the torrent bursts. I said it. Phil. No word to sway your sentence ; but, brave lords, Let not the menaced loss of foreign aid Weigh on your thought unduly! I was wrong To trust this land’s defence to alien hands. ’Tis in itself a State is strong. No foe Can sap such strength; no friend its want repair. O grey-haired warriors, who fight again Your battles, in the young your memories fire, And ye, of their renown the heirs, who burn Their great bequest—undimmed to leave your sons, Witness how legions fled your lonely brands ; Conquest is child of hearts that trust themselves’! So with a State. ’Tis that life-blood called faith— Faith in itself—that floods its frame with might! No hireling arm for us! Our own we raise In our own war. [Azses.] Wake, France, thy crutches fall ; Thou towerest singly in thine inborn health, Match for the banded world’s dependencies ! Whose bosom echoes mine ? Fon. Long live the king! Nobles. Long live the king! Long live the king! Phil. Pronounce Sentence ! Arch. The queen’s divorce. [Chorus of Nobles and Bishops. Phil. Break up the council. This sentence, Briorn, to thy lord report. On, sirs! [Zhe KING goes out, followed by Bishops and Nobles. ~ sc. III.] MARIE DE MERANIE. 81 o Guér. [Aside.}| The seeds are madness—death the fruit ! fon. [Zo LA ROCHE azd TOURNET.] Brave, brave ! how zealously he fought for ruin! His brain an engine turned against himself. Our swords may rest. We need not strike to win. [Al go out. SCENE III. Apartment in the Chateau of Marie de Meéranie. Enter SIR LUCIEN and ANNE. Sir L. Nay, trust me; change so sudden and extreme Springs not from light occasion! She—a lady Of charity, more prompt than need was urgent ; So patient, kind, serene—observe her now: Imperious oft, secluded, well-nigh stern ; Capricious, fitful, motiveless in mirth! Anne. Why, that’s to say she’s woman. Women change - Sea-like, to show their rich variety. To-day there’s scarce a ripple, and to-morrow The waves are mountains. Now they’re sober grey; Now brightly blue, they laugh and chase each other ; Now, a black, moving wall, they crash in thunder. Sweet saints, how stale that man or woman were Who could not change. I’ve known such. tre. You evade me. Some cruel stroke of fate has thus transformed her, It may be loss of friends, or trust betrayed, Or hopeless love. Anne. Or it may be the toothache. Hopeless love! Good! [W7th laughter. 27, L., You jest, not knowing love. Anne. Prythee, set not Thyself to teach me. me, Why not? VOL. I. x be i 82 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT Il. Anne. Why not, Wisdom? Because to me love means a smiling face, ; While thine is rueful,—the brave march of life To clashing cymbals or the ring of steel, While thou dost drone on lute and mope in chambers. Why, thou wouldst woo in sermons, wed in black, And celebrate thy marriage by a fast! Nay, lay aside the sword and don the cowl; ’Tis sad the Church should lack one skilled like thee In framing homilies! VY gle BS They shall not tire you. [Aszde.] Anne has no heart. ’Tis pity she is fair ; More pity I should know it. [He bows coldly, and goes out. Anne. He would pierce The silent mystery of the heart she shrouds, Or would shroud, from my love, and then, perchance, As he hath caught the minstrel’s craft, regale The ears of languid knights and curious squires With my dear lady’s story. Ah! she comes. Enter MARIE. Anne. [Aside, regarding her.| Beneath pride’s robe grief hides its throbs in vain: The fluttering folds betray the heart beneath. Marie. [Suddenly turning and observing her.| Well, mistress! What offence? Anne, Madam! Offence? Marie. Ay; where’s the flaw? Where fails my tire- woman ? See’st thou my robe awry, or hair unbound ? From head to foot, where’s my defect ? Anne. . Indeed, I mark none, madam. Marie. What has made me, then, So curious in your sight—Lucien’s and yours? | Why meet and follow me your constant eyes? SC. III.] MARIE DE MERANIE. 83 My face is not adial. If it were, It lacks the sunshine ! Anne. They who seek its face In sunshine—use the dial; but who bends O’er it in cloudy hours is won to gaze By gratitude alone. Marie. | Sitting.| A-fair conceit ! My footstool! And who taught my joyous Anne These grave moralities? Be blithe, my girl! Thought comes with sorrow; sorrow comes with years. Alas ! sometimes with few. For me, I’m vowed To mirth so deeply, no calamity Shall e’er make me less happy than I am. Enter SIR LUCIEN, hastily. Sir L. News, Lady Anne! The king Marie. The king! Well, sir? Sir L. Madam, ’tis said between his majesty And his new queen such difference hath grown As rends the solemn ties that lately bound them. ’Tis rumoured that their marriage is annulled By order of the Council; on what ground I know not yet. Marie, On any, friend ; for power Is its own argument. Unhappy lady! My heart bleeds for thee. [Aszde.] Lucien, thou hast found Our hall too like a prison. Forth and join The city’s pageant. er L. Ah! the day is lost That sees me from your service. Marie. Thanks! But go. So wilt thou serve me. ’Tis my wish, [SIR LUCIEN goes ous, He’s gone! I have a partner in calamity In this wronged queen. I could not weep till now! [Palling on ANNE'S neck. 84 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT II. Anne. ’Tis strange I should be glad to see thee weep ; And yet I am. | Marie. The bitterness is past. 7 I’ve too much strained thy patience. Thou lt forgive ~ me? To-morrow we return to Méranie ; And there, if Marie midst her sire’s dependants Their humble lot may cheer, their burthens ease, Her life may yet have use. What mean those sounds? [Zrumpets heard without. Re-enter SIR LUCIEN, followed by the KING. Sir L. Madam, the king craves audience. Phil. But his to ask that boon? Marie! Marie. Your grace ! Wherefore ?—Nay, sir, ’tis granted.— Friends, retire. [SIR LUCIEN and ANNE go out. Phil. How poor are thanks for payment. Thou wilt hear, Perchance—oh ! dare I hope it—pity ? Marve. Both. If you endure a grief unmerited, I pity much; and if deserved, still more. Phil. Severer than rebuke is this forbearance. Goes thy heart with it? Marie. Comprehend me, sir. I do not feign that you have used me well, Or that I have not suffered. But the wrong Heaven strengthened me to bear, it bids me pardon, As these are parting words, believe their truth. Phil. Speak’st thou of parting? Whose the lip Marie. To my father’s land The morrow lights me. Phil. Sooner be it quenched ! I come to atone the madness which awhile Shut out thine image, To the throne of France sc. I11.] MARIE DE MERANTIE. 85 I bear thee. There no haughty rival towers : Her chains are rent! Marie. [|Sternly.| How rent? Phil. She stands divorced. Marte. And thou hast done this! King, one woman’s heart Glows not with triumph at another’s fall ; But shivers ’neath the warmest robe of love Rent from a sister freezing in her woe, And naked to the insult of the world ! Phil. She loves me not; our differing wills recoil. A grant in land to compensate her dower Will medicine all her grief. Besides, in: this, I but obey the Church. Say, can thy voice Cancel our prelates’ judgment, or recal Whom they have exiled? No; on me alone Thy vengeance falls, Alas! I have deserved Thou shouldst forget or scorn me. Marie. I forget! I scorn, whose memory has no other wealth Than those blest hours which, diving in the past, She bears me back—dear relics of Hope’s wreck ! [A side. Iscorn! No, Philip! It will make my pulse Beat quicker in its silence, when I hear That you are happy; and should perils come, The faltering prayer your ear will never know, May yet reach Heaven’s. And so we do not part In anger. From my inmost heart I bless you ! Phil. What words are these that bless me in their sound, And curse me in their sense? O Marie, hear me ! Thy love is not alone my fortune’s crown ; ’Tis Nature’s need ! not to my branch of life An added blossom, but the vital essence Replenishing the root! You changed my being! I measured glory once by daring deeds, Extended empire and prostrate foes. $6 MARIE DE MERANTE. [ACT II. You taught me, first, to think Deliverer A holier name than Victor; that the rod Of terror rules but shrinking clay, while love Sits throned in living hearts! I thought of thee, And from the captive dropped his chain ; of thee, And pardoned, rose the traitor at my feet ; Of thee, and bade the tyrant-stricken serf Look up, and greet a father in his king! O saint of mercy, I have built thee shrines By happy hearths through France! It is thy life That thrills in every pulse, thy soul that floods Each artery of my own! Each thought of good Is but thyself reflected ! Spurn not, crush not, That which thou didst create ! [| Szuking on his knee. Marie. | Aside.] My feet are fixed. I would depart, but cannot. Phil. | Rising.) Listen, heed ! Thou seest me contrite, pardon ; weak, sustain ; Erring, direct me! Snatch me from the toils Of selfish brains, the chill of frigid hearts, The infected air that stifles and corrupts The soul that pants to live! Unpitying still, Still silent! Then farewell; but when the years Of woe unshared, of struggles with the base Who taint even what resists them, aims unguided, Have frozen impulse into apathy, Mercy to rigour; when the man, whom once You might have raised, bless’d, saved, becomes—Well, well, Whate’er I may become, think what I was, And what I might have been had Marie loved me! Marie. Had Marie loved thee? Phil. And I dreamed she did. Marie. O Philip! I am thine. [Throwing herself into his arms. Phil. Mine! ’tis a sound I could repeat for ever. Mine, mine, mine ! ACT IIL] MARIE DE MERANIE. 87 ACT: ILI, SCENE GE A public place in the neighbourhood of the Palace. Groups of Citizens and others, including women and children. Is¢ Cz¢. This way he passes. 3a Cut. Who? the king? 2d Cit. To-day, The king ; to-morrow, what the Pope thinks fit. 4th Cit. [Who has recently entered.| ’Tis true: he meets the legate’s threat with scorn, Mocks holy counsel ! an C22. And upon us all Draws the dread curse of Rome. Bw C71. Ay, sirs, ourselves ! There lies the point. Bez. Cte. We're cursed because the king, For love of Lady Marie, his new queen, Resists the Church’s will, and takes not back His lawful wife. Many voices. Most true; we are, we are! Enter FONTAINE, TOURNET, aud LA ROCHE. Tour. What mutter these base knaves? La Roche. Their highnesses Seem anger’d with the king, Fon. | Turning to the crowd.| Impossible! The king who freed the serfs, abased the nobles ! Ye’re not such ingrates ! 2d Cit. ’Tis my thought he freed The serf from other tyrants, that himself Might bear the rod alone. 3@ Cit. [To FONTAINE.]| Say, knightly sir, How shall we ’scape the interdict? What means it? Fon. More woes than tongue can speak or reason bear. a 88 MARIE DE MERANITE. [ACT III. The pair who love, no pious rites shall join ; The penitent, no absolution find ; The living, no religious office bless ; The dead, no consecrated earth receive ; The purgatorial fire, no prayers nor alms Avert or shorten! But your loyalty These ills affright not? Rat. Shall we bear the doom This impious king provokes? LS? Gir. We'll not endure it. We'll cross his path, and tell him so! The Crowd. Ay, tell him ! 2d@ Cit. [To 1ST CITIZEN.] Thou shalt be spokesman, brother! See, he comes ! 1st Cit. Pardie! ’Tis later than I thought. That dial La Roche. Let him not hence. Thou’lt gain promotion, friend ! 3d Czt. They’re here. Enter PHILIP and GUERIN, preceded and followed by Retainers. Budge not, stand thus [Folding his arms]; none doff his cap. Come forth ; give thy lung play. [Zo 1ST CITIZEN, whom he drags to the front. Cries of “ Long live Queen Ingerburge !” An Officer. Back, sirs! ‘ The king. Back, citizens, I say! | Phil. Why halt we? How! Hew us a pathway through these brambles, straight. [Officers drive back the crowd. Ist Cz¢#, Back, back ! [Zhe KING, GUERIN, and retainers pass out. I kept my cap on though he frowned. 2d C7t. We are too few; let each man seek his friend, SC: 11] MARIE DE MERANIE. 89 And his friend’s friend ; which done, let all assemble Before the palace. [Citizens rush out. Fon. Long ere then the knell Ye dread to hear shall boom along your streets. I marked the legate’s face this morn. ’Twas calm After he left the king. Beware such calm! [FONTAINE, TOURNET, avd LA ROCHE go out on the opposite side. SCENE II. An apartment in the Palace. An oratory, with crucifix at back. MARIE, exgaged on embroidery, ANNE, SIR LUCIEN. SIR LUCIEN szxgs, playing an accompaniment on his lute, the last notes of which are heard as the scene opens, Marte. Thanks, thanks, good Lucien ; break off to-day, To-morrow thou shalt end the poet’s tale. In truth, a moving lay! What think’st thou, Anne? [ Saecling. Anne. I may not contradict your grace. Marie. Dissembler, Thou may’st, and oft thou dost. Come, come, your judgment! Anne. These love-tales tire me. I like not minstrels. Marie. Thou art most thankless, then; is she not, Lucien ? Sir L. Truly, I think so, madam ; for the minstrel Makes woman’s beauty known, and sings the deeds Her love inspires. Anne. A woman knows her beauty well enough Without a minstrel, and would have deeds, Not songs, to celebrate it. Sir L. [Aside] -Does she taunt me? [ Bows, and turns away. 90 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT III. Marie. [Apart to ANNE.|] Your jests offend him. Anne. [Apart to MARIE.] Would that they could strike One spark of spirit from him! Marie. “Fre as brave No less than gentle, trust me; do not gamble With love, for thou dost love, nor slight the chance Of joy like mine! Anne. Art thou so happy? | Marie. Am I Philip’s wife? Anne. Yet thou hast cares. Marie. True; for my sake the king Braves vengeful Denmark and imperious Rome, And oft I fear his love conceals from me Impending danger ; yet this selfish heart Too oft forgets his danger in his love! [Zumult 7s heard without, and cries from crowd of “Long live Queen Ingerburge!” “ Away with Marie!” What mean those angry shouts? Sir L. [Going to window and looking forth.| A clamorous mob, Frantic and desperate, has forced its way Even through the palace gates! Marie. Methought I caught My name! [Renewed cries from crowd of “Away with Marie!” “Dismissal!” “Banishment!”| It is so. Sir L. Heed not, royal lady, The fickle crowd. Marie. Sir, I must heed the crowd ; For I am Queen of France, and they her children ! Sir L. [From window.| The king’s guard drives them back, and now the king Himself approaches. [Tumult and cries renewed without, but more distant. Marie. And they greet him thus! Come !—Till I clasp him once more in these arms, I shall not know him safe. Follow me! Follow! ; : lS —E—————— — —- = *, ee ee es - A a SC. I1.] - MARIE DE MERANIE. gi [She goes out, followed by SIR LUCIEN and ANNE. Cries from the crowd, “Long live Queen Inger- burge!” Counter cries from guard, “In the king’s name!” “Fall back, fall back!” As the guard drive back the crowd, the cries become fainter, and subside. Enter, on side opposite to that by which MARIE Zeft, PHILIP and GUERIN. Guér, Still ran the cry—Long live Queen Ingerburge ! Phil. [Throwing himself tnto a chair.| Queen !—dar’st thou with that title yoke her name ! Speak ! was she not divorced? Guér. The bishops own They did exceed their province to declare Your marriage void without assent of Rome. Phil. Let them own what they will—exhaust the breath In their confessions, they may after need To absolve less reverend sinners! They shall not Include me in their penitence. They’ve erred, They say. Sir, grant it. Shall they, then, Retrieve their errors atmy cost? Goto! What they have done—is done ; and if remorse Will goad them—let it goad ! Guér. Alas ! my lord, The Pope’s authority o’errules their voice. Your banished wife commands he you restore. Obey, you’re saved ; refuse, the interdict. Phil. [To himself, walking apart.| Forsake thee, Marie! No, whate’er betide, To thee I cleave! - My love—if prodigal, Unreasoning, wild—is sworn to thy defence. As 1m a knight, ll shield thee, though I cope Alone with ruin! When this priestly wrath Has scathed me, when my knightly robes are doff’d For leper’s sackcloth, and the potentate Dwarfs to the outcast, own that I was true !— 92 MARIE DE MERANTE. [ACT III. [After a pause.| You wed a prince ;—or, say, a princely heart, Not less thy portion, though thy rival shared My pomp and title. Is it heart for heart ? Oh, couldst thou love the man, if lost the king, What blest deliverance. Saints ! I were no man, But recreant, to shame thee! Misery, To what perdition dost thou tempt the soul ! She’s here, and the fiend flies her ; Enter MARIE. GUERIN withdraws to back. Wife ! Marie. My Philip! At last thy Marie knows at what dear cost She bears that name of wife. The people rise, And bid thee cast her from thee. Phil. Do they so? Modest to ask no more! Marie. Methinks I’d bid Farewell to life this moment for thy sake ; Too happy were my tomb a hidden stone In thy joy’s fabric. Phi. Hear me, Marie! Witness All that confirms an oath Marie. Thou shalt not swear. Love that needs oaths to bind it—is forsworn Before it takes them. Enter USHER. Usher. Good my lord, the Council Even now assemble. Phit. Wait without, and bid My train attend me. [Officer goes out.| Sweet, our con- ference Will be but brief; trust me, it bodes no evil. Nor priest nor the leagued crowns of Christendom SC. I1.] MARIE DE MERANTE. 93 Shall wrest thee from thy Philip. [Amdracing her.| Fear not, Marie. Guér. [Astde.| Then all is lost ! Phil. [Turning to GUERIN.] Now, Guérin! Guér. Sire, V’ll follow. [The KING goes out. [Aszde.| Fate’s on the moment; there’s one desperate hope. She, and she only, can save king and people! [Advancing to Marie.| Your grace ! Marie. Why wait you, sir? Gueér. I am not welcome, It seems ; you hold me not your friend. Marie. My lord, The king’s friend must be mine. Guer. Tis as the king’s friend I dare to speak. Marie. | Sitting.| Speak on. Gueér. Tis right you know What peril threats the king. Marie. I know already. Guér. Ay, but you know it vaguely, deem it distant ; You think the cloud far off ; ’tis black above you, And charged with ruin. Marie. Hold! had the king wished I should know more, he had told me more. Gueér. The king Cannot fo you speak of this peril. Marie. Why not? Guér. Because you cause it. Deign to hear a man Whose task is harder than his bent; your lord For you defies the Pope, neglects his summons, And braves his edict. Wherefore Rome at last Rises to punish. Fre ’tis night, her curse, Her awful curse, may sound, and France and Philip Be outcasts from heaven’s grace and earth’s communion. Marie. Oh, terrible! Yet thou art cruel, priest, To taunt me thus. Can J avert this doom? Guér. You can avert it. You can rescue France 94 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT II. And him who rules France. You can save your lord— His power, his fame, his perilled soul. Marte. You mock me. How can I do this? Guér. ’Tis for you he madly Contends with Rome. Your fatal beauty absent, Your claim resigned, he were no longer tempted. Marie. What do you ask? Guer, Things hard but possible. Give place to Ingerburge, your lawful rival ; Fly from the king; resign your name of wife. Marie. | Starting up.) Resign my name of wife! Lord Hospitaller, Turn tome. Dar’st thou—thou, a holy priest, Counsel a godless act? That name of wife I at the altar took; shall I forswear it? It made my lord’s fate mine ; shall I desert him In this dark hour? Of his free choice he gave it ; Shall I fling back his gift ? By law he gave it ; And shall I brand the deed that made him mine As lawless shame? Good night. Guér. The name you bear The Church denies you. Yield it, and the king Is saved; refuse, you drag him to perdition. Choose! Marte. I—I— Guér. No other choice. [Aweeling.| Now, lady, par- don The king’s friend, if your foe. . Marie. Up, up, thy tongue Has sheathed its poison here! Thy very look Is deadly to me.—Stay, ’twas for my lord Thou wast so cruel. [She extends her hand to him.| 1 forgive thee. Go! [GUERIN kisses her hand, and with a profound rever- ence goes out. Marie. Philip on ruin’s brink, in peril both Of life and life to come, and I can save him! How? Wrench from him myself, the engrafted branch ; ] a sc. III. ] MARIE DE MERANIE. 95 That springs from him, lives by him! And if I do, Will he not bleed? Yet if my noxious graft Infect his goodly stem, ’twere better severed And withered at his foot! O strife! when love Must stifle love’s wild yearnings for love’s sake. Heaven, through this blinding grief I grope my way, And call on thee for light ! Save, save my Philip! [She totters to the crucifix tn oratory and sinks on her knees in supplication. The scene closes. SCENE III. A corridor in the Palace, leading to grand staircase and Council Chantber. Enter GUERIN, meeting Officers of the Guard. Guér. [To 1ST OFFICER.] Stay, stay, sir; you're of the king’s guard ? Ist Officer. Even now, My lord, we’re summoned to conduct his grace Unto the Council. Guér. The Pope’s legate, then, Is here, and waits the king? 1st Officer. Not yet ; indeed, ’Tis rumoured that his eminence denies His presence to the chamber. Guér. So! [Aszde.] ’Tis like. [He bows; Officers bow in return, and go out. Refuse to meet the Council! Then the storm Will surely burst full soon. I'll seek the legate. [GUERIN goes out on side opposite to that taken by Officers. 96 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT III. SCENE LV: Council Chamber in the Palace. Bishops, Nobles, &c., &¢. Torchlight. B. of Paris. [Apart to other Bishops.) If me to this stern office ye depute, I claim support most absolute. A. of Rheims. You have it. I speak for all. B. of Paris. No fear, no compromise, but be your port As dauntless as the bane ye would avert Is quick and awful. Firm, united stand ! I doubt the laity, and know the sway This subtle yet rash king doth exercise O’er martial spirits. [A flourish of trumpets. Enter PHILIP, with Attendants. He ascends the throne. Phil. Greeting kind to all. Tis late ; but ever should a people’s need Make a king’s season. To the issue, friends ! I know that peril threatens. B. of Paris. It may strike, Sire, while we plot to shun it. Let the knell Of Rome’s dread wrath but sound, and France is lost! Her guardian saints desert her ; in her streets A curse alights on labour; in her plains Withers her harvest ; warps her policy ; In war makes her sword edgeless, and her shield ’Gainst the first lance to break ; chokes in her fanes The very breath of prayer ; unto her dying Denies the rites and solace of the Church, And burial to her dead! Sweet Providence— When daily sent by Heaven to bless the world— Shall make her pilgrimage circuitous Rather than cross this kingdom! Wrath divine, Ee a ae SC. Iv.]- MARIE DE MERANIE. 97 Like doom, hangs o’er the realm, upon whose brow Earth shall write infamy, and God—despair ! Phil, ’Tis well: the woes ye so much lay to heart Ye will be prompt to remedy. A. of Rheins. Alas ! With us no succour rests. B. of Paris. ’Tis the king’s task. Phil. The king’s and yours. The marriage you annulled Upon your oaths—the Pontiff would enforce By spiritual menace. He commands ; Obedience rests with you. Disown his sentence ; Abjure his unjust vengeance ; let the Church Through you her holy offices dispense Spite of his edict! Then his ban falls harmless. b. of Paris. What! Wouldst thou have us, prelates of the Church, Defy the Church’s head? ’Twere vain as impious ; We may not question Rome’s prerogative. Phil. You may not palter with your sworn allegiance. Your oaths !—I have your oaths. i. OR Tarts. . All bonds are void That Rome annuls ; allegiance’ self is void In this behalf. A. of Rheims. Sire! Your late union [Hesitating. B. of Paris. Your cancelled union with the Lady Marie Phil. Paris! The foe has been held bold who broke His lance on Philip’s buckler; yet he’s bolder Who'd snatch from Philip’s arms the love he clasps Unto his naked breast ! B. of Paris. Even that love Must thou renounce! ’Tis Rome that speaks through me. A. of Rheims. My liege, the Pope Phil. The Pope, my lords! Four letters '—things, not names ! . The Pope! Did earth receive him from the stars ; Or sprang he from the ocean ?—Did the sun we 1, G 7 98 MARIE DE MERANIE. ) [ACT III. Wake earlier on his birthday ?—Will eclipse Turn the skies sable at his death? He came Into this world by nature’s common road, Needs food to succour life, is chilled by cold, Relaxed by heat, would drown in a rough sea Soon as a serf would !—Let him ban the fields,— The grass will grow in spite of him! B. of Paris. Impiety ! Bear’st thou that front so boldly ? Phil. I will speak. Man’s love—the growth of heaven—of nought below Admits control. Heaven’s ministers should know it ! 1st Noble. True ; by the Oriflamme ! 2a Noble. Upon my knighthood, We shame ourselves to see this lady shamed! 3d Noble. Than whom did none more gracious e’er tread earth. My lords, you are miscounselled ! [Zo the Bishops. B. of Parts. What, are you Revolters too? Then— [Bells are heard to toll, and continue to toll at short and regular intervals throughout the scene. Hark! The time is past, The time for duty. King ! those sounds declare Thy land cursed for thy sake. With it and thee | The heavens break off their league. Wherefore on earth We lay the sacred symbol of our faith In token of the grace profaned and lost! | Zhey lower the crucifix. Submission and repentance—deep, entire— Are all that-now remain. [A long pause, during which the tolling of the bells ts alone heard. An Officer. Way there; the queen ! Enter MARIE, followed by her ladies. Marie. Philip, my lord! What mean those fearful sounds? sc. 1v.] MARIE DE MERANIE. 99 Like echoes of pale Death’s advancing tread, They drove me to thine arms, and I am safe. [She rushes to the steps of the throne; ata sign from PHILIP, she takes her place at hts side. But thou?—Speak! Has my love provoked the curse ? The lone tree that would yield thee grateful shade: Attracts the lightnings now !—Is it so? L. of Paris. Ay; For thee he stands accursed. [A pause; the bells are again heard. RL Ail. Peal on! we hear. Mark me, ye mitred oath-breakers !| But raise One finger, move one step, or breathe one word: In furtherance of this curse—and ye shall beg For leave to beg. Of rank, revenue, power, We dispossess you, cast you forth from France, Wherein found against command, you die ! Nobles, ring round the throne ! B. of Paris. Back from that chair ! Marie, Philip ! Phil. On your allegiance ! B. of Paris. To the Church! Phil. Mayenne! I flung thee knighthood’s spurs ere well thy neck Had lost the page’s pliant curve. Dumont! I knew thee when thine arms and steed composed Thy sum of fortune. De Latour! we fought Abreast at Palestine. [Shouts and tumult heard without. Enter GUERIN. Guer. My lige, all Paris Shrieks wildly at your gates ! B. of Paris. [To the Nodbles.| Hear, gallant sons ! On your souls’ love, break up that fatal ring. [They fall back from the throne. Phil. [To Nobles.| And you desert me? ‘Traitors ! eof arts. Thou art left = > ~ i ' v ve 7 a MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT III. Alone, lost man ; know haughtier crests than thine Have crouched to Rome. Phil. (Passionately, and descending a step.| Crouched, vassal? [Wzth scornful laughter as the Bishop falls back.| Guérin, look, Yon pale-faced monk talks to the king of crouching ! [Zo Bishops and Nobles.| Deem ye my sires, whose tombs were glory’s shrines, Have left their sceptre to a bastard hand, That I should crouch ?—Speak! plains of Asia, speak ! That saw me singly cleave through paynim hordes, As I had wrung Death’s truncheon from his gripe ! Speak for me, rescued bondsmen ! speak for me, Fierce vassals who have knelt to take my yoke, You, you, and you !—No, perjured priest ! had Fate Lent her polluted lightnings to your hands, Even as you boast, I’d bid you rain your fires On an unshrinking front. Id fall a king! Way, there! Sweep back this tide of yeasty froth, That where we pass no spray profane our robes. Way there, I say—THE QUEEN OF FRANCE would pass! ~ Come! [Zo MARIE. | Marte. Not a step. Phil. How? Marie. Not to thy ruin. B. of Paris. Away; all to your homes! His doom is sealed. Who stays to parley with his guilt, partakes it. Marie. Yield, Philip, yield! Stay, I command you stay ! [Zo the Bishops. The king is saved—is saved! You little knew The queen you would degrade. Take back thy crown. [ Takes off the crown, and, kneeling, lays tt at PHILIP'S Jeet. Take back the oath thou gav’st me! thou art free, And I no more thy wife! [She descends from the throne. Phil. [Following her.| What hast thou said ? Marie forsakes me! Canst thou? sc. IV.] MARIE DE MERANITE. IOI Marie. Yes, to save thee: Phil. To save ?—to crush me. Marte. Philip, grant one boon. And Iremain. Unto the Pope appeal, Or those he shall appoint, to judge our cause. Plead with them thy divorce, thy right to wed me, Owned by these prelates. Then, whate’er the sentence, Thou must abide it. Pledge thy word. Phil. I pledge it. My lords, you stand dismissed. OL Paris. My hege Patt, Dismissed ! [Lmpetuously embracing MARIE, as the rest retire. They soon shall kiss thy feet! [Bells are still heard to toll.| Ay, clamour on, Vain tongues of doom! Marie is still—— Marie. |Clinging to him.) Thy wife ! PEL Vina NLL. Soissous. —Oh, ’tis conscience That doth rebuke my treachery! I have gazed So long on guilty thoughts, they lose their horror. Hither, Fontaine! Did they not say at noon? For weeks we’ve paced their ante-room to feast The eyes of curious lackeys with our fall. Fon. | may not censure whom your grace endures ; Yet, when we last spoke Phil. Thou didst strike a chord Of evil that now sleeps. Tempt me no more! Fon. | grieve to find my loyalty offence. How have I sinned? [I did but say that Rome, By these delays was bent to humble you, And, through you, all the wondering crowns of Europe, Who seeing—pardon me my honest boldness— Who, seeing your subjection, dread their own! Phil. I know it. Fon. Which presumptuous end you crush, And from the Papal curse your realm set free, If of your own inclining you take back The Lady Ingerburge. reg (Ae My own inclining ! Fron. The deed is then your own, not Rome’s enforce- ment. “Tis Philip's sovereign act, not the Pope’s mandate, 104 MARIE DE MERANIE. ACT IV. That restores Ingerburge to throne and wedlock. You thus defeat his power and yours uphold. Phil. [Aside.| It were sweet, most sweet vengeance ! Yet my Marie! « Man, thou hast looked into my heart, and seen Whose image it enshrines. Shall I rend from her The sacred name of wife, yet bid her share A lawless bed? Like a saint’s faith in heaven Is hers in me. In smiling innocence, With love-stirred lips her faith sleeps on my breast ; Shall I, her providence, look on and stab? Fon. What path is open then? Reflect—no less You yield her by submission to the Council ; You cannot doubt they purpose your divorce. Phil. It may be so ; but, if her peace must perish, I need not deal the blow. Fon. If so you deem, Submit ; crave peace of Rome Phil. And kiss the rod ! I was not born for this. I lived to make My people great, my reign august,—to pile My monument on triumph till it towered To beacon Time with glory !—Now to shrink Into the thrall of monks, and to infect With my abasement the proud blood of kings ; ‘Who, when they crouch beneath the priestly yoke, Shall plead—S$o first did Philip ! j Fon. Trust me, sir. | You wrong your queen! How poor were pomp to her, : If wrung from your disgrace! Phil. . Ay; if she saw ; My struggle with thine eyes! Fon. And so she would. | Man cannot master fate. You strive in vain To save her hope from shipwreck, but preserve Your honour in the storm. She'd have it so. Phil. By heaven, I think thou reasonest well; she would! sc. T.] MARIE DE MERANIE. 105 Te-enter TOURNET. Tour. My liege! To-day the Council do refuse you hearing. They will forthwith adjourn, and still suspend The hour for sentence. Phil. |With bitter laughter.| Sentence, sentence! What, Yet more delay! My patience has stood bare In their fierce noon of pride until the blood Leaps to my brain like fire! Re-enter USHERS. Sirs, in good time! Fling wide the doors. 1st Usher. My liege, the Court breaks up. Phil. [Imperiously.| Lead on! Ibidthemstay. Fling wide the doors ! [He goes out, preceded by Ushers and followed by Attendants. FONTAINE, TOURNET, azd LA ROCHE remain, Tour. [To FONTAINE.] Brave, brave! With skilful breath hast thou revived The ashes of this feud. I see his power Melt in the conflagration. La Roche. Sage, or wizard— Whate’er thou art—our cause owes all to thee. Fon. We have not speared the lion in the woods, But strewed the pit with rushes, and entrapped him. Well, well, the hour may come. Tour. What mood is this ? Fon, Even let it go. The time for action’s ripe. We yet may meet him front to front as men. Enter GUERIN, followed by Retainers. Guér. Recruit your strength. See that your steeds be fleet, 106 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT Iv. And on the instant ready. [fefainers go out.) Tothe king. [Zo FONTAINE. Fon. Most urgent matter holds him with the Court. Guér. [Drawing FONTAINE apart.) More urgent matter claims his ear through me. The blast of war rings out ; and, swift from England, John—leagued with Otho and the Flemish count— Has landed at Rochelle. I know thee frank And unsuspecting ; keep a wary eye, For disaffection lurks in many a breast That wears a loyal front. Fou. You'll find me watchful. [GUERIN goes out. Now with our vassals to enforce the foe! His unjust arm shall work our just revenge. [They go out on the opposite side. Sis nN Corridor in the Palace. Lenter SIR LUCIEN aud ANNE. Szr L. She had been bless’d beyond compare if fortune Obeyed desert ! Anne. You'd weep to look on her ; Her patience touches more than could complaint. When first I seek her chamber, she’ll discourse Awhile on trivial things, as if to veil Grief at her heart ; yet, what her words would hide, Her faltering step and flitting smile reveal, Alas, dear mistress ! [ Weeps. aN ay Be Why, these are tears ! I honour thee for this. Now is thy soul Well mated with thy beauty ! [Attempting to take her hana Anne. [Withdrawing it.| Possibly. But that concerns you little. [Aszde.] Stay, Ill try him! Se) 111.) MARIE DE MERANIE. 107 Now, say the Church decree the queen’s divorce, Should not the king resign her ? mer L.. Having sworn To love and shield her? Never! Anne. Then Rome’s curse Still rests on France. Sirdar BF Not if he yield his throne. Anne. How, yield his throne? orl. The throne of earth were poor, Save a royal spirit filled it. ’Tis not needful For any man that he be styled a king ; But that each man be true to his own manhood, That is most needful. Anne. Good ; then, wert thou Philip, How wouldst thou act ? eres. If truth to her I chose Brought ruin on my realm, I yield my realm, Unclasp my kingly robes, cast off my crown, Take my wife’s hand in mine, and trust the soul, That falsehood ne’er had flawed to win me fame. Anne, | Aside, with delight.| So, so—the flash breaks out ; a man, by heaven! That’s rightly said. My hand upon it, sir. Str £. And may I keep it ? Anne. Yes ; until we reach Her grace’s antechamber. ’Tis your due. [7Z%ey go out. SCENE ITT. An apartment in the Palace. MARIE alone. Marie. Another night, and yet no tidings come. Day follows day to mock me in its round. O Time! that to all senseless things dost bear 108 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT Iv. Succour and comfort—the reviving heat And freshening dew to tree and flower and weed— Why dost thou pass the famished heart and smile? Enter ANNE. Anne. Dear lady ! Marie. [Eagerly.| Anne! Well? No; your face is void ! You have no tidings for me. Anne. Alas! none. Marie. We must be patient, Anne. I cannot think The Council will bereave me of my lord. Anne. Heaven touch their hearts with gentleness ! Marie. Amen! Anne, And keep the king [ Faltering. Marie. Why falter? Prayers should breathe Trust, and not fear. Anne. Heaven keep King Philip faithful And worthy of your love. Marie. I will not say Amen to that. To pray he may be faithful Were to misdoubt he is so. Anne. All men, being tempted, Are prone to fall ; most prone, ambitious kings. Marie. What dost thou mean ? Anne. By thoughts on ill that may be To shield your heart from worse. Marie. Worse? What were worse Than treachery in my lord? Rash girl, that word Stretches to woe so infinite, it fathoms An ocean of despair! Uncrown me, slay me, Honours and life must end. Not love! The grave Is as a port where it unlades its wealth For immortality. But rob or taint The merchandise of love—then let the bark Drift helmless o’er the seas, or strike the shoals ! They can but wreck a ruin. sc. IL] MARIE DE MERANIE. 109 Anne. Pardon, madam. I would not thus have moved you ; but Marie. Be silent ! Thy look doth herald thoughts my squl repels. He did desert me once. You see I read you. No, Anne! His love was changeless, but he quelled it For duty and his country. O shame, shame! Listening thy treason, I adopt it. Go!— Nay, not unkindly. This suspense disturbs me. Leave me awhile. There, there! [Taking her hand. ANNE goes out. Another night! It cannot last for ever. Even now The unregarding messenger despatched To bear my doom his onward course may speed. They could not part us, Philip, had they seen Our happy solitude, our inner world Of secret, holy, all-sufficing bliss. They guess it not, nor feel it. At their knees, Locked in my arms, I should have told them this, And forced my heart an avenue to theirs Through all their wiles, for hearts must answer hearts ; But mine was dumb, and how could theirs reply ? Woe’s me! Who comes? Enter PHILIP. Philip—my lord !—Say, say, May I embrace thee ?—may I call thee mine Pp— Am I thy wife? Phil. Yes ; in the sight of Heaven. Marie. And not of earth? A doom told in a breath ; Brief, but so cold that it hath froze the fount Whence sorrow gushes! Phil. I am dear to thee? Marie. What! is there hope? If not, encourage none. Phil. Why should we be the slaves of Rome? 110 MARIE DE MERANIE. f[AcT Iv. Marie. Thou wilt Resist his mandate? Yet thy kingdom, love? Phil. Dearest, most faithful! We may still remain Bound to each other, and the Papal curse Pass from the realm. Marie. How ?—Haste thee to disclose. Phil. The Council has pronounced no sentence. Marie. Yet ‘Thou art returned ! Phil. Like to a criminal ] stood before the conclave. Every day Brought some new contumely. The weight I bore Of strained suspense and nice indignity Was pleasant pastime for them; and they lingered, Protracting their enjoyment, and inviting The universe to look on haughty Philip Crouched at their stools, and learn from thence how Rome Would deal with rebel kings ! Marie. And yet you bore it ? Phil. \t was the Church’s aim to judge my cause, To plant its insolent foot upon my neck, Humbling all crowns in mine. I looked for this ; I bore it long. At last scorn heaped on scorn Turned patience to revolt. Marie. | After a short pause.| And then? How then? Phil, (Avoiding her look.| Marie! I said within my soul, my pomp, My title, all my gilded shows of power, Were not the links that bound thy love to mine. Was I right there? Marte. Can Philip ask that question? Phil. Her. trust doth sting me more than could reproach. Too late, too late ! all must be told! [ Aside. Marie. What followed ? Phil. 1 will not hear your judgment, lords, I cried: Not moved by you, but of my sovereign will, | Se sc. IIL] MARIE DE MERANIE. III I have resolved that Marie shall resign The throne and empty state she never prized, And Ingerburge to her lost dignities Be straight restored. ’Tis all that Denmark seeks ; Therefore dissolve the interdict ! Marie. Thou saidst this ?— Heard I aright? . Phil. [Confused.| Marie, thou didst. Marie. And Philip Could of his proper will cast Marie out ! I thought—I thought you said we should not part. Phil, Part—never, never! Part! Marie. But have you not owned Ingerburge your wife? I am no longer queen. Phil. But for all this, We must not part. Marte. Husband—I pray your pardon ; I can’t forget you were so—torture not My mind with this perplexity ! How is’t I can be thine, and Ingerburge thy wife ? Phil. [| After a pause.) She is but so in name; thou wilt retain The empire of my heart. Marie. Ha! how the light— The cruel light I could not see before— Bursts on my sight! No; ’tis some hideous dream. Although I see, I shall not touch thy hand. [ Zakes his hand, as tf to assure herself. It is reality! And yet—forgive me! A subtle tempter through my o’erwrought brain Would stab my trust in thee. He shall not, love! Even now I’m calmer. Pray, repeat the words— The words you spake but now. Phil. I said, my own, Though Ingerburge might bear the name of queen, Thou only shouldst rule Philip Marie. Pause awhile. |’ 112 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT IV. Though Ingerburge might bear the name of queen, I only should rule Philip [Stens to him to proceed. Phil. Thou shouldst share His hours of love—thou only ; thou shouldst be [Hesitating, and averting his head. Marie. His paramour! O God! although his voice Was shamed from speech, this is the thing he means. [She turns from him. Phil. Thou wouldst not go? Marie. I am already gone! We measure distance by the heart. Phil. Yet hear me! Marie. The Duke de Méran’s daughter listens, sir. [She sels. Phil. (About to kneel.| If this humility may aught—— Marie. No knee! Respect so far my woe’s reality, As to put by these pageant semblances. Phil. Oh! has this grief no remedy ? Marie. None, none, The faith of love no hand can wound but that Was pledged to guard it. Then what hand can staunch ? We strive no more with doom ; the sad mistake May be endured, but not retrieved. No, no! Phil. By heaven, you do me wrong! ’Tis not in man To conquer destiny. I made you queen. Marie. You made me queen! I made you more than king. When my eyes raised their worship to thy face, I saw no crown. I asked not if thy hand Closed on a sceptre ; but mine pressed it close, Because it rent the shackles of the slave. ’Twas not thy grandeur won me. Had the earthquake Engulfed thine empire—had frowning fate Lowered on thine arms and scourged thee from the field, A fugitive—if on thy forehead Rome Had graved her curse, and all thy kind recoiled In horror from thy side—I yet had cried, SC. IIL] MARIE DE MERANIE.. 113. There is no brand upon thy heart; let that In the vast loneliness, still beat to mine ! PAze. [Falling at her feet.| You had; woes had! the dust is on my head! Sweet saint! thou’rt of a higher brood than we, Hast right to spurn me from thee. Marie. Rise. Lhe feet By thorns on life’s rough path so often pierced, Are little like to spurn a stumbling brother. Phil. Forgive, forgive me, Marie! [ Rising. Marie. You repent. Twas but delusion. You will be again The Philip I adored! That hope shall bless me When we are far apart. And now for ever In this dark world farewell. Another land I seek, but ne’er shall find another home. Shield him, all holy powers! Philip [Extending her hand. Phil. Go, go; I was not worthy thee! Marte. Not thus, not thus ! Phil. But one embrace. It is the last, the last ! [ They embrace. Go, Marie! [MARIE goes to the door. She reverts her head. They regard each other tn stlence for a few moments, after which MARIE slowly disappears. Phil. [After a pause, sinking into a chair.) Im alone on earth! She’s gone, And what is left me? [The roll of drums is heard without. He suddenly VUSES. Ha! that clamour speaks In stern reply ; a summons to the field ! Fate, that denies me love, has left me vengeance. Friends fail me, foemen swarm my coasts. ’Tis well! Now, fiend of war, I am devote to thee! [He rushes out. OL, I. H 114. MARIE DE MERANIE. [AcT v.. ACT 'V.; SCENE J: The French tent near Bouvines. Soldiers stationed at the entrance. Intermitted and distant alarms. ~ Enter GUERIN and SIR LUCIEN, ¢he latter attired as from a journey. Sir L. Is it indeed so? has this mighty league, Whose frown eclipsed the light of France, dissolved, And left no sign in air? What, Otho fled! Guér. He scarce escaped with life. The Count o Flanders Lies captive, with a hundred meaner names, Yet all renowned. = Lge Ee Then was the rout complete ?. Guér. Long as his steed upbore him, chased the king The flying remnant, vengeance still his cry. His foes will rue this day. wae ee And I have lost The fame of it, though but an hour too late. Guér. Thou art misfortune’s herald, and he comes Always too soon. Thou bear’st a woe so vast ’Twould weigh down empire in the opposing scale. Sir L. Nay, had my foot been heavy as my heart, I ne’er had borne these news of my dear lady ; Nor had I, save at her express command, Ever resigned her service for the king’s. Guér. Sweet patience keep him! Is there then no hope? Sir L. None; or a hope so sickly that it smiles In mockery of itself. ‘Those who have seen her Report by slow advance her fate draws near ; Most like the shades that deepen over day So softly that. we start to find it gone. Guér. Awhile retire. ) [SIR LUCIEN jozus the soldiers at the entrance of the tent. sc. 1.] MARIE DE MERANTE. II5 King, had thine ends been true Either unto thy people or thy love, This grief had never been! Oh, better ne’er To know the good, than knowing—violate ! High thoughts, which touch but do not rule the soul, Shall turn their light to fire. . | Martial music heard without. Ah! ’tis the king. Enter PHILIP, preceded by soldiers, with banners, Nobles, &c. Martial music from the troops without. Phil. [At the entrance of the tent.|_ Again! [Triumphant music and acclamations. And yetagain! [7hesame sounds renewed.| This swell- ing ‘strain Salutes ye, Flanders, Austria, England. Dumb ! Oh, this is victory, Guérin ! [Advancing to the front. Guér. He who rules The fate of kings hath bless’d you. Phil. The brave heart Makes its own fate! What, wouldst thou grudge this arm The glory ofthis day? Like autumn leaves Whirled by the eddying blast ; like spars of wrecks Tossed shorewards by the seas, they fled before me! My lifted arm was doom, my steps were graves ! I chased them still! With every stroke I mowed A separate host for death! My steps were graves ! Kings are my captives, home revolters quelled ; Fontaine, the traitor, measures the red plain Whereon I stretched him. Well, prate on, prate on! Guér. And sleeps that restless brain? Is Fontaine dead ? Phil. Ay; and his issue, friends, abettors, all The baneful offshoots of this traitorous stem Will we uproot, even to the infant germ That knows not yet the poisonous life it folds. 116 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT V. Guér. I cast a shield over a vanquished foe When I recall the Lady Marie’s name. . Phil. Vve won her by the sword, and so will guard her. Report again these glorious news from Rome ; The war’s dread thunder clamoured in mine ear And shut out half thy tidings. Guér. Ingerburge, Your queen, thereto persuaded by the Pope, Has to the shelter of religious walls From worldly strife retired, to thee resigned Her royal throne and bed, and sought divorce : Rome thus would win back thine offended power Whose aid she needs to curb rebellious John. Phil. What! Rome hath learned to need, then? Guér. Meekly say it ; Your patron saint has blessed you. Phil. |Ratsing his sword.| Patron Saint ! 1 thank thee. Marie, Marie, where dost hide Thyself from bliss? Not seen in Méranie! Fled weeks since, and not sought her father’s arms ! Was it not yesterday that we despatched Our envoys in her quest? Guér. It was, my lege. Your messenger already is returned. Phil. Returned ?—his errand unfulfilled ? Guér. Not so; But some leagues from the field, this very spot, An ancient castle stands. Willing, perchance, To shun familiar scenes and questioning tongues— Yea, aught that might recall her bitter past— Your wife has fixed her rest there ! Phil. He has seen her! Summon him hither. | Guér. Sire, he waits ; Sir Lucien, Stand forth ! ; [SIR LUCIEN advances Phil. Thy stars, young sir, did yestermorn _ Rain fortune on thee as thou gott’st to horse. Thou hast found the Lady Marie? “aes MARIE DE MERANIE, 117 oer L. Sire, I found Her place of sojourn. Phil. Well, say on! wer. My king! [esztating. Phil. Say on! By Heaven, that clouded brow affronts The favour we design thee! Thou hast seen her, Spoken with her, bear’st her answer? Quick, unfold ! Szr L. Pardon, I saw her not. Phil. What ! at her gates, And yet not seen her. Hadst thou not credentials From us unto her presence ? S20... Sire, most true. Phil. And she denied thee audience? Der L. Nay, she knows not Even that I sought it. Phil. Thou art fond of danger To dally with impatient majesty ! Sir L, My lord! [He again hesitates, and turns to GUERIN. Phil. My lord! What means this juggling? Why Bend thy regards on him, and with thine eyes People the air with terrors? Set before me Some actual mischief which, being known, my soul May fix and grapple with, lest, mad with doubt, To snatch the truth I plunge into thy hfe! Sir L. You need all patience, sir, the queen is found ; But in such case I rather would report My mission fruitless. If as yet she live, ’Tis nigh the verge of death, her flame of life So flickering, that a breath might quench it. Hence Did they refuse me audience, and withhold My errand, nay, my presence, from herself. Phil, 1 would have slain thee to compel these words Which, being uttered, slay my peace for ever! [SIR LUCIEN reéires. Guér. My gracious master ! Phil. Had the heavens no bolt In all their armoury but this? 118 MARIE DE MERANIE. Guer. Bethink you Phil. Perdition on all counsel! Gueér. Hear me, sire! Phil. Hear thee! When thou canst say to sceptred Death, * Fall back,” and he obeys, I’ll hear thee then. For her I bore, schemed, fought; yea, singly breasted The raging tide of war, and dashed to land ! I’ve staked with fate, and lost ! Gueér. Are you a king? Phil. A king!- Ay, that’s the name For which I bartered love, and ruthless stabbed The trusting heart that drew its life from mine. Yes, by this glory shining on the tomb, This banquet of renown that palls the taste, This wealth upon the desert where I famish, I am that empty sound—I am a king ! Guér. Find medicine for the sorrows of this day In thinking of its triumph. Phil. Hence! Ye heavens! Abase me if ye will; pluck from me pomp, Scorch my green laurels with your jealous fires, Drain on my abject and discrownéd head Your vials of derision, want, oblivion! But spare her, spare her ; she is like yourselves ! Guér. My sovereign, Providence is merciful To contrite hearts. Say that the queen declines From grief that you resigned her : what if now, Freed from all other bonds, your union Allowed by Rome, you hasten to her side, Bearing these news for cordial? Perchance, For love is strong and joy miraculous, You yet may save her. Phil. |Grasping his hand,.| Ah! to horse, to horse ! I hold thee as a brother for these words. Summon our host ; awake the trumpet’s breath To speed our flight, for we must outride Death ! [All go out with flourish. SC. I1.] MARIE DE MERANIE, 119g SCENE II. An apartment in an old Chateau near Bouvines. MARIE and ANNE. Anne. | Seated at MARIE'S feet.| No, no, sweet mistress, I cannot bear The intrusion of these thoughts ! Marie. Kind, faithful girl, Marie’s last solace ! Anne. Last! What, must your life Thus wither in its spring? I could not live In this harsh world and lose you! Marie. Hist ! what sound Was that ? Anne. I heard none. Marie. ’Twas the tramp of horse ; Look forth. [ANNE goes fo window.| What see’st thou? Anne. But the village hind Leading his team from field. [She returns to her place at MARIE'S feet. Marie. | Taking her hand.| Ueaven’s benison Rest on thy head and Lucien’s. He is brave, Honoured, and constant. Will the matron’s coif And braided hair become thy face? Methinks I see thee in the light of coming summers, Thy happy children bounding at thy side, Or clustered at thy feet. Should one fair girl With glance of playful love reflect thine own, Thow'lt call her Marie for my sake ? Anne. I will, Marie. 1 wished to see thee wed, Anne, and bestow This bauble at thy bridals ; but ere then— There dearest ! [Zakes a chain from her neck, and with visible effort places tt round ANNE'S. \ q 120 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT v. Anne. You will break my heart. [MARIE sinks back.| Dear Heaven, She swoons! Her life is passing! Marie. | Rallying. | Do not fear, { shall not die yet. I shall first see Philip. Anne. |Aside.| Still, still that feverish hope dispels her rest: [| Aloud.| He knows not where thou art. Marie. Heaven will direct him, Anne. The foeman’s camp divides you. Marie. Heaven will guard him Through hosts of foes; he’ll come. [estlessly.] Your hand, sweet, raise me ; I breathe with effort. [ANNE props her with cushions ; as she does so, MARIE'S ring drops off:| See! my ring is fallen, The ring that pledged me his. [Rather excitedly.| Re- place it, quickly. I would not he should miss it when he comes. [ANNE replaces the ring, and kisses MARIE'S hand. So; thanks! [4 horn is heard without. MARIE starts forward.| Hark, hark! a trumpet. Now, look forth ! Anne. [Going to window and returning.| ’Tis but the horn of the returning huntsmen. Marie. Not Philip! Still, he’ll come! Anne. | Aside.| To see the wreck His falsehood made. [A/oud.] Compose yourself: rest, sleep ! Think not of him. Marie. Then must I cease to think. ‘ 4 > 5 EEE ee ——_— 2. ee oo ~~ He'll come; but strength may fail me. Thou must tell him All that I leave unsaid. Anne. You task me hardly, Has not his treachery poisoned all thy joy? Marie. Ah me! his love first taught me what joy was. Anne. What can’st thou give him more than life ? sc. II.] MARIE DE MERANIE. 121 Marie. My death ; The hope that I may bless him from the grave. Have not some said our spirits minister To those we loved on earth, guide them from wrong And draw them nearer heaven ? Anne. | Turning away.]| My friend, my friend ! Marie. |Drawing her back.| Come closer, sweet ; O, hoard each accent now! When all with me is over, seek the king: He may be racked with grief, perhaps remorse, For this slight fabric’s fall. Thou’lt bear him comfort? Anne. | Aside.| J bear him comfort! Marie. Tell him that I passed In peace from earth ; that, in my closing hours, I thought of those made precious by his love, And shunned all harsher memories! Tears! Anne. No more ! Marie. |Earnestly.| Thowlt see the king—thou’lt not deny me? Anne. |With irrepressible emotion.| Yes ; I'll see him, and demand him where he cast The first gem of his crown—why filched from earth Its holiest saint—my best, best friend from me. [| She bursts into tears. Marie. Anne, Anne! Anne. I'll haunt him through the world; [’ll burst The serried war to reach him; in the pomp Of courts appal him with my agony, And cry, “‘ Thy wife! Where, traitor, is thy wife?” [Starting to her feet. Marie. No,no! Thou torturest me! Silence! The queen Commands. Anne. O for a voice to curse him ! Marie. (Rising. | Anne, Thy hand [sezz¢ng zt] thus link’d, almost from infancy, We have trod life’s path together. Nought we met On the long journey sever’d us, The clasp 122 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT Vv. Each step grew closer. Now for me the way Winds to the grave—disjoin we now ? Anne. No! Marie. Yes 5 My travel’s end so near, we’re twain at last, And I go down unfriended to the tomb, Save thou renounce thy purpose. Promise, speak, Or I let gothy hand! Shall I? Anne. I promise all, Marie. [Falling upon her neck.| That’s my own faith- ful Anne! [She sinks into a chair. Now leave me, sweet one! I would muse in peace. Anne, And may peace keep thy soul! [After a pause, watching her.| At last she rests ; Her eyelids lay their fringe on her pale cheek. Visit her, gentle sleep ; on thy soft wing Bear her from this harsh present back to youth— | Perchance to her green home in Méranie, Where guardian mountain rise, and singing streams Leap down in laughter, where the chamois bounds From steep to steep, and shepherd’s pipe or horn Make glad the valley. There did we partake The sports, the innocent hopes and loves of childhood, | Nor guessed the fate to come. . . . . Does she yet | sleep ? Her eyes are sealed; but those parched leaves, her lips, q Stir with a wind of thought, and all her look Seems strained and listening. Ah! she speaks. | Marie. {Grasping at ANNE’S hand.]| Anne, Anne! Anne. Ay, sweet. Marie. |Ratsing herself.| Didst hear? Anne. Hear what? Marie. He comes, he comes! Anne. ’Twas but a dream. Marie. Dream! From Death’s opening gates Those sounds recalled me. Dost thou hear them now? No, no! gd SC. II.] MARIE DE MERANIE. 123 Anne. {Listening.| She’s right—the clang of hoofs! [Rushes to window.| Troops, lady, troops! Marie. Do they make hither? Anne. Ay, at speed, Marie. What troops? Anne. French, if the twilight do not cheat mine eyes. Madam, the power of France! Marte. Of France! IJ knew it. My dimming gaze will reach him—his farewell Close on my ear, the music of this world ! Come they not nearer, Anne? Look forth! Anne. They pause ; But fora moment. He who seems their chief Motions them forward. They pass on Marie. They pass! My lord is with them, yet they pass. Stay, Philip— ’Tis Marie calls—I shall not see thee—death Knocks at my heart, and all that was my life Swims from my eyes! Stay, stayin mercy! Philip! [| She rises, and rushes to the window. Anne. Thy ptayer is heard ; they cross the moat, they enter. Marie. Ha, look, that knight ! Anne. His visor’s closed. Marie. To thee: My soul looks through it. ’Tis the king! Come, come! Anne. Await him here. Marie. Time will not wait, nor death. [She pauses as tf overcome. ANNE supports her. . The shadows press around me: all is dim; He comes too late. Anne. Hark! footsteps ! Marie, Ah! Phil. |Without.] My Marie! My wife ! 124 MARIE DE MERANIE. [ACT v. PHILIP, who has latd aside his helmet, rushes tn, Marve. Ah, Philip, Philip! on thy breast! Phil. She lives—she stands! This is no couch of death ! Marie. 1 hold thee, see thee ; thou art safe, victorious ! Phil. Three realms are at my foot. My throne is fixed, Rock-like for ever ; thy throne, Queen of France! The conqueror is thy slave. Marie. |Faintly.| Use well thy power, Dear lord, when Iam gone. Be thy sway bless’d, Thy memory revered! Phil. When thou art gone! What mean those cruel words? Thy looks affright me! The shadows of thine eyes eclipse thy soul! Marie. The angel tarried for thy coming. Now My head is on his breast ;—I die! © Phil. Not now, Thou must not, shalt not! I will cling to thee, And round thy mounting spirit twine my clasp Till the huge weight of misery drag thee down. [Supporting her to her chair. Avaunt, pale phantom! ’Tis the victor king Waves off thy shadowy dart and guards thy prey ! Speak, Marie! speak to me! Anne. Alas ! her touch Shoots to my heart, and chills it. Phil. Ay, the skies Do envy earth its bliss, so call her back. O God! the brows are growing marble cold To which I beara crown. Marie, my wife! [ANNE, who has been kneeling by MARIE'S side, utters a faint cry, and rushes up to PHILIP. Anne. She bless’d thee ere she died ! s.] MARIE DE MERANIE. — 125 ww - ww 7 _ Enter GUERIN and several Nobles with A ttendants. Ata sign from ANNE they stand fixed and silent. Phil. And this is fame! [He sinks before the body of MARIE, which still occu- pies the chair. The rest ee in attitudes of awe and dejection. The soldiers veil their lances. The curtain falls to solemn music. <= y= END OF MARIE DE MERANIE. ; \ Lite Cor Life. First performed at the LYCEUM THEATRE, 6th March 1869. CHARACTERS. SiR OSCAR, . , : ; . Mr CHARLES COGHLAN. Of the Clan Macronald. MALCOLM MACRONALD, subsequently chief of the Clan, and nephew dh dis chief Angus, : Mr F. WATSON. RODERICK, an aged Oia apa . Mr GEORGE JORDAN. HECTOR, ; : . ‘ . Mr T. J. ANDERSON. TORQUIL, ; : - . Mr KENDRICK. URSULA, szster eves : . Miss. LE THIERE. LILIAN, daughter of Angus, . . Miss NEILSoN. MARGERY, attendant upon Lilian, and grand-daughter of Roderick, . Miss MARION. Of the Clan Mackane. MuRDOCH, chief of the Clan, . . Mr HERMANN VEZIN. KENELM, soz of Murdoch, in first ; acta boy of 14, . ‘ ‘ . Miss MINNIE SYDNEY. MICHAEL, . : 4 ‘ . Mr West. ‘ COLIN, . é : ; ; . Mr W. RoBERTs. DOoUGAL, ° , ° : . Mr EVERARD. ALLAN, . : : : : . Mr OSMAN.} EFFIE, . ' : : : . Miss Tupor. OSE, ff ; : : : . Miss WILSON. Squire and Page of Sir Oscar. Other Clansmen of both Clans, Women, Children, Retainers, Servants, &e. Scene, The Highlands of Scotland. Period, Early in the fifteenth century. An interval of nearly a year is supposed to elapse between first. and second acts, and an interval of two or three days between | second and third acts. Pei «be Oi Ro? Eee ee Se ASGeh Dit SCENE.—Hall ofa castle tn the Highlands of Scotland. An oaken staircase on one side of the hall leads to the open door ofacorridor. Thehallishung with banners and old Scottish weapons. Potnted windows. Through the high and spacious archway of door open at back, placed towards side, almost diagonally, are seen, first anarrow stretch of land, then a lake which tt borders. The slopes of mountains descend beyond the lake on each side. Wauthin the hall URSULA Zs at her wheel spinning. A group of hunters approach, and are heard singing the following chorus— We followed the stag o’er strath and hill, From the breaking of the day ; We chased him through covert, up crag, until At noon he stood at bay. He stood at bay in the torrent’s foam, And ere the sunset we brought him home. As the singing becomes audible, URSULA ceases (o spin, and remains motionless. The hunters then appear, some of them bearing the slain stag upon their shoulders.. They pass the archway repeating the chorus till their voices are lost in the distance. Sunset ts visible through the archway. Urs. [Rising and placing her wheel on one side.|_ Again the sun, like a spent warrior, drops VOL. I. I 130 LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT I. His flag of fire on the lake’s breast, and dies. The fifth night, yet no news. They must have met Ere this—my brother, and his brave Macronalds, - And Murdoch, who leads on our mortal foes, The fell Mackanes. Enter RODERICK, az old Clansman. Roderick, are those returned You sent for tidings to the pass ? Rod. Returned From a vain quest. Urs. Still vain! ’Tis now five days Since the Mackanes hung on yon mountain’s slope, Scarce an hour’s march hence. Ina night my brother Summoned his force to meet them—must have met them In strife ere this. Rod. Spoke I not truth to Angus? I said, “ Beware of the cat’s stealthy windings. Those posted on the slope are but decoys Who seek to lure you onward to their land, Where toil and hunger, fighting on their side, Shall harm you more than steel.” Your brother reck’d RLOL The lion’s heart, with a child’s brain to guide it, Still urged him on ; and now, perchance, ensnared, He vainly struggles, while I, I—grown old— A toothless mastiff dozing in the sun— Must no more from the loosen’d leash bound forth On my chief’s foe, and shake him by the throat ! No; I’m no longer Roderick! Urs. Nay, staunch heart! The watchdog, like the bloodhound, has his use. I know, did danger threat your chief’s sole child, My fair niece Lilian, you would find your tusks. Rod. Thou say’st it, honoured dame. Methinks for her Even these old gums would bite. Our Lady Lilian, Our pride! nay more, our help! who, with the skill 7 § as ACT 1.] LIFE FOR LIFE. 131 In herbs and surgery she early gained, Nursed me when wounded, tending all my needs As she had been my daughter ! Urs. Ah! she loves Better to staunch a wound than pay its due To the bold hand that gave it. Rod. Ay; she has lived Till lately in a convent, where the sisters, As is their pious trade, feed scrupulous. souls With saws of peace and mercy ; wholesome fare For mewed-up women, and sick, bedridden men. Yes, there’s a time for all things, for repentance And mercy ’mong the rest. They’re good, no doubt, When the priest mumbles shrift, and one about To quit this world must give up his old likings To earn the next. Nay, nay, this mood will pass. Our eaglet, ’scap’d her nun’s cage, will by instinct Learn the great swoop that fits Clanronald’s brood ! Look, look ! her barge makes land even now. [A boat ts seen at back, gliding up the lake. The boat stops in centre of archway, and LILIAN and MARGERY come on shore. The boatmen doff their onnets to LILIAN, and row on out of sight. RODERICK advances to meet LILIAN. Lil. |Divesting herself of her mantle.| Good Margery, Take thou this mantle. [She gives it to her, MARGERY curtsies, and passes out at a side door. Rod. Daughter of Macronald, Welcome! thrice welcome ! ir. Thanks, thanks, Roderick. What tidings of my father? Rod. None. . Urs. None. FEYE Strange ! You to the glen sent, and I now return From where the witch’s craig commands the lake. Heaven guard my father and the clan of Ronald ! 132 LIFE | PORGLIIC: [AChE Oh, had I been his son, still to be found At his right hand in danger ! Urs. A daughter, though she fight not, well may aid Her father’s cause. You are of age to marry. The nephew of the Cameron sought your hand ; If you had wed him, you had gained your clan A strong ally. wii. A crafty one, who sows Strife ’twixt his neighbours that himself may thrive Upon their loss. Well for us if the Camerons Prove not our peril one day! Rod. Shrewdly said. Urs. There’s young Macleod, the cousin of the chief, Him you repulsed. W527. Macleod! . He has flaxen hair And a hand like a woman’s ; then he plays The harp. The hand I take shall never finger Harp-strings, but do the deeds that harp-strings echo. [The sunset has disappeared. A rather misty twilight comes on. A servant enters with a lighted torch, which he strikes into floor by mantel-piece: he then goes out. Rod. Thou hast a face to win men, and thou know’st it. Lil. Ay, Roderick, ever since a child, I saw That face reflected in your polished shield, And to myself said, ‘ Lilian’s a beauty ! She’s very much like dear Aunt Ursula.” [Throwing her arms round URSULA’S neck. Urs. Yes, you know how to fool one. But say, Lilian, If you refuse all strangers, why not wed | One of your clansmen? Malcolm long has wooed you. Lil. My cousin? Oh, he’s grave beyond his age. I do not like a year without a spring, Nor manhood without youth. ! Urs. You scorned no less : Your distant kinsman Hector. Rod. Oh, she scorns Them allinturn. Yet Hector’s handsome. AC? I] LARE HOR ELIPE, 133 faye ; Fierce And handsome—tiger-like. I want a man, Urs. What fault has Duncan ? Lil, Duncan has red hair. Rod. Is that a fault ? ete: A grievous fault to have The roof of his brain in conflagration, yet Within no spark of light or fire to cause it. Duncan’s a simple fool. Urs. Well, then, young David? Lil. [With a laugh.| Oh, David has black hair. Rod. | Drily.| You like not black, Nor red, nor flaxen—nor the shades between ? Lil. Ah, Roderick ! ’tis the wearer, not the hair, That’s hard to fancy. Give me, then, a man Who has the love of song like young Macleod, Yet knows war’s trade like Hector ; fresh with youth Like David, yet in counsel sage as Malcolm ; With Duncan’s faith, and yet without his folly ; And that particular shade of hair that suits me ; And then Rod. Well, then? tL: I'll look at the man twice Ere I say, Go your way; but would he win My heart, indeed, let him be brave, as is My father, yet respect a noble foe ; And, if he vanquish, spare him. Urs. Spare a foe! Next to her hope of heaven a chieftain’s daughter Should Jove her clan; next to perdition, hate Its enemies ! hte. I hate all wrong, and all Who work wrong while they work it. Rod. While they work it. No “whiles,” child! Hate’s the cordial wine that warms The heart; but “whiles” and “ifs” are the mere water 134 . LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT I. That mars the draught and thins the drinker’s blood. Give me hate neat! I like not drink diluted. Lil. Nay, Roderick, well did Abbess Hilda teach That we, who all offend, should mercy show To those who share our taint. [ Szts at table. Urs. The convent’s prate Where thou wast bred. Rod. [To LILIAN.] — Think of your cause to loathe The clan Mackane! Urs. [To LittAn.] A husband’s death I owe them ; And you a mother’s! she my brother’s wife. | Severely.| Have you forgot the tale? Recall and muse on it. In such a month as this, when such a twilight As deepens now had fallen, your father absent With all brave hearts that rallied to his war-cry, These wolves his warrior eye had like a torch Scared back into their woods, besieged our hold. Your mother, then about to bear that name, Lay helpless in her chamber, when the glare Of flames (for with a belt of fire Mackane Had girt our walls) laughed redly at her casement ! By Mary’s grace, a royal force on march Drove back the assailants; quenched the spreading flames ! But she, who shuddering in that chamber lay, Hands clenched, lips locked in fear, her upturned gaze Fixed on the reddening sky, with scarce a moan Gave to our house a new life— Lilian, thine— And breathed her own to heaven! Recall that tale! Lil. |Absorbed.| What had it been to have known a mother ! : Urs. | With awe.| It was not soto be. Before she passed, Thou know’st she saw distinct the fatal shape Of that fierce Graham whom your ancestor In sudden quarrel slew ; since when, the phantom We know as Graham’s wraith has still appeared To tell our race of danger or of death! Li. I would you had not named him, SS pee Eee —— J ACT 1.] LIFE FOR LIFE. 135 Urs. Why,? SEs Because But three nights since I saw him ! Urs: Saw him? 1G i4 Ay, As you have oft portrayed him; by my bed He stood, or seemed to stand, with gaze intent, And long black hair that like a half-rent veil Disclosed the fearful secret of his brow, Frowning and pallid! From his bosom gashed, One hand drew down the plaid and bared to sight His gory wound ; the other bore his sword, Which pointed back, as beckoning me to follow ; While o’er his death-struck aspect flitted slow A smile of triumph which, having passed, the shape— As though it lived but in the evil ight Of that strange smile—passed with it! Urs. Nay! [The spectre of GRAHAM’S wraith appears dimly through the archway in the mist which has deepened, and which now dissolves and shows the light of the moon. The moonlight ts soft and subdued, The spectre becomes gradually distinct, and tn all respects resembles the description given of tt in preceding dialogue. Lil. [kising.] 1 saw it, Plain as that wall, that shield, or yonder— [Turning to archway, she perceives the spectre, and stands arrested. URSULA and RODERICK, /o whom the spectre remains invisible, also rise. Urs. Lilian! Rod. Has fancy Raised to her o’erwrought sense, the thing she feared ? Lil. [To spectre.| 1 know thee, phantom! If, dread shape, thy summons Be unto me, fresh chapleted with hopes And half-blown joys of youth, may heaven forgive The victim’s blemish, and accept her life! 136 LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT I. If for those near unto my heart thou com’st, Or other ill dost to our house portend, Heaven’s mercy shield us! To its will, not thine, Spirit of vengeance, I commit myself ! See, see! the smile fades from his face, and with it He fades! [The shectre vanishes.| Gone! all is air! Hewas,and isnot! [Fazntly, and sinking on a chair. | Rod. Courage! you looked on nought. | fies Imagination Is wont to breed such shows, , EAS And you saw nothing? | Urs. Nothing. EAE ’Tis strange! most strange! [.Swddenly.| What sound was that? Hark! hark! It comes again! It swells! The tumult Of fight, the clash of arms, the clansman’s war-cry ! Urs. There’s no such sound. kod. [Goes up to archway.| I hear none. ls ba You wed/ hear. HECTOR appears at archway, followed by two armed Clansmen guarding KENELM, and by two or three Retainers. Hec. [To Clansmen.| See to that boy, my prisoner, straightway guard him. [Clansmen bear off KENELM by side door. The Retainers remain in the hall. Urs. You, Hector? say, what tidings ? flee. The Mackanes— Near you, and poised to swoop upon your nest— Are by your brother and our clan o’ertaken ; Almost within your hearing they contend. I through the fight cut way to bear you warning. You, Roderick, for the women’s safety care ; For me, my place is in the field ; farewell! [Rushes oud. Rod. [To Retainers.] Follow him, you, and with what speed you may ae ACT I.] LIFE FOR: LIFE. 137 Bring tidings of the fight ! [Retainers hurry out after*HECTOR. Huntsmen and servants pass the archway, and follow them with torches. Let’s hope the better fate ; but for the worse Be still prepared. A boat lies by the shore ; At once, then, cross the lake and ’scape your foes ! Lil. [To URSULA.] Heed him, and follow! Haste! my almost mother. Farewell ! Rod. [To LILIAN.] And you? Lil. [Apart to him.| Macronald’s child, when foes invade his hearth, May die there, but not quit it! [She takes her stand upon the hearthstone. Urs. That’s my place! You are young, and, should they conquer, you brave death, Or worse than death ! Lil. For death I am prepared ; And worse than death I can prevent. [She takes a dagger from old armour which sur- mounts mantel-piece, and conceals tt beneath her plaid. The shouts of the combatants, mingled with the notes of the pipes, are now heard faintly in the distance. Rod. Hist! Now You catch the shout! [After a pause, sounds repeated, | Strike home, brave Angus! would I could strike with you! [Zhe shouts and notes of the pipes, though stttl dis- tant, become more distinct. At length the cry, “Craig Eagalach!” “Craig Eagalach!” ts remotely heard. Urs. >Twas a single war-cry. Lil. Whose? Again! [The cry, “ Craig Eagalach !” “ Craig Eagalach !” becomes still more distinct. 4 “ 138 LIFE FOR LILKE, [ACT I. . Rod. It is but one shout, and that shout our own ! * Craig Eagalach !”—the Rock of Terror—yes, The fight is o'er. [Zo LILIAN.] Your father comes a victor ! [Zriumphant music from the pipes of the Clanronala zs now heard near, Suddenly the notes of triumph are exchanged for low wailing music. Urs. Why sink those notes of triumph to a wail? Rod. They come! they come! 1»? Enter, preceded by servants with torches and others, the pipers and standard-bearer of the Macronatds, the latter bearing a flag with the crest, device of a castle, surmounted by a hand grasping a sword, and having above the motto, “My hope ts constant in thee,” They are followed by MALCOLM, HECTOR, TORQUIL, and many other of the Macronalds. MALCOLM, HECTOR, TORQUIL, aud one or two others, as kins- men of the chief, wear each an eagle's feather in hes bonnet, The general body wear tin their bonnets heath the badge of the Macronalds. Some carry double-edged swords, targets, and daggers, others the same (targets excepted) with the addition of bows and arrows. The low watl from bagpipes continues till all have entered. Urs. Speak, Malcolm, Torquil, speak ! | Victory is yours we know, but at what cost? [ HECTOR retires, and goes out at side door. Musicians retire at back, and await the body of ANGUS. Mal. What woe these sounds lament too soon, too soon Shall grieve your ears. But take our whole brief story.— As you guessed, Roderick, the foemen’s line, Seen on yon hills, was meant but to decoy. ‘ The scanty band retreating, lured us on Into their hostile land! At length young David — aGT-I.] LIFE FOR LIFE. 139 Hector’s dear foster-brother—with the ardour Of nineteen summers, darted from our ranks And neared the foe, who then, with sudden onset, Closed round and seized him! Not his youth nor courage Touched their fierce hearts, A dozen daggers gleamed, And in the stripling’s bosom found their sheaths ! Heaven forget me, if ever I forget That white and beardless face ! ES O wolves, not men ! Mal. Still hold you firm ; this grief a greater heralds, That bids all listeners stand unbonneted For a dead king on his bier! O, ask not words ; Think what our clan holds its best strength—its pride— Even that we lack! Rod. Cease, raven! Say thou speak’st not Of Angus, of our chief? as, Not of my father ? Mal. {To LILIAN.] Cousin, too true, too true, your father’s dead ! Lil. Dead, say you? Then of his fate, not of mine, The spectre warned me, Father! [Sz¢s absorbed tn grief, Urs. Say, how fell he? Mal. With feet by vengeance winged, on David’s murderers We rushed, and at the sword’s edge forced confession That their chief strength was marching on our home. Swift we pursued, and where the misty moon Showed our old tower, o’ertook them, when a shaft— A cursed shaft—struck noble Angus down ! Rod. My chief! And I live on! Urs. Farewell, my brother ! Thou diedst as should my brother ! Mal. We avenged him ; For like a crag, that, loosened from its height, Rings down the echoing slope, we burst upon them ! Before the shock they fled. To us returned, 140 LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT I. Falls the sad task to tell you of that loss Which we share with you. Urs. Nephew, thanks! For me, Ill to my chamber. Lilian ! [LILIAN rises. RODERICK fakes a torch from an attendant, and ushers URSULA and LILIAN, . whom URSULA supports, to the foot of the statr- case leading to corridor. Mal. |To URSULA and LILIAN.] May all saints | Have you in keeping! Upon me unworthy Now lights the state of chief ; command me ever. Cousin and aunt, good night ! [MALCOLM and Clansmen bow with deep reverence, while URSULA, preceded by RODERICK wth torch, and followed by LILIAN, begin to ascend staircase. Re-enter, from side door, HECTOR, dragging KENELM, who wears the Mackane plaid and a sprig of holly in his cap. flee. A prize! a prize ! My prize! Mal. What slip is this, That in our sight doth bear the holly badge Of the Mackanes ? [ URSULA, preceded by RODERICK, disappears in cor- ridor, LILIAN, arrested by the sight of KENELM and by the tumult, remains on staircase. Hee. While through their land we pressed, I, smit with thirst, entering a cottar’s house, Chanced on this boy, charge of a crone with whom, For more concealment while his kin were absent, His father placed him! But his look and garb Spoke the lad’s rank. I bore him off ; but when I and my fellows following gained our rear, The fight was hottest. Natheless, through the strife We held the boy in guard, and hither brought him. mens i | Lif FOR Lie k 141 ’Tis Murdoch’s son, chief of the clan Mackane : He has confessed it. Tor. and Clansmen, [Fitercely.| Murdoch’ s son! Mal. [Sternly to KENELM.] Thy name ? [KENELM shrinks back. Hlec. He weeps. His father has caused tears enough. Mal. Quickly, thy name? [KENELM Zs szlent. Tor. He fears or shames to speak it. Ken, Thou liest! I am the son of Murdoch, chief Of the Mackanes. ’Tis thou, not I, would fear, Dog of Macronald, were my father by ! Hec. There spoke his father’s son. Malcolm, remember Young David murdered, my loved foster-brother, Whose fresh wounds cry, “ Revenge!” Let that revenge Reach all Mackanes through him! é [Pointing to KENELM. Tor. Ay, son for son! And blood for blood! Clansmen. Tis just ! Mal. Ye say so? Tor., Hec., and other Clansmen, All! Lil. [Who has descended staircase, and advanced to the Jrout.| Malcolm, what horror’s this ? Mal. Thou here? retire ! This is no place for women. P7/, Yes ; where’er The helpless cry for mercy, and man heeds not, There is the place for women! Jefe Did his tribe Show our young David mercy? Mal. No; he fell A living target pierced with daggers! Cowards ! A score against a boy! Flec. |Pointing to KENELM.] He dies ! : Tor. and other Clansmen. He dies ! Ken. |To LILIan.] Can pity for my fate flow in thy veins? 142 LIFE FOR LIFE, [ACT Mal. Wouldst thou, an orphan, spare their ruthless seed Who made thee such? Your father, girl, had crushed it. Lil. Thou dost defame him, Malcolm; and his blood, Which flows direct in me as doth a stream From a hid spring, doth tell thee thou defam’st him ! [She setzes KENELM’S hand. Clansmenon each side advance to obstruct her passage. My father, didst thou say? With him a man, Armed to the teeth, ran danger ; but a woman And child were safe, being helpless. [Zhese words produce some impression on all except HECTOR. So with you ; [ Zo MALCOLM. So with you all. : [Zo Clansmen. Macronalds, hear your sister ! Flec. Fall ye to doubt? Lady, our chief has spoken. [He advances to seize KENELM. Lil. [Withdrawing KENELM.| Back! I am daughter of your dead chief Angus! Command him back ! [Zo MALCOLM. HECTOR ¢urus to MALCOLM as for orders. Mal. [To LILIAN.|] Thou know’st my will. Retire, Let go that hand. Lil. Not till some savage grasp Wrench it from mine! There’snosuchhere! [ 7aking flag from standara-bearer.| See, Malcolm— See all—the banner of our race! Who looks Upon these folds, nor feels a clansman’s pride? These folds, that, ever first in danger’s track, Waved heroes on! If by this deed ye stain Your glorious flag, no more wear swords, but henceforth Whet knives for shambles. I, for one, abjure Macronald’s name, and at my shrinking feet Cast your loathed colours! Shall I? Speak? {Seeing RODERICK, who descends staircase with torch, ACT 1.] LIFE FOR LIFE, 143 Ah, Roderick ! Thou art a soldier. Take and shield this boy! [She gives KENELM fo RODERICK and confronts Clansmen., Mal. |With admiration.| A true Macronald ! [TORQUIL and most of the Clansmen, but not HECTOR, stgnify assent, exclaiming,’ Tis Angus daughter! Mal. Yes; her father’s soul Looks from her eyes! [Zo Clansmen.| Brothers, I may not spurn A prayer so urged ; the first prayer from the lips Of Angus’ child. [Zo HEcCTOR.] Doubt not we'll take revenge, _ Signal, it may be nobler, for slain David. [Zo LILIAN.] Cousin, you have prevailed, the boy shall live, But on these terms, or else he forfeits mercy, That he no longer bears his people’s name, [A movement of tndignation from KENELM, which LILIAN represses, and again takes his hand. Who shall not deem he lives ; and that he rest, Guarded within our power, so to be dealt with By us as we by them. Thus much we grant Your father’s child. [A wazl of the pipes ts heard from musicians at back. List ! from the field they bear His corse, the clay that once was Angus ! [ The wal 7s renewed. RODERICK éakes flag from LILIAN. A friar advances by torchlight through archway at the head of a few clanspeople and domestics, including women and children of both sexes, who precede and surround the body of ANGUS. The group divide in front, and dis- cover the body of ANGUS on a bier, the arms Jolded on the breast, the hands closed on a sword. The watl continues, All Clansmen uncover and bend in reverence, 144 , LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT II. Lil. [Advancing in solemn grief to the body and kneeling, her arm round KENELM, who also uncovers and bends.| Father! FNGy bie SCENE.— The Convent of St Catherine. An apartment overlooking at back, through open window, a terrace practicable, and garden doors on each side. LILIAN, dressed in slight mourning, and working at em- broidery, ts seated ; she pauses in her work, and sits awhile abstracted, MARGERY, who stands by her side, draws skeins from a work-bag. Mar. Surely the hand of imp or fay has ravell’d The skeins here, red, gold, blue ; one tangled knot ! {Zo LILIAN.] Did you say blue next? was it blue or gold? You have not heard me, madam! Gold or blue? Lil. Oh, either. [Correcting herself.| Gold; then blue. Mar. There’s gold,then. [Laying gold skein on table. | Yes; ’Tis true—that which I told you—all is stir And preparation. The young knight departs— Madam, there’s blue. [Laying blue skein on table.| That he departs at all Is due to you who healed him. Lil. (Mildly, | Margery, You've said that oft. Mar. Well, I shall scarcely miss The good knight or his followers. All kind powers Be praised, we quit this convent! Nota word, Or even a look, allowed ’twixt us Macronalds And those who serve Sir Oscar! ‘True, they’re French, And, had we met, we scarce by words had guessed Each other’s thoughts. But then one’s eyes can speak, Though one’s tongue fail. . q | | [= * ; > 4 ; : ’ 2 ACT I] LIFE FOR LIFE. 145 Lil. Thy tongue, dear Margery, Will scarce break down. I love to hear thee talk ; But now my task needs pains, and I must fix My thoughts on it. Leave me, good Margery. Mar. | Laying down work-bag, and glancing at LILIAN’S work.| You must work hard to end it ere ’tis Lammas. [MARGERY goes out by one of the side doors. Lil. To-day! He goes at noon—an hour and all Will be as though it had not been. Not so; Things we call past live on in their effects. Enter RODERICK avd KENELM from garden. KENELM wears no plaid or tartan of any kind, nor badge in his bonnet (which ts a different one, as should be seen, from that of 1st Act), but a blue scarf. He ts nearly-a year older than in ist Act. Ken. [Who carries a foil rebated at the potnt.| Now, Roderick, to’t again ; up with thy staff! [Menacing him in short with fotl Rod.. Give breathing-time ; remember that my joints Are rusty. Now then! Ken. | Who, attacking, ts parried by RODERICK’S sta 77 By St David, thou Hast eye and arm yet! What! thy joints want oil ? They’re lithe as mine. Again! [KENELM agazz attacks, and is again parried.| Once more; have at thee! [He again attacks, and this time touches RODERICK with foil. _ Rod. So, Well planted ! there you hit. Ken. (Laughing. | You let me do it. But I am now fifteen. Come three years more, [I'll hit without your letting. Rod. Whipster! [Laughs, and pats him on the head. Lil. [Looking up.) Roderick ! Rod. 1 came for your commands. Do you still propose To quit St Catherine’s and your friend the abbess So soon—to-morrow ? WO IE. Ts K “el 146 LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT IT. ees. Yes ; my cousin Malcolm Sends, as you know, to urge my swift return. ’Tis thought the Camerons will soon break forth In open strife. Rod. Ay, now their chief unmasks And shows a threatening front, both to our clan And the Mackanes. (hers Did I not tell thee once ’Twas Cameron’s art to thrive on other’s loss? Rod. As the wolf bears the prey from two spent lions. Ken. Does Cameron threat my clan? Rod. Not less than ours. [KENELM sz¢s moodily. Tis fixed, then ; at what hour do you set forth, To-morrow? [Zo LILIAN. woth At an hour past dawn. Sit, Roderick. [RODERICK sz¢s. LILIAN aside, falling into reverie. He goes at noon. Were his brief words last night Meant for a farewell? Shall we meet no more? Rod. [To LILIAN.] I faith, I shall be glad to see once more Our castle walls. [Jz a louder tone, observing that she does not reply.| 1 say these few weeks spent ’Neath Abbess Hilda’s roof will stay my hunger For convent life. Lil. |Who has roused herself.| Tome they have seemed brief. You know that I was bred here, and the abbess Was loved of my aunt Ursula. Rod. A lady, Most mourned and honoured, who too early joined Your father in the grave. tt, Ay, aunt and father Lost in one year. This month it counts a year Since my brave father fell. Then Ursula, To others stern, to me most gentle, followed. Thus pass the friends of old ; and new friends! They, too, Come but to vanish ! [Again in reverie. ACT IL] LIFE FOR LIFE. 147 Ken. |Impetuously to RODERICK.] Dost thou say the Cameron Threatens my father. Hence, toy! | 7hrowing down the fotl.| | Vain to learn The sword’s use, if I draw it not for him ! Rod. Wouldst thou be safe, forget him, Ken. At that price I’d not be safe. Mark, Roderick ; dog my steps And mesh me as you will, I’ll some day ’scape, For I will see my father. Rod. Peace ! such words Might risk your life. Those in your lady’s train Assigned to guard you have quick eyes and ears. Ken. [Again tmpetuously.| Would I were free ! Lil, What, wouldst thou leave me, Kenelm? Ken. Lilian, you know I love you. I would make You and my father friends. Id tell my tale ; And then, if stern to all Macronalds else, He’d let me call you sister. Id return Of my free will. Free! How I envy all things That no chain binds—birds lessening up the sky, And winds that sweep on shouting ! Would I were hawk, Or horse, or hound. Ah! would I were the knight— The stranger knight Sir Oscar! I had borne His wounds and sickness if, like him restored, I might to-day ride forth, Rod. He goes to-day ? Ken. Knew you not that ? Rod. And he goes sound and whole, Thanks, lady, to your skill ; though scarce a month since Borne to this convent, faint with wounds, he lay In sorest peril. To your healing hand And patient care this stranger owes a gift No less than life. Ken. [To LILiANn.] Sets he not forth at noon? Was’t not at noon? [Aloud to her, with mischievous significance. But say, what keeps you thus so grave and brooding ? 148 LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT IL Zl. Brooding! I, Kenelm? Ken. You. Rod. The lad is right. [Scruténising her. Methinks you should be blithe and proud to know Your patient leaves you cured. Ken. Ay, there’s the riddle. When the knight lay in danger, Lilian’s step Was quick, her eye was bright ; but as he grew In strength, so she in gloom. Her hands are idle Even as her tongue ; see how she plies her needle! |Glancing at her work.) On Monday she began the Greek chief’s helmet. ’Tis Thursday now, and there the needle rests At Monday’s point. For some good cause, I trow, The knight was cured too soon : that chafes her. P10) PV exedel Kenelm ! | Ken. Nay, you’re not angry, Lilian ? , Wiel. No, not angry. | Ken. [To RODERICK.] I'll prove it further. Yesterday I asked her, How fares Sir Oscar? Is he well? Whereto She answered, Well; yes, well; but with a sigh And look and tone so doleful, you had thought The man’s last hour had come, and not his cure. [ Laughing. Now say, is’t not a riddle? Lil, [Displeased. | You forget Yourself, to speak so. Ken. |Penitent. | Lilian ! Lil, [Giving him her hand.| There, all’s well. Rod. | Aside, regarding LILIAN earnestly.) So! is it thus ? : Come, Kenelm, find your bow, I’ll see you shoot. Ken. Not now! Mark you yon cloud; there'll be a storm. SIR. OSCAR aud PAGE pass by window. Rod. The knight, Sir Oscar, passes down the walk. ACT II.] LIFE FOR LIFE. 149 [Zo LILIAN.] If he should enter, child, still heed my warning— Let him not know your name or birth. Lute. Why not? He’d not betray me? Rod. No; not by intent, He might by chance. Our foes still threat the dis- Ge: Wherefore the abbess from the knight has hid Your name and true estate, and lodged his train Beyond her walls. Ken. Now speaks he to the page ; Now to the window looks. He will come in. Rod. Then come thou forth with me! Ken. Good faith, not]! [W7th a mischievous glance at LILIAN.] I'd see this knight more closely. Rod. [Rather impatiently.| Dost thou heed ? Thou'lt anger me ! Lee. Roderick, what wait you for? Ken. To see this wondrous knight, for he’s a wizard. And deals in spells. [Zo RODERICK.] Look you, his health restored Hath wrought her sickness. But I’ll stay and foil His evil charm. Lil. [Displeased,| Go, Kenelm : heed commands ; I’m not in tune for this. [KENELM hurt, and a IUittle indignant, takes up his cap.| Nay, I spoke harshly ; . | Winding her arm round him. But thou know’st, Kenelm, there are times with all When no jests please—when one would be alone. When thou dost bend thy bow, another’s shadow Would spoil thine aim. When thou dost hold thy wrist For the falcon’s perch, another voice would fright The bird from settling. Ken. [Archly.| Oh, I guessed not that ; . If that you mean to draw your bow and aim, 150 LIFE FOR‘LIFE. [ACT IL. Or lure your falcon down, I'll go; I had gone Before if I had dreamed thou’dst have me go. Lil, [Kissing his forehead.| 1 do not love thee less. Ken. |Laking up his foil.| Now, Roderick! [Az side door. Dear Lilian! mind youraim. Allow for wind ; And shoot not towards the sun. Adieu ! Rod. |Playfully shaking his hand at him.| Thou mis- chief ! | Zhey go out by side door. Lil. |Looking after them.| Ah, light of heart! [Szaks tnto a chair.| He comes to say farewell. What should he else? Strange how one little day Can change our world! ‘The sun will rise for years And we wake, toil, feed, sleep, and nothing miss, Till one day dawns that with it brings a sense As of a life new-born! No hours gone by Have known that thrill ; no hours to come—nor grief, Nor joy, nor change—can wake that thrill again ! Shortly before this speech concludes SIR OSCAR reappears at window, ushered by an elderly man, atlired as a servant of the Convent. This attendant, by a ges- ture, tndicates to SIR OSCAR to enter the room. Attendant passes on, and disappears. SIR OSCAR enters. He wears the dress of a knight of the period, with the exception of the helmet, ana wears no plaid, tartan, or any Scollish badge, Str O. [Whose face shows some slight traces of recent tliness, advancing to LILIAN.] Deign, dear lady, pardon For this intrusion. ’Tis a sweet, sad duty To bid you farewell. Lil. You too much presume . On your new strength ; pray sit. Str O. [ Sztting. | Nay, I’m once more Myself, ready for tourney or campaign ; And yet, methinks, I’m half ungrateful. Ltt. You? ACT II.] LIFE FORK LIFE, 15 * Sir O. Yes, since the health you gave me back I scarce Prize at its worth. I think of the dim chamber In which the sick man lay ; of the bright presence That lit its gloom, and of the gentle hand Whose touch was balm. At first, in fever’s dream, I thought some heavenly form that stooped to earth Bent o’er my pillow; and I said with joy That Heaven was kind; then soon your look and voice Proclaimed you human, and, with deeper joy, I said, She lives! she lives! she’s of our world! Then all our world grew fairer. Lil. [After a short pause.| 1 beseech you, You speak not thus of one so little worthy ; Or I may deem my cure but half complete, And say his fever talks so! Sir O. Nay, delirium Fashions no shape of perfectness like that I gaze on now. As day by day I grew In strength, and in the sense of all that’s fair, The more you fill’d that sense. Whene’er you spoke Or sung, or with your harp beguiled my hours, Each act revealed your nature. Pardon, therefore, If less I prize the strength regained that parts us Than those blest days of weakness when I learned To know her whom I now must but remember. Lil. |Astde.| To hear such words, yet ne’er again to hear them ! : [Aloud, with suppressed feeling.| I lack skill To make due answer and to tell my thoughts ; But wish you may be happy. [She extends her hand to him, which he kisses. The sky grows gradually darker. , Sir O. [Retaining her hand.| So, farewell! Farewells must come. Forgive me that, being loth To say the word, I linger; for the eyes That look their last on joy may well look long. [LILIAN ¢urns aside, gently withdraws her hand, and betrays emotion, 152 LIFE OK LIFE. [ACT II. [ Aside.] Did she in anger turn? not so. [A/oud.} Sweet lady, You chide not with your lips that I remain ; Does your heart chide me? Would it chide me, dared I To linger still ? [A pause. Lil. [Glancing at window.] You have good cause to linger ; The sky grows black with storm. Sir O. And is it for that— For that alone you’d wish me tarry? Ah! If in an hour hence, in a day, a month, You could say farewell with no more regret Than your sweet courtesy gives to all at parting, Bid me go now; but if the thought presumptuous That, yet in bud, dares scarce unfold itself Into a hope, might live ; then would I say This strength you have given back, this frame, this heart— All that I am is yours; in every pulse, And nerve, and thought, is yours ; and at your feet Would cast the life which you preserved in vain, Save your love crown ittoo ! [Zhrows himselfat her feet. 1EAR I pray you, rise. Sir O. Have I too far presumed? Dost bid me go? Lil. 1 bade thee rise ; I did not bid thee go. Sze O. And dost not now? SAR Not if you wish to stay. Sir O. Do I but dream of joy? Is it thy will I stay? Speak! Nay, I ask not words; but reach Thy hand for sign. [She gives him her hand.| Thou dost! Oh! half I doubt That Heaven to this harsh world can be so kind And remake paradise. [Azszzg.] Quick to my heart, And seal this true! [Zhey embrace.] Thourt mine! Lit. Ay, thine—thine ever! [| Pauses. Sir O. And we but late were strangers ! LI, ASths,4 Ah ! to me ACT I1I.] LIFE FOR LIFE: 153 Thou wast no stranger. I had seen thee oft Ere my eyes met thee. Sir O. Seen me! Lil, Know’st thou not How oft our minds, when earth seems fairest, shape Some being fit to tread it? Thus at sunset, When in the lake’s pure floor the circling peaks Beheld their jewelléd image, and entranced, I asked if heaven above or heaven below Did ravish more with beauty ; or in autumn, When through the woods, sighing with tremulous leaves Of gold or crimson, like a conscious life The brook pulsed on, then would I cry, O earth! How fair thou art! Give me a man to match thee! In mien let him be noble, brave of heart, To rule so bright a realm ; in war, his voice Dread as the sea’s ; in peace, as soft as winds That roam in summer ’mid the pines, and teach The dim green twilight tunes. Be such my lord! And when I met and knew thee first, I felt That what my heart imagined Heaven had clothed In mortal form, and that I saw my prayer ! Str O, Thy love shames my deserving ;. yet ’tis true We loved as in a dream—no thought of self, No thought of state or fortune. To this hour I know thee but as lady and as Lilian ; And thou too know’st me but as knight and Oscar. * Lz/. Yet since the very raiment that love wears Pleases the eye, tell me in what apparel Has Fortune dressed thee? What’s thy name? thy birth? Thy serving-men are French, and yet thou speak’st Our tongue. Str O. [| Sitting.] My native tongue; I never lost it. My father, dwelling some brief while in France, Did choose his bride there, and with her returned Unto the Scottish glen, where I was born. I, still a child, my mother’s health grew frail, 154 LIFE FOR LIFE. [AcT Ir. And, pining much to see her land again, With me, her youngest born, did she repair To France, and there amid her kinsmen died. Those kinsmen loved her child, and one—a noble Of the French Court—prevailing with my father, Made me his page. At length, high tales of war And soldier’s fame, recounted by the hearth, Woke martial longings in me, and I joined The French king’s service ; in the which till now My life has passed. Years since I, sorrowing, learned My father’s death. Now, during war’s brief lull, To Scotland am I come to seek my brother And mine own people. [Thunder and lightning faintly heard and seen. Li?, Well, thy race ? thy name? Sir O. Knowing what feuds my clansmen wage, and loth To peril my few followers, I concealed A name that oft wakes strife. Thou know’st the rest— That a marauding band, in hope of plunder, Assailed us ; that with spur and sword we forced Our passage and rode on, till, near this spot, Faint with my wounds, I reeled, and here was borne, Blest in what seemed disaster. v2. Yet not finding More blessing than you brought. Sir O. | Taking her hand.| Thou mak’st my joy Too full. For this one hour I’ll pardon fate All frowns hereafter. Lov’st thou, what can rob Oscar Mackane of thee? Lil. |Agitated.] Mackane! Of whom Speak’st thou? Oscar Mackane! pr. My name, which thou May’st proudly bear. The son of Fergus I., Brother of Murdoch, chief of the Mackanes. Lil. |Withdrawing her hand, and recoiling.| Thou Murdoch’s brother ! Sir O. He still lives ? = a ACT II] LIFE FOR LIFE. 155 eott. ; He lives. [Thunder and lightning somewhat more vivid and audible than before. Would that he ne’er had lived, or thou not sprung From the same stock! Ser O. Wherefore ? ete, In me thou see’st The child of Angus, late Macronald’s chief. [Both rise. Str O. [Recocling.| Macronald! our hereditary foe ! “Lzé. In fight with the fierce tribe thy brother led My father fell. Sir O. | With horror.| Not by my brother’s hand ? L7t. Not by his hand, But by his followers ; and, beside the hate Instinctive towards thy name, that with the stream Of life we draw even from our mother’s breasts, Know that, where’er I turn, our gaping ranks Show the fell shafts of thine. My uncles perished Stemming their onset; my young kinsman David They snared and slew ; that I stand here an orphan Is due to them, thy kin. Away! a gulf Between us yawns, and every wave is blood! Sir O. Not more thou shrink’st than I. Upon thy breast That tartan, | Poznuting to her plaid | unbeheld since child- hood, grows Familiar to me—the abhorréd emblem Of a loathed race! [A short pause, during which he gazes at her, as tf bewtldered.| Loathed, did I say ; and thou Sprung from that race! [Thunder and lightning still more vivid and audible.| By heaven, two natures strive Within my breast! One for my kinsmen’s wrongs Prompts me to hate, the other pleads, Forget All wrongs for her ! PETE Obey the sterner voice ; For I could deem'my father’s spirit rose + i. - q af 156 LIFE, FOR TIPS. [ACT II. Frowning that still I listen. [So/texzzg.] Oscar, go! I may not love thee, and I cannot hate. Sir O. Thou canst not hate! Nor I. If enemy’s blood ; -. Flow in thy veins, it flows not in thy soul, Which has its kin in heaven. Lil. | Sadly, with a gesture of rejection.) Hence! Str O. Look on me, As I on thee; I love the thing thou art, And ask not whence it sprang. [Thunder loud, and lightning vivid. if dS Oh, thou dost strain My being to its root. I might for thee Brave living kindred’s wrath; but the mute frown Of the dead who cannot plead, who sleep in trust, Their child will ne’er be traitor to their blood— This, this appals me. [A loud and long crash of thunder and vivid lighining.| Hark! ’tis heaven’s own voice Uttering its prohibition! If thou seest The fierceness of her struggle whom love tempts And duty warns; if thou wouldst have me ’scape My people’s curse; by thine own love for me, Help me; save, save me from myself, and go! Sir O. Harsh doom! but I obey thee even in this. [SIR OSCAR bends his head low in acquiescence, then slowly retires, and goes out by door opposite to that by which RODERICK aud KENELM went oul. Lil. ’Tis well. I have been true to name and clan, I have slain my happy youth, and made its grave An altar to my race. To-morrow’s sun Will fall where we two stood; on us together Will fallno more. And he, alas! will not My doom be his? Duty! Had I no duty To him who taught me first what life might be, With love’s strong arm broke for my sake the chain ACT III. ] Little FOR Eire. 157 Of deadliest hate? No more to hear the voice That woke my heart to life, to bear within This ceaseless yearning widowhood of soul For him who lives, but lives no more for me ! [Zhe sound of a horn ts heard. That horn! his train set forth! [Zhe Squire and Page and other followers of SIR OSCAR pass at back.| They pass! Even now The gates are opening! [SIR OSCAR 7s slowly passing. | Oscar, Oscar, stay! [He approaches some steps towards her. By all I bear, I know what thou must bear. I might have doomed myself to appease my race, Not thee, not thee! Oscar, canst thou forgive, Canst thou accept this heart, which, for thy sake, Bursts all the chains of hate, tradition, clan ? Sir O. (Advancing, and extending his arms towards her.| Thou art my clan, my fate, my all in all! [She throws herself into his arms. AC heb, SCENE.—JVoonday. A valley in the Highlands. A wood of oaks at back. Mountains in the distance. On one side an arched gateway, leading to an old tower. Rude rustic benches, with the massive felled trunk of an oak, are scattered about. Anold rough stone of some size, which serves for goal in the race, zs seen on side of stage opposite to gateway. As the curtain rises, tt discovers the clansmen of the Clan Mackane, with other men and women of various ages, including children of both sexes from the neighbouring glen and village. MICHAEL and COLIN, as near connections of the chief, wear each an eagle’s feather in his bonnet. Other Clansmen wear each tn his bonnet a sprig of holly, as the badge of the Mackane. As the curtain rises, shouts 158 LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT III. Jrom some of “Allan! Allan!” From others of “* Dougal! Dougal! Dougal!” All are looking | off scene towards side at back. 1st Chorus. Allan! 2d Chorus. Dougal ! 1st Chorus. Allan! ALLAN enters, running rapidly towards the stone, the goal, amidst the applause of the greater part of spec- tators, who exclaim, ‘‘ Well sped, Allan! Allan!” DOUGAL enters almost tnstantly after ALLAN, and runs after him to the goat. Col. | Clapping DOUGAL on the back.| Take heart, good Dougal! He need nothing boast ; You'll beat him yet. Yourre the chief’s thirteenth cousin, And, by my reckoning, he is but the twentieth. EG. | Soothingly.| Indeed you ran him hard. Doug. | Panting.| A minute more I’d past him—see, he pants, while I—I’m fresh And sound of wind—scarce breathed ! [ They laugh. Eff, Ay, ay, we know, But that some sorry chance still plays you false, You’d always be his master. Doug. Am his master. Jest on. You’re jealous that I danced with Rose. Rose. My next dance is with Allan, Doug. [To EFFIE. | Let him take My cast-off gear and wear it. Allan. Your cast gear ! Braggart ! Doug. Braggart ! [ They lay their hands on their sword-hilts. Mic. No strife! What! strife to-day, When, till our scouts report the foe, we hold High festival to welcome the return Of Oscar, our chief’s brother, long deemed dead Rose. [To ALLAN.] Hear you? * ACT III.] LIFE FOR LIPE. 159 Ef. [To DOUGAL.] Take hands! [DOUGAL and ALLAN somewhat sulkily shake hands, Mic. Be the time henceforth spent In Oscar’s honour. [All but MICHAEL and COLIN disperse themselves over the ground, Some converse in groups standing, sitting, or reclining on the grass. Others examine the hammers which have been brought back. Others take up bows and arrows and prepare to shoot. Clansmen who went out return and join the rest. Mic. [To COLIN, who has remained with him tn front.| But ’tis strange he comes not, To share these sports with which our people greet him. Col. Oscar? He’s still with Murdoch. Mic. ’Tis not wise In Murdoch to delay him. Col. You forget ; Murdoch’s your chief. Mic. No more the chief he was. Since that dark hour when by Macronald’s band His son, young Kenelm, was borne off and slain, But one thought holds him, and his fitful will Scarce brooks restraint of reason. Even here, Where we have marched from home, that in this glen, Our thinned force may the better cope with Cameron— Here on Macrcenald’s borders has he spurned His offered peace, and challenged double strife, Though weak to meet it single. Gol. He’s your chief. Mic. And leads us to our ruin. Col. He’s my chief; Ill follow him to ruin. Mic. Follow madness ? Col. If madness be his humour, ’tis his choice, Not mine. He’s still my chief. Mic. Silence ! he comes— He and his brother Oscar. 160 LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT III. Enter MURDOCH and OSCAR from archway. Followed by StR OSCAR'S squire and page, they advance to Sront, SIR OSCAR still wearing his dress of 2d Act, and no Scottish plaid, tartan, or badge. The various groups come to front to meet them. The squire and page mix with the Clansmen and others, | and converse. MURDOCH stands a minute stlent and absorbed, then stts abstracted on felled trunk of tree. . Sir O. [To Clansmen and others.| Kinsmen, friends, Pardon if I, a seeming laggard, come To thank your welcome of me, who went forth A child, and am returned to you a man. Beseech you make not my delay offence, For I was held in counsel with my brother On what concerns us all. Mic. [Taking SIR OSCAR'S hand.}] Thrice welcome, Oscar, The brother of our chief ! Chorus of Clanspeople. Ay, long live Oscar! Col. A welcome for the chief too ; long live Murdoch ! [Waving his bonnet. Some Clanspeople.| With a fainter cry, in which the rest do not join.| Ay, long live Murdoch! Str O. [Aside.| Cold greeting for their chief! [Zo MURDOCH, who still sits abstracted.| They greet you, brother. I say your people greet you. Mur. |Hal/-rousing himself.| Greet me? Thank them. ay that I thank them. [Aelapses tnto gloomy reverie. Str O. [To Clanspeople.| To the full, we both Exchange our love with you—your chief and I. But let your sports proceed. Here on the strath - Let each man draw his bow, and he whose shaft - In three encounters strikes the nearest home, ACT III.] LIFE FOR LLFER, 161 Shall for his trophy wear a jewelled sword, Which from my foe in deadly fight I plucked, Warring for France! Col. A costly prize! [Zo Clansmen.| Put forth Your best skill to deserve it. All. Ay! ay! Str O. [To MURDOCH. | Brother, you Will witness this contention ? Mur. |Looking up.| I? not now. I have no humour for’t. Str O. [To Clanspeople.| Affairs of weight Engage my brother still. Some later hour— Say two hours past the noon—shall you contest, And he award, the prize. Mic. |To other Clanspeople.| Even now our meal Lies spread on yonder slope. Follow! To Oscar, So late restored, we'll drain our cups. Clanspeople. Ay, full ones! Mic. You from the glen and village will partake Our feast. Sweet, by your leave. [Zo EFFIE, who proudly takes his arm. Doug. | Surlily.| By my leave, Michael. . Mic. By yours when she is yours. Doug. | Turning to ROSE.] Come, Rose ! lose. [Who slides her arm into ALLAN’S.] Too late! I promised him the next dance. [Gozug up with ALLAN. Doug. | Angrily.| So! Mic. | Looking back on them as he ts about to go out.| Remember, No strife, ’tis Oscar’s day; a health to Oscar! Ef. Ay, ay, we'll all drink that. Various Clanspeople. A cup to Oscar! [All Clanspeople and others, MURDOCH, OSCAR, and COLIN excepted, rush out gaily, the men with their partners, the squire and page amongst the rest. Sir O. [To MURDOCH, who stzll sits in gloomy abstrac- VOL. I. L 162 LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT IIL tion, COLIN reclining near him on the grass.| Mur- doch, their feast lacks its best grace, if you, Our chieftain, hold aloof. With me, and join them! Mur. |Looking up.\| Join them in what? their mirth? Szr O. Their chief should make Their mirth his own. Mur. ’Tis well; you lesson me, My new-found brother. era: And your younger brother By some ten years, I grant; Id not offend. | Gozng. Mur. |Softening.| Nay, Oscar, go not. If the wide earth hold Aught dear to me—the which I doubt—*tis thou. [ Looking earnestly at OSCAR, then speaking to COLIN, and laying his hand on COUIN’S arm. Mark you not in his look a something—something That hints the face we miss? Col, Our Kenelm’s face? Mur. [In a low, fierce tone.| Peace! DidI bid thee name him ? Speak not! [He again falls into deep and gloomy abstraction. Sir O. [Seating himself on a bench by COLIN, and speak- ing to him apart.| Pray you, What cause has moved him thus? Col. | Apart to SIR OSCAR. ] Sir, ’tis a wound That I did illin probing. See! again He’s lost! [Pozuting to MURDOCH.] His mood is on him. When it falls, He shuns all converse, breaks not fast, nor gives His nights to sleep, but sits in moveless gloom. And yet, I have at times the luck or skill To rouse him and dispel his evil hour. I will essay it. Mark! I speak to you. [Zhen addressing SIR OSCAR in louder tone, thai MURDOCH may hear. If you demand of me what deeds in fight Your brother wrought, my task ishard to choose ACT It. ] LIFE, FOR LIPE, 163 What I shall note, or where begin. The growth Upon his chin was down, not hair, when first He drew claymore. When was it—when—say, chief, [Zurning to MURDOCH] when first blood dyed your Eteel'? Str O. [| Who, with COLIN, turns and observes MUR- DOCH.] He heeds you not. Col. [Afusing.] When, when? [Again addressing MURDOCH.| Was’t not that far-off night (What years have flown since then—'twas early spring—) When our brave lads drove off the foeman’s herds, And we, belated, followed far behind? See’st thou that night? Sir O. [Who, with COLIN, still watches MURDOCH. | He’s rapt ; you squander breath. Col. [| Sti// to MURDOCH.| That night of misty moon- light, when, like dogs That track the boar, they with deep-chested yell Strained on our path? [Aart fo SIR OscAR.] Now mark ! Str O. [Observing that MURDOCH sitzll sits motionless. | You rouse him not. Col. [Still addressing MURDOCH.] Who were they that pursued With yells and opening jaws? The accursed Mac- ronalds ! Mur. | Suddenly kindling into interest, and grasping COLIN’S arm.] Ay, the Macronalds! Colin, thou say st well. Go on; what did I then? what then? Col, Thou knowest. Some five, whose speed outstripped the rest, o’er- took And hemmed us round. Then stood we twain at bay. Mur. |Excitedly.| At bay, and, like the boar you spoke of, rent them With tusks of steel. A living wall they stood; ] Pd ‘ “7 164 LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT III, We smote, and like a shattered wall they fell ! Thy axe made breaches there ! Col. The more part sank Beneath your arm. Mur, |Pleased.| Thou say’st so! Sera, At great odds Did you contend! ) ; Col. (Exultingly to SIR OSCAR.] And he, young hawk, first struck His quarry there! You had been proud to wear His tartan later on Glen Allan’s field. Thrice at the Glen’s mouth, with a shout that mocked The ocean’s roar, the fierce Macronald beat, While with a scanty force your brother thrice, Rock-like, repelled them Mur. (Interrupting with glee.| Till ’twas turn of tide, And the roar sank, and all that sullen sea, Moaning, ebbed out, nor left a trace behind But the white surf of dead! Among their dead— Ay, ay; say on; say on! [Zo COLIN. ACL Among their dead, Three of Macronald’s race—their bonnets bore The eagle’s plume—lay stretched. Mur. | Springing up exultingly.| I had dealt on them ! I, only 1! Col. Thou only, chief. Mur. (Laughing. | Ha, ha! Thy words are wine, brave heart! As I had known Their ruthless tribe should one day from his lair Hunt my poor whelp to death, I took revenge Beforehand ; but my heart, unslaked, could drink Revenge as sand drinks water. I am parched [Raising his hands to heaven], More rain! more rain! | Col. [Foyfully to OSCAR.| He’s roused at last. b Sir O. [|Aside.| By hatred To Lilian’s race! [7a MURDOCH.] That you have borne dire wrongs ACT III] LIFE FOR LIFE. 165 I may not doubt. Still prudence, not revenge, Should sway a leader. If I hear aright, The Camerons, counting on your wasted strengths, Are now no less Macronald’s foes than yours. Against this new foe should you turn your swords Forgetting former feud. Mur. Forget our debt To the Macronald? I'd as soon forget My mother’s last kiss, or my dead wife’s first, Or my slain boy’s parting clasp. To him and his We owe our shorn strength, ravaged land, crushed pride— ) Fuel enough for hate. But if in you It smoulders, Ill throw oil on. [AZotzons SIR OSCAR Zo trunk of felled tree, while COLIN makes a deprecating gesture, MURDOCH avd SIR OSCAR sit, A short pause.| You came back This morn as from the dead, and yet I smiled not. You have seen my face light up—as the scarred cliff Beneath the storm-flash—while a laugh more bitter Than groans broke from me; but you have not seen— You will not see me smile. Str O. My brother ! Mur. Yet I once could smile, and, strange! for joy could weep, I had a boy, in whose soft brow, clear eyes, And trick of speech his mother lived again. And often when he spoke a sudden echo Surprised me from the ruins of my youth ; And when he trod the heath my fancy leaped The years to come, and saw the eagle’s plume Stream from his bonnet, as, with drawn claymore, And our wild war-cry on his lips, he led Our van to battle, as a comet leads The trail of light behind it! Col. Ay ; he ner Had shamed his stock, chief! 4 166 LIFE FOR LIFE. [act 111. Mur. (Continuing to OSCAR.| Well, this boy,my Kenelm, Who was to me—guess what an only son, His mother in the grave, is to a father !— Going forth to fight, I left him in the care Of humble folk, whose lowly roof I deemed Would be a safe and less suspected shelter Than my own walls ; but there the hunters tracked him, Seized, bore him off, and doubtless dyed their hands In a child’s blood. My Kenelm! [Pauses in paroxysm of grief.| Ask you still Why for one hope I live, and only one, Revenge upon his murderers ? Sir O. [Giving his hand to MURDOCH.] My heart, brother, Bleeds at this deed abhorred. Not less than you Would I pursue the doer. Mur. |Half suspiciously.| Sir, I thank you ; I had so much believed. 27), But could Macronald, Or kin of his, be privy to such horror? No, ’twas some caitiff follower ! Mur. (Withdrawing his hand, and speaking bitterly.| You can weigh this ! You’re nice in right! What hunted creature asks Of the pursuing throng w/ose spear transfixed it? It turns and rends the foremost. Save you, sir, I was a father, and your temperate virtue Offends my too rash blood. Farewell, just brother ! [Going, he turns to COLIN, who zs following him, and waves him back. Not now, I’d be alone. [MURDOCH goes out by gateway into tower. Sir O. [Aside.] When he shall learn That to Macronald’s child I stand betrothed, What bounds will curb his fury? Col. Look you, sir, The chief went hence in anger ; you do ill To cross his mood. ACT III] LIfe FOR LABE- 167 wer O. How if his mood go wrong ? Cof. Your part is still submission. If I bid My dog to leap a chasm, though the plunge Be death, he takes it. What your chief has willed Is your will; or it should be. Sir O. And it might be, Were I his dog. Enter MICHAEL hastily. Mic. Kinsmen, I bear grave news. Those we sent forth have learned by sure report That Cameron, whose advance we deemed was near, Falls back towards England. per O. England! Mic. Whence by bribes And pledge of Scottish spoil he gains allies. Thus reinforced, he bends his swollen strength At once against Macronald’s clan and ours. Cof. Then but one choice is left, to sell life dearly. Sir O. Were it not wisdom if, with your old foes, You now made league ’gainst new ones? Col. League ! no league With the Macronalds ! ; Aftc. Others say not so. [Zo OscaR.] Know you not then that three days since their chief, Young Malcolm, proffered peace and his alliance Unto your brother ? Sir O. | Foyfully.| Was this so? Mic. Albeit, Old rancours in our breasts at first prevailed, To both clans had this union been safety, To ours existence. That we were most rash To spurn it, hour by hour grows clear to all. Sir O. Then it was spurned ? Mic. Almost before ’twas utter’d. Col, By Murdoch, who with scorn drove back the envoy. 168 LIFE FOR LIZ, [ACT III. Siy O. All this admits of cure. Murdoch,a Scotsman, No less than chief and clansman, when he hears That Cameron fees English swords against us, Will join with Malcolm! Col. |Aside.| Will he so? ’Tis fit He learn your scheme betimes. [He goes out by gateway towards tower. Szr O. I’ll seek my brother. How takes Macronald this ? Mic. Even as befits A name we hate but honour. He prepares To leave his castle, and pursuing Cameron, Engage him ere by English succour joined. Sir O. Would Murdoch did the like. [| Gocng. Mic. ’Twere well. [A shout without of “ A dance! A dance!” Some of the Clanspeople are here seen entering at back, and motioning to the rest. But see our people, Now from the feast press in for song and dance. Stay for their sport ; so shall you win their love ! Str O. Sir,I am theirs. ’Tis thus they show me welcome. -[Other Clanspeople re-enter, accompanied by men, women, and children from the neighbourhood, also SIR OSCAR’S knight and page. The two latter take seats to witness the dance. Foremost Clausmen, with cries of “ Clear, clear the ground!” remove off the stage the trunk of felled tree, benches, &c. Others shout, “A song, a song /” Sir O. [To MICHAEL.] Their mirth well pleases me, These hearts so light In danger’s front are just the hearts to face it. Ef, |Who has overheard StR OSCAR.]. Sir knight, your speech smacks of the song we dance to. Sir O, Fair maid, let’s hear that song. [All approach their partners except SIR OSCAR and MICHAEL, who sit at side in front, and SIR ACT III.] LIFE FOR LIZt. 169 OSCAR’S knight and page, who sit at back. Pipers, dressed as clansmen like the rest, enter with bagpipes, also a harper with harp, and other musicians. DOUGAL advances to EFFIE, who, after coguettish hesttating glances at ALLAN, fakes DOUGAL, ALLAN advances to ROSE, who, after stmtlar glances at DOUGAL, takes ALLAN. Song sung to music, tn which the notes of the bagpipes are distinctly heard. SONG. Let every laddte take his lass, And dance while yet he may ; For a clansman’s life doth quickly pass From song and feast to fray. {ts arm round her waist and her lip to taste, What time for care and sorrow ? The hours are fleet and her smile ts sweet: Dance to-day and fight to-morrow | [A Highland dance, the dancers repeating the last four lines as chorus, reaching thetr plaids one to another, and swaying them gently tn their hands from side to side, The dance, as tt pro- gresses, should tn this and subsequent chorus, be also accompanted by excited cries and gestures on the part of those engaged. 2D VERSE. Let every lassie take her lad, And love him while she can; Be this day bright, though the next be sad When goes her own braw man; His arm round her waist and her lip to taste, What time for care or sorrow ? The hours are fleet and her kiss ts sweet : Dance to-day and fight to-morrow / 170 LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT 111. [Before the dancets resumed, SIR OSCAR advances to EFFIE ; MICHAEL advances to ROSE ; EFFIE withdraws her hand from DOUGAL, and gtves | zt to SIR OSCAR; ROSE withdraws her hand trom ALLAN, and gives tt to MICHAEL, fora moment DOUGAL and ALLAN furn away sulkily ; then each seizes the disengaged hand of his former partner. SIR OSCAR’S squire and page now each take the disengaged hand of a Jemale dancer. The dance is resumed, the dancers again repeating the last four lines as chorus, and using their plaids as before. When the dance has reached a certain potnt, scene closes. SCENE IL A rude hall in the tower. Early afternoon, Enter from inner door MURDOCH and COLIN, Mur. How say’st thou? He would have me league with Malcolm ! In friendship clasp the hand our blood has stained, Forego the sole sweet joy that life has left. A retribution matchless as my wrongs! Cof. Such is your brother’s purpose. [Looking off| But he comes, Doubtless to speak it. Enter SIR OSCAR from without, through open door. Mur. [To SiR OSCAR.] Tell me what’s thy name? You brought me seeming proof you were my brother, ’Twas false ; if through your veins my blood did course, You could not be at heart so alien. Has Colin slandered you, or dare you tell me— Me, chief of the Mackanes—you counsel friendship With Malcolm of Macronald? sc. I1.] LIFE FOR LIFE. 171 Szr O. Strife in brothers— If they must strive—brooks no observer’s eye ; I’ll answer you alone. Mur. Go, Colin. [COLIN goes out. Szr O. ¥ esi tis;trues: I counsel union. Mur. |With a tone of significant menace.| Bold, even in a brother ! Szr O. You grant your followers, worn by feuds, too weak Singly to cope with Cameron ; yet your force, With Malcolm’s joined, might brave him. You'll not doubt What course befits you when you hear that Cameron Leads English mercenaries ’gainst you both, And, with the spoil from bleeding Scotland wrung, Pays hireling stabbers! Murdoch, you'll protect Scotland—ourmother ! Mur. Kenelm was my son. Much I love Scotland, more I hate Macronald. Sir O. You stand here chief and leader. With your honours Accept your duties. When the time admits Of private vengeance, then be only Murdoch ; But now, when clan and country call on you, Be Scotsman, chief, and gentleman. Mur. And cry To Malcolm, J repent, T sue for aid ! Sir O. You give as well as sue, if, following him, You march towards England on the foe. Mur. (Eagerly. | Has Malcolm Set forth towards England? Sir O. So our tidings run. Mur. |Musingly to himself, but heard by S1R OSCAR. |] Then his main force goes with him, and his castle Defenceless lies. We're near it, on his borders! Sir O. What mean you? Mur. | Still to himself, but still heard by StR OSCAR. ] Yet he has nor wife nor child ; ive LLPE: POR LIPLES [ACT III. No crevice in his armour where the shaft : Envenomed might pierce home; he mocks my ven- geance. Had Angus lived, he was a father; he Had felt the pangs I bear. [As struck with a sudden thought.| If a child’s cry Could reach him, ’mid the fiends’, and startle hell . With a newtorment! He has left a daughter. Last night, ’tis said, she to Macronald’s home Returned—now dwells there ! [Zxu/tingly.| Ay, we're on his borders ! Sir O. [Fiercely.| Hold, Murdoch ; What dost thou plan? Mur. |With a sinister laugh.| You rouse me from a dream. Methought I played a game, and rose no winner ; But still with equal fortune, child for child ! Sir O, Speak! what’s your thought? Heaven grant my fears have wronged you. Plott’st thou against the freedom or the life Of Lilian of Macronald? Mur. Ha! you’re quick To solve a riddle, brother, [Laying his hand on SIR OSCAR’S shoulder. Str .O. Take thy hand From my stained person, and unteach thy lips That name of brother. If thou practise ill On her, or by connivance suffer it, Then look not to Macronald’s line or Cameron’s For thy worst enemy, but find him here, In me who own thy name and share thy blood, But scarce forgive my mother that thou sprang’st From the same womb that bore me! Mur. Does my sense Serve or delude me? Do I hear or see? Thou beard’st me! [Restraining himse/f.| Go! the fire is in the cloud, But bursts not yet. To shelter, boy ; to shelter ! sc, 11. ] LIFE FOR LIFE, 144 [With a sudden change of tone. | What is the daughter of my rival’s house To thee—a stranger ? Szx O. Stranger is she none, To her I, sick and wounded, owed my life ; To her the love that crowns life. Know in her My late preserver, and my wife betrothed ! Mur. Betrothed! Thou! she! [Aszd¢e.] I much suspect my thoughts Of wandering. [After a pause, to him.| Say it, if thou canst, again ; Thou wedd’st with a Macronald ? Sir O. Not more sure That yon sun shines than, if we live, we wed. Mur. Thy words smite on my brain, as on a door Foemen with sword-hilts knock in time of war, While those within, half-drowned in sleep, rise staggering, And let in murder! To my wakening sense So dost thou stand. False, not to me alone, But to thy sires and clan ; false to the dead And to the living ; false to tomb and altar ; To nature’s instinct false, as if life’s stream Within the veins should roll back on the heart That was its source, and choke it! False as—nay, Thou’rt not this thing ; say I but charge on thee My fancy’s monstrous growth; say thou’rt my brother, And crush not him who called thy father, father ! [Throws himself in supplication at SIR OSCAR'S feet. Sir O. [Compassionately.| I pity thee. Mur. Ay, thou wert ruthless else ; But dost thou yield? ‘Thou dost! Sir O. I cannot yield When only fury pleads. ; [Turning from him. While SIR OSCAR speaks these last words, enter MICHAEL, COLIN, and several other Clansmen. Mic. {On entering.| Murdoch, these tidings Should lead to prompt resolve. 174 LIFE FOR LIFE. ~ [ACT 11. Mur. [Starting up, to SIR OSCAR.] Then meet that fury ! | Drawing his sword. Words have no power to blast, be this my tongue. [Rushes with sword on SIR OSCAR, who seizes his , arm, wrests sword from him, and throws tt aside. COLIN fakes it up. Mic. His sword drawn on a brother! [All but COLIN look menacingly at MURDOCH. Str O. [To MICHAEL.] In brief madness, 5 Which cooler thought rebukes. Col. |Reaching MURDOCH his sword, and speaking sig- nificantly apart to him.| Though all else frown, I’m still thy hand to do the thing thou bidd’st, Mur. [Feebly.| You say well, Oscar. [Pressing his hand to his forehead.| All here’s storm and darkness. [ Scgnzficantly.| lf ever light break in, I’ll better pay The dues I owe you, brother! [Zo COLIN.] Lead me forth, I’m feeble, and want rest. [He goes out, leaning on COLIN, who, as he goes out, turns and regards the rest with a look of Jjierce reproach. Mice. Oscar, our hope Is fixed on you. He whom his frenzy rules No more rules us. Other Clansmen. No more, no more! Mic. To counsel then, for all Await your voice. ay OF In what befits a brother You shall command me. He is still my brother. [All go out by open door, opposite to that by which MURDOCH and COLIN went out. gre X13. | LIFE FOR LIFE, 175 SCENE III. Sun fast declining; about an hour from sunset. An upper apartment of MALCOLM’S Castle. A door at side. Two large painted windows at back. Be- tween them a narrow door (open), which commands a Gothic terrace, and gives a glimpse of a lake be- yond, Another door at side. Three or four portraits of former Macronald chiefs, in their Highland and clan costume, on the walls; amongst these, con- spicuous to audience, ts a portrait of LILIAN’S Jather, Angus. Another portrait opposite stde-door conceals a sliding panel, An oratory, with altar and plain crucifix, surmounted by a small lamp, not lighted in thts scene, ts also conspicuous to audience. Old armour, swords, shields, battle-axes, &c., erouped on walls, Enter LILIAN, still dressed in slight mourning, and RODERICK. Lil. What say’st thou, Roderick? The clan Mackane Are on our frontier ! Rod. Ay ; from where they muster They see our battlements. We from the convent Returning, barely missed them. By heaven’s grace You’re now ’neath Malcolm’s roof; at home once more. Lil. |Jnvoluntarily referring to SIR OSCAR, and over- heard by RODERICK.] Then is he near? | Rod. Who? Malcolm! Well, you know He with his followers pursues the Camerons, He has left you thinly guarded ; but fear not. Lil. What sound was that? [Zhe panel slides open. KENELM enters. Closes the panel, and advances. LILIAN. Sfortively.| Ah, mischief! art thou here? Why by that panel enter like a thief, When all else use the door? 176 LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT III. Ken. Because I choose To do what others do not, and I love Things curious and forbidden. Rod. Then Dame Nature Erred in thy sex ; thou shouldst have been a woman. Ken. |Affecting despondency.| Alas, ’m not a woman ! Yesterday, Descending by the secret stair whereto That panel leads, I strove to thread the maze Of winding vaults below ; I’d torch in hand, 3ut lost my way. Now had I been a woman, I’d found my way, for women are like cats: They see best in the night, and are at home In all that’s dark and crooked. [Laughing.| ’Tis so, Lilian ! [Zo RODERICK.] ’Twas she that taught me first the panel’s trick. To-day I’d better luck ; kept straight my path Through the oozing walls of stone, till mounting steps Upbore me toa grate, which, pushed, gave way, And I was in the sunlight—none to watch— [With a sudden change to bitter sadness. As free as when I trod my father’s hills ! Lilian, I tell you, I will see my father ; Not all my love for you can stop the hunger For home that gnaws me. Lil. [Placing her arm round him, compassionately.| My poor Kenelm! Rod. {To KENELM, emphatically and sternly.| Boy! Must you again be warned? Remember well The vain attempt at flight might prove your death. [ Softening.| Poor petted fawn! keep in thy l&dy’s bower, And thou art safe. Lil. [To KENELM.] Chide not! ’tis nature’s self Prompts his desire. Kenelm, though you must bear This durance, still you know that Lilian’s heart Would beat even with your joy if you were free, And yet she’d miss thee much. SC. III.) LIFE FOR LIFE. 177 Ken. [Taking both her hands.| J do believe You would have all free as you are—hold none captive— [Archly.| Except some wounded knight too early cured. Well, wounded birds, uncaged, will oft fly back, Andsomayhe. [LILIAN ¢urus from him rather sadly. Rod. [Admonishingly to KENELM.| Peace! peace! [Ad horn ts heard without, followed by the tramp of ahorse.| Ahorn! And now The tramp of horse! Perchance ’tis news of Malcolm. Lit. Perchance a foeman’s summons. The Mackanes, You say, are near? _[KENELM, who ts listening, slightly starts, then con- ceals his emotion. Rod. But humbled, and too weak To brave your cousin’s wrath. Ken. | Aside.| | How! The Mackanes Are near—my father near! [A loud, after « short pause.| *Tis now the hour When Randolph comes back with his hawks. I’ll meet him, And ask him of his sport. Rod. And to the hall Will I, and find what stirs. ’*Tis nought, dear lady, To cause you fear: I will report full soon. [Zo KENELM.] Come, lad! Ken. A moment. [Zo LILIAN, with earnest tenderness. | Lilian, if now Or ever I have angered you—and oft I’ve given you cause for anger—-you'll forgive me? The madcap always loved you. Lil. | Touched. | Ne’er did Lilian Doubt that, dear boy. [XA7ss¢zg him.| Heaven’s blessing rest on thee! Rod. | Festingly.| Enough, enough! This sugar spoils the teeth. Come, come, pet fawn ! Ken. Say rather prisoned fawn. Rod. There’s much to give and take, boy ; the pet fawn Is tethered and shut up; but the wild fawn VOL, I. M 178 LIFE FOR LIFE, [ACT III. Ken. [Interrupting.] Is free—is happy ! Rod. Humph! he’s shot and roasted. [RODERICK avd KENELM go out by side door. Lil. [Sitting.| Dear, hapless boy! His name was on my lips When Oscar left me. I had almost said, Your nephew lives! Well that I checked my tongue! That knowledge then had led to new assaults From Murdoch, which resisted, in the strife The lad perchance had fallen! For his safety I must be secret still; but when a bride I fly to Oscar, he shall share my flight. ’Twill crown anew the royal hour we wed, To say, Thy brother’s son by me preserved ! Ah me! when comes that hour? Is alla dream? Did he indeed lie wounded at St Catherine’s ? Did I there tend him! And oh! did we part But three days since? He promised on the third To send a trusted friar, by whose report I should our time and place of meeting learn. The sun declines, and yet he has not sent. Sir O. [To RODERICK wthout.] She is within, alone? Re-enter RODERICK, followed by SIR OSCAR, who still wears no plaid or other tartan, or any badge of the Mackanes. Rod. So please you, lady, The stranger knight. [ Goes out. Wath. Thou, Oscar ! Sz70. My heart's heart! [They embrace. Lil. Thou'rt here indeed ; but in this house, in peril ! Str O.. No peril, love. N one here surmise my birth. I’m but a stranger and a knight from France, By you befriended. No, sweet Lilian, ’Tis you who are in peril. In this fortress, Feebly defended, you but court attack, While enemies, if few, yet subtle, plot SC. Iii] LIFE. FOR. LATE: 179 Against your freedom—life. Hear me, who know Your danger, and in you would save myself. Ere dawns to-morrow’s sun, give me such right As none else have to guard you. Be my wife! Lil. Thy wife to-night ! er. To-night.—I, with my train, Will come and bear thee forth. A league from hence A wayside chapel stands. There shall the priest Await us; and, the rite performed, I’ll lead thee To the safe shelter of his sister’s roof, Where thou shalt bide till I returning claim thee. Lil. This night! Doubt not my love, but in that step A girl takes passing from old life to new— There’s awe as well as joy! Grant time. Str O. Thy danger Of time admits not. Further know, my brother, For gravest reasons, stands awhile deposed From his command, and by the more part I Am named his deputy. At break of day I lead our clansmen to the aid of yours, Who singly strive with Cameron. Lil. [In wonder.| Your Mackanes— They league with us—with Malcolm ! Ser O; You shall learn Hereafter how this fell; now hold it true. Lil. May this blest union ever bind you friends. Sir O. Heaven grant it, sweet ; but to my suit. Once more I say thou art in peril. Ere I don A soldier’s harness, let me bear thee hence To asure refuge. If thou still dost fear These hurried nuptials, I obey thy will And leave thee there unwed. But if (i e Stay, Oscar : Thou goest to battle. He who gives the victory Alone foreknows the end. I shrink no more. Be it so, Ere thou goest, join our fates— 180 LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT III. Claim me for thine! [2 xtending both her hands, which he takes.| Then, com’st thou back a victor, This swelling heart shall hail thee all my own ; And if—— Sir O. If fate be darkest? ETE Ay, even then I should be blest, for I should join thee soon. Till then, oh! dearer far thy memory Than any hope surviving. I should know That for some blesséd hours I called thee mine. And, cleaving to that thought, look grief in the face And say, I once was his! Take, take me, Oscar! [| She falls on his neck. Str O. Perfect in trust as goodness! At thy word I take thee. See, the sun goes down apace ; Ere it has set two hours, I will return. [ They turn towards door, which ts open. MURDOCH, disguised in the travelling garb of a minstrel, looks in at door. He wears a cloak with a hood, which partially conceals his face and quite dis- guises his identity. Lil.{ Starting.| Ah,look! who’she thaton us bends a gaze So strange and fixed ? Sir O. Some pilgrim, by his garb. [Szz/ing.] Why dost thou start? [ Advancing to door, and speaking to MURDOCH, who ts retiring. Who art thou? What’s thine errand ? Mur. |Who assumes the gait, manner, and voice of an aged man, returns.| A travelling minstrel I, who, on my way, Have tidings for this house. Sir O. [To LILIAN. | Shall he approach? His news may be of import. tk: Ay, but go not. Sir O. [At door to MURDOCH.] Enter. [Zo EVAN without.| You, fellow, bear his harp. — lc ——— M SC. III.] LIFE FOR LIFE. 181 Enter MURDOCH /ollowed by EVAN, bearing harp. EVAN, who zs one of Macronala’s domestics, wears the Macronald plaid. Mur. |To LILIAN. ] Fair lady, See I in you the daughter of the chief ? Lil. Of him who was the chief—my father’s dead. Mur. | Aside.| Tis she. [Aloud.] These woful words must I repay With sounds as harsh. As minstrel late I served The young Monteith. Your father loved him well. A rival of my lord in maiden’s love Slew him in strife o’er wine. These news I bear To Monteith’s distant kinsman, and was bid, When journeying to him, to acquaint Macronald With our dire grief. Bree My father was the friend Of the brave house you serve. I, as his child, Lament its loss. ) Mur. Lady, a hapless house ! A century since, its head, in heat of youth, Espoused the daughter of his enemy ; Since when the wrathful hand of heaven has pressed Upon his line who broke the holy laws Of pact and race. All that were heirs to him Have come to ends untimely. Lil. (Aside. | Strange ! his tale Sounds like a warning. | Sir O. [Apart to her, smiling.| Can this move thee? Lil. [In a low tone apart to him.| No. Thou art my fate. Whate’er betide, thou’rt mine. [Oscar bends to her, and whispers reassuringly. Mur. |Aside, observing them.| Ay, whisper, whisper ! Let your amorous lips Grow glued even in my sight. [A/loud, as LILIAN and SIR Oscar turn to him.] My errand told, a 182 LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT III. I of your goodness, lady, would entreat Short rest and shelter. Then I take my way, Lil. Take freely all you need ; I ask not now That you should prove your skill upon the harp, Your journey’s solace, doubtless. Ere you go I may demand a lay. Mur. Whate’er you ask, I am obedient. If the lay be harsh And the strings jar and crash, bethink I’m old, And my hand lacks its cunning. [Half menacingly.| Else I’d win Such music from the chords, the strain should dwell On your charmed ear till life itself lapsed with it. Lil. I take your will for deed. Your name? Mur. ’Tis Uric. Lil, Evan, conduct the minstrel to his chamber. [Zo MURDOCH.] May food and rest refresh you. Mur. |Bowing low.| I’m your debtor. [EVAN, bearing MURDOCH’S harp, goes to door. MURDOCH slowly follows him. Sir O. [Zo LILIAN.] Time speeds, and bids me haste ; remember, sweet, Two hours past sunset I return. Lil. [Observing MURDOCH, who at door turns and gazes on her intently.| Again That fixed, mysterious gaze ! [MURDOCH follows EVAN out by side door. Sir O. [Smiling.] What dost thou fear? Is’t strange that minstrels’ eyes, alive to beauty, Should feed on thine? Lil. [Smiling, and trying to rally.| ’Twas folly, and ’tis past. Sir O. Then for brief while farewell. [Késsing her hand.| When next I come ’T will be to claim in thee a joy so sure Nought can unbase it, and so absolute It cannot know increase ! [Going. sc. I11.] LIFE FOR LIFE: 183 Lil. | Following him to door.| Thy voice, dear lord, Doth speak for both our hearts. Till night farewell. [SiR OSCAR goes out by side door. LILIAN gazes after him. Lil. [Returning from door, and sinking into chair.) The hour is fixed, the hour that seals my bliss ; Yet bliss is solemn, and my heart lies hushed Like earth before the dawn. Strange, joy should wear A look that chills me. I could almost deem Again yon minstrel’s gaze, that, like a cloud Enfolding thunder, veiled what still it showed, Bent, moveless on me. Lilian, shame! art thou The child of Angus? [Rzszmg.] Angus! [Arrested by her Jather’s portrait.| From the wall His darkening mien upbraids me, that I blend His foeman’s blood with his. I’m fancy’s sport. [She again gazes on the portrait of Angus, her father, which gradually fades away, and changes slowly to the spectre of Graham’s wraith, which is pre- cisely the same in appearance, expression, and attitude as when seen in first act. LILIAN con- tinues to speak while this change takes place. | And yet a horror broods in all the air, Some spell still holds my sight. Ha! now it fades, The pictured semblance fades ; and now puts on Some ghastly change! No more my father, there It stands—again the vengeful spirit stands That warns our house of danger. Is it death That now impends? [After a pause.| Stern phantom, when before Thou cam’st in thy mute terror, I was firm, Firm even to death! but now I love and fear. If in thine awful, unconjectured home Old thoughts of human love can reach thee still, [Sinking on her knees: Claim me not yet ; have pity ! 184 LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT Iv. Enter KENELM by ofen door at back, cap in hand. Ken. [Apart to himself.| One last look! She knows not ’tis the last. [Aloud, percetving LILIAN, rushing to her, and placing his arm round her.} Why, Lilian! [Ads KENELM rushes to LILIAN, the spectre of Graham’s wraith suddenly vanishes from the SJrame, in which the portrait of her father Angus resumes tts place. Lil. ’Tis gone! [She reclines almost fainting in KENELM’S arms. ACT ALY, SCENE.—Same as last scene of last act. Night. A lighted torch on each side of mantelpiece. The lamp suspended over the altar-piece ts also now lighted. Door at back closed, Vivid moonlight seen through windows ; some clouds, however, are also visible. The scene discovers LILIAN seated and — MARGERY. LILIAN wears a tartan scarf of the Macronald pattern over a white dress, the skirt of whitch ts long for riding. MARGERY 7s engaged in placing a rose tn LILIAN’S dress, Lil. Thanks, thanks, dear Margery ; you have laid out My riding-cloak—your own too? [ Pointing to riding-cloaks and head-dresses laid near, f Enter RODERICK from side door. His face wears a look of anxiety. Mar. Madan, all Ss Lie here prepared. | rad. ’Tis well ; when once our summons Comes, it will ask despatch. We must ride far Ere midnight, Margery. Rod. Ride far to-night ? ACT IV.] LIFE FOR LIFE. 185 Forgive me, lady, but this sudden humour Holds not with reason. ete, Have I not possessed you Already of the cause? The knight, Sir Oscar, - Has learned that danger threats me. Rod. Humph! ’Tis well To guard you from your foes, but who shall guard vou Against your guarders? How shall I answer Malcolm, That you, at stranger’s bidding, quit his walls ? Li7. How answer Malcolm? With my heart’s dear thanks For past protection. He’s my friend and cousin ; No parent to command me. Rod. He’s your chief And guardian of your honour. fay s Not so, Roderick. I’m guardian of my honour. Malcolm lives His proper life. ’Tis well; but I live mine. Rod. These matters are beyond me. I but know Our chiefs by their own arms protect their women, Nor leave that care for strangers. I must tell Sir Oscar that Macronald’s walls best guard Macronald’s child, and that you stir not hence. Lz. Roderick, you'll ne’er say that. Rod. Shall I be plain ? ’Tis love, not danger, prompts you to this folly. Ride you not to your bridal ? Lil, | Caluly.| If it were so? Rod. What say’st thou ? Mar. If it were so, says my lady— If she did ride to church, why ’tis a journey That most maids of her age are apt to take, And one I plan myself—what then ? Rod. Whatthen? [Z7rying to assume a decisive tone. Then should I act and speak. Lil. Like Lilian’s friend, [Motioning him to sit, which he does. She bends over his chair. 186 IIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT IV 9 Who from her childhood made her whim his law. What did I ask and you not grant? To ride? You led my palfrey. Would I hawk? ’twas you Who trained my falcon; and you oft would laugh Because I wept in sudden penitence To see the heron struck. Or would I sail? *Twas you who, smiling on me from the helm, Held in the veering sheet ; and will you now, Old playmate—now I venture all life’s freight Upon the deep, and take the voyage whose end Is Eden or a quicksand—now I love— Will you now first be froward to your Lilian? Rod. My duty, girl! Lid, Thy duty is to love And help the child who loves thee. Would she ’scape To happiness, ’tis thou shouldst aid her flight— Raise bars, not fix them ; and thou wilt ! Dear Roderick, Thou shalt go with me and thy grandchild here— This very night stand by me at the altar, That I may feel the hand that led my father When he was yet a child, in my joy’s hour Rest on my head and bless me. Say thou'lt go! Rod. Strive not with women: ’gainst them man’s resolve Is straw, his sternness wax. Ay, what thou wilt. Thou art old Angus’ daughter. ‘To the last I'll follow where thou lead’st, and bless my fate That I, in extreme age, have lived to see Love’s crown upon thy youth. ) Lil. Nought shall divide us. My home be henceforth thine. But we must haste Our preparations. Where is Kenelm ; seek him, For he must with us. Rod. Kenelm! You have touched On what disquiets me; though now ’tis night, He still is absent ; where, with whom, unknown. I’ve strictly questioned ; none within have seen him Since fall of sun. ACT IV.] LIFE FOR LIFE, 187 Lil. [With an effort to disguise her anxiety.) Why, then, he has gone forth With Donald to the herd, or else prevailed Upon our oarsmen to put out and row In the clear moonlight. [Goizg to window.| Ah, how fair a scene ! | She watches from window. Mar. | Apart to RODERICK.] Your look is grave; the boy’s safe ? Rod, | Apart to MARGERY.] Would I knew it. I’ve fears for him. The scarf and cap he wore, As I but now have learned, were found by Donald Some half league from the Castle. Do these signs Augur no deed of violence? You know The hate that some here bear him, and how swift A death might reach him did he purpose flight. Mar. Yowl keep this from my lady. Rod. Ay, ’twere ill At such a time to grieve her, unless proof Confirm the doubt ; and yet my heart is heavy For the quick step that comes not. Lil. [Returning from window, which she closes if open.| On the lake Or on the shore he must have wandered far ; Or else—how think’st thou, Roderick?—his great yearning For home and kindred has at length o’erpowered him, And he has fled. When last we met, his arm Clasped me in such a long and fond embrace As now seems like a farewell. If it were so, Heaven's love preserve him ! Rod. Thrice amen to that ; But I’ve an errand by this chance delayed : *Tis from the minstrel who to-night arrived, And soon goes hence—well that he should—a stern, Unsocial, silent man, whom none will miss. Lit. 1 thought him what you say ; but oft we err. He doubtless mourns his chief untimely slain, 188 LIFE FOR LIFE. [ACT 1M And we have ta’en for sternness in his mood What was but sorrow. Well, what is this errand? Rod. Ere leaving he would see you—pay his thanks. He has a suit too—some most private suit, Meant for your ear. So much he importuned, That I have let you know this. Lil, [Aside.| Poor and old, ’Tis like he has such need as pride unbares Only to few. [AZoud.| Say that I’ll see the minstrel, That I await him here. [70 MARGERY.] Retire; and, Roderick, Press instant search for Kenelm. Rod, I’ll not fail. [Aside, Hold! I'll sift your story But to disprove it. Hither! Ill return Anon, Felicia. Hither, sir; unfold This business as we walk. [REVESDALE azd BANCROFT go out. Fel. |Coming forward.| O bitter strait ! I must be false to love—nay, worse—to conscience, Or crush my brother’s hopes. Alas that pride Should blight a heart so rich! Most perilous Is pride to noble natures. Other sins Stand naked and repel ; but pride doth filch The garb of poetry, and the flawed idol Shows like a god. SCmilt. | A LIFE’S RANSOM. 217 Enter MATTHEW and ARTHUR RINGWOOD. Arth. See! ’tis herself—Felicia ! How still—how mute—how like a living dream That’s conscious of its bliss, and will not stir Lest motion end it! Mat. Dream, forsooth! [Aszde.] He talks Poetry like the Jaureate! Dream! Do dreams Glow with a flush like hers, or do their steps Come tinkling on men’s hearts like hers on thine? Arth. (Embracing FELICIA.] My own! Fel, Arthur! Mat. Is she a dream, lad? Arth. How! There’s trouble in thine eye. Fel. I’m glad you’re come. Mat. NotsoamI. I’m tired, and want my dinner. What’s dinner to a lover? You that feed On the dews of violets,—you sleep-walkers In the realms of fancy, that can take your rest With open eyes, should pity common folk That have digestions, and like easy chairs. Arth. But where is Basil? Mat. Is our secret safe? Is he yet 7’ the dark? Fel. My friend, my father ! Mat. Well? Speak, love ! . Fel. Untoward affairs have vexed my brother. You'll treat him gently ? Mat. Gently! Why, how else But gently should I treat him? I bestow My boy—than whom a nobler never blessed A father’s heart—upon him for a brother. Methinks that’s gentle. Arth. Look where comes my friend ! How rapt in meditation ! 218 A LIFE’S RANSOM. [acre Re-enter REVESDALE. Mat. [To FELIcIA.] You'll not leave us? Fel. [Observing REVESDALE closely.| No, no; ’tis better I remain. Mat. |Laughing.| Draw back ; He’s in a trance; perhaps he solves a problem. [They retire a few steps, unpercetved by REVESDALE. Reves. Woos her in secret, does he? Wastes no breath To win my sanction, who should thank my luck That my home and sister please him! Our alliance, Tis true, has been held priceless ; but this broker In decayed honours knows that it befits The needy to be humble. Is’t for thee, Thou climber by the clefts of others’ ruin, My sister has forsworn her happiness, Foiled my fresh hopes and balked my thirsting heart Of the fount before it? Notso; my friend Norville Stays at his seat in Hampshire. I'll set forth This hour to see him, and so gain delay For a wiser answer. (MATTHEW, ARTHUR, avd FELICIA come forward. Mat. Save you, noble student ! Have you yet solved your riddle? Reves. Sir, you have it. Arth. I give you joy! Your hand. Reves. "Tis not for sale. Arth. For sale! Mat. Nay, nay! Were here To join hands, not deny them. Faith, my lord, You must clear that clouded brow. I would acquaint you With my heiress and my new-found daughter ! Reves. So, Your daughter. [Aszde.] It goes smoothly ! Mat. You’re amazed. Twill crown your wonder when I say how long sc. II1.] A LIFE’S RANSOM. 219 You've known her, you, sir—that, in brief, she stands With her affianced husband there—ay, there ! [Potnting to ARTHUR and FELICIA. Go, boy, and bless them ! Reves. Ingrate that I am, I have no knee to thank you. Arth. You'll not mar Our joy, else perfect? ’Twas but yesterday I dared to hope Reves. What you must hope no more. [Restratning himself, and with formal courtesy. Sir, for the honour you design our house I thank you, and decline it. Mat, What! decline, My boy! Adversity has turned his brain. Decline my Arthur! Arth. _ Basil, pardon me. Your sister’s love was her own gift. I stand, However humble, dignified in this— That she has chosen me,*and girt my life With her bright zone of love. To yield her, then, Must be a pang to me—a worse than pang, A crime, to her. For her sake Reves. [Ironically.| For her sake ! Arth. Yes, for her sake, my lord. I do not boast A storied name. Perchance mine never waved Embroidered on a flag, or rallied hosts In the shock of battle. Courts may nothing heed it. The hind at plough may hear it and plod on, Nor check his careless whistle. Do you ask My title, then, in this? ’Tis here—she loves me ! Spite of ail want and accident, she loves me, Finds love that answers hers, finds truth to lean on, Finds sympathies that feed her root of joy, And keep it verdant. If I give not these, I have indeed no claim ; but giving them, My lot grows proud. I am something to myself If aught to her. I'll not withdraw the faith 220 A LIFE’S RANSOM. [ACT I. She prizes, till she say, “ Sir, take it back— I no more need it.” Fel. Never, never, Arthur, Can she say that! O brother! Mat. Stand apart, My boy, and let them speak. [ARTHUR and MATTHEW retire a few steps. Reves. And so you'll blight My future and your own for a light mood That dates from yesterday—a whim, a nothing ! Fel. A nothing! All new life, that struck its fibres Deep down before it budded! Nothing! Basil, Earth has a thousand destinies for man ; For us, one—love ! Man’s massive trunk puts forth Unnumbered branches ; lop them, they renew ; But we who cling around him, severed thence, Are prostrate once for ever. Reves. Credulous girl, Be warned ! What Ringwood seeks in this alliance Is his advancement, not your love. For this, Unknown to me, he lured you step by step. Fel. Your frenzy speaks ! Reves. For this, by stealth he traffics For our domain, as if to seize our eyry Made him the eagle—does this, and commands That the knowledge be kept from me! Fel. Question him ; He'll explain all. eves. |Lronically.| To be sure he will! And now, To save you and those hopes he would eclipse, Listen! I’m bound for a sudden journey. Ere I go, decide—a suitor or a brother? Fel. | Seizing his hand.| You cannot mean—— Reves. Decide at once—renounce him ! Fel. He has loved me, and I cannot; I have pledged My love to him, and will not ; ’tis your wish To cast me off, not mine to lose you, brother. I must be true—I wed him ! [She turns to ARTHUR and MATTHEW, who advance. ACT I] A LIFE’S RANSOM. 221 Reves. Free my hand! [Zo ARTHUR.] Sir, till your gold gives right to unlock my gates, You pass them not again. [Zo FELICIA.] Release me! Fel. | Clinging to him.| Brother! Reves. When next we meet, I see thee Norville’s wife, His wife affianced, or a stranger—strange Thenceforth to sight, thought, love; thy name a sound, Thy place a void, thy very memory dead ! [He breaks away from. FELICIA, and rushes out. Fel, Bear witness, heart, I had no choice but this! [She stinks into ARTHUR’S arms. ACT IT, SCENE I. An oak chamber in Revesdale Castle ; door at back leading to chapel. Night. Enter ALICE and RICHARD, bearing lamp, and ushering zw ARTHUR RINGWOOD. Alice. This way, your honour—this way, Master Arthur. May it prove a joyful day, or rather night. You're kindly welcome. Rich. Welcome! You forget ’Tis for the young squire here to welcome us. The Castle now is his. _ Alice. How thy wits wander ! Arth, What says good Alice? Rich. Nay, she'll not believe That you’ve bought Revesdale, and are lord of it. Alice. Revesdale’s the lord of Revesdale. In the time Of my grandsire’s grandsire, it had been so years Beyond his count. Arth. It was so then, Alice. What then was Must be so still. I’m grown too old to change. Arth. Too faithful, say. 222 A LIFE’S RANSOM. [ACT Il. Alice. I see now why my son Called you the lord of Revesdale. ’Tis because You'll wed the lady of Revesdale. [Zo RICHARD.] Thy | poor wits 2 That once wast shrewd! ’Tis not the wife gives rank, But the husband. Rest ye, gentles, for awhile ; I'll bring my beauty to ye, my dear child— I’ll bring the bride anon. [She goes out. Enter MATTHEW RINGWOOD. —_—— i i a el al Mat. The priest attends, And all’s prepared. A word with you, friend Richard, On this near marriage. A rth. His true service claims Full confidence. [Zo RICHARD.] Your lady takes a husband . In her brother’s absence—nay, against his will. You like not that, nor I; but reasons strong And just enforce it. Rich. What my mistress does Must needs be right, Arth. True ; but your lord being adverse, We would not use such public ceremony As might offend him ; therefore hold our union Private, as we would have it. Rich. I’ll be heedful. [He retires to back, and occupies himself tn arranging the apartment. Mat. So Revesdale now is ours ! and thy Felicia Knows why we bought the Castle and domain ? Arth. She does. I told her, that should chance restore Her brother’s wealth, it should again be his. Mat. A costly purchase! Ringwood must be sold. To stock our empty coffers. But for that, Its old walls had received you. Rich. See, my mistress ! cat] A LIFE’S RANSOM. 223 Enter FELICIA 7x bridal attire, accompanied by ALICE. Fel. [To ALICE.] Await me here. [Advancing.| An unattended bride, No kindred nor companions to present me To my dear lord, I do present myself. Arth. There is no herald to thy love so fit As its own music. Mat. Bless you for his sake, My brave, true child ! Arth. And yet my heart, Felicia, Half shrinks to take its treasure. If one doubt Fel, There’s no doubt—can be none.—Arthur, I’ve weighed Each point of duty. Basil, ere he went, Left me these written words :—‘ By ail that makes An oath inviolable, on my return You part from Ringwood or from me. Obey, Or seek a separate home.” That oath he'll keep. His journey’s to your rival’s house, in hopes His suit may shake my purpose. To await Basil’s return, what were it but to wage A fruitless strife, and widen for no cause Our household wounds? In all becomes a sister I’d drain my heart for him ; but in that love Which holds not of our kin, but straight from heaven, Doth blend two souls in one—who owns that claim, Must own it paramount. Arth. O, pardon me, If jealousy for thy pure nobleness Makes question still. What if our union, private, Unknown beyond these walls, yet linking us In closest contract, draw on thee reproach From the malignant? What if they should say Mat. What can they say, but that an honoured lady Receives two honoured guests? Ina few days Her brother will return, and all be told. Fel. My love past doubt, I’ll place beyond dispute. ~ a4 A LIFE’S RANSOM. [ACT II. Alice. [Coming forward.| Now, ladybird, the priest < Attends ; my darling’s stayed for. ; Mat. May Heaven’s grace Bless thee, my daughter! ’Tis some forty years Since, as that boy stands now, I stood with one Gentle and fair like thee. She left me him For my age’s solace ; and I think, though friends Are scanty here, perhaps an angel’s eyes | Look on these bridals. There !—don’t think that grief ; Flows in these drops. I see the future through them, i The happy future !—Basil reconciled, As he must be when he knows us, a glad group Round the old man at the hearth, and, in good time, Perhaps upon his knees— What was I saying ? Lean on your bridesman, girl. Now, boy, your arm To Mistress Alice ! Arth. Alice! Alice. Sir, that ever Arth. [Placing her arm in his.| 1 shall claim my kiss ! Alice. Ah, well-a-day ! Mat. Come, daughter ! [ARTHUR wth ALICE, MATTHEW w7th FELICIA, go into the adjoining chapel, from which the music of an organ ts heard, RICHARD lighting them. SCENE II.* An apartment in a roadside hostelry. Fireplace. DRAY- TON, MILES, azd HOLME seated at table before the fire; on table a bottle of wine and glasses. A large screen behind them divides the apartment. Dray. Alone? Miles. [Looking behind the screen.| Not a mouse hears. * An interval of nearly a day is supposed to elapse between the first and second scenes of this act. Soc Ti! A LIFE’S RANSOM. 225 Dray. Then one last cup To our patron ere we move. Flolme. Drink deep—Success To Russell and his mission! [A// drink.| Now or never Is the adventure’s time. The people’s heart Would leap to it. Dray. These Dutchmen never hurry. Miles. Fillup! Our task’s done, and we’ve baffled Bancroft. Hlolme. We're safer, being these twenty miles apart. I liked not his close conference with Lord Revesdale, Dray. No danger there ; a Revesdale ne’er betrayed. And my lord was in our power, having signed to treason, Whose penalty is death. Flolme. | Refilling his glass.| So his lands are sold! Dray. It had been gold well spent had some we wot of Bought Revesdale Castle. Here’s the plan of’t—see! A height commanding all the bay. [He exhibits the plan, and, as they examine and dis- cuss tt, REVESDALE ezfers with the LANDLORD unobserued. Reves. [Apart to LANDLORD.|] Wine, host, And a fresh horse! and quickly. I’d reach home Ere night. [LANDLORD goes ou¢.| Disastrous chance, that called my friend From his house before I reached it, and so wasted My day in the vain hope of his return ! [LANDLORD re-enters with salver and bottle of wine and glass, and places them on table. LANDLORD oes oul, Strangers ! [He retires to back of screen and sits. Dray. Ay, Revesdale Castle’s in bad hands. Miles. In upstart Ringwood’s, who refused our league, Because, forsooth, the cause lacked better vouchers ! fTolme. How brooks the proud Lord Basil to see Ring- wood Master of Revesdale? Viole L. P 226 A LIFE’S RANSOM, [ACT II. Miles. Soon to wed his sister. Holme. A bridegroom who should blazon on his shield Three vats, with crest—a malt-sack! Dray. ’Tis well Revesdale Has been of late from home ; though they were friends, He’d scarcely brook young Ringwood’s license, or This gossip on his sister. [All laugh and rise. flolme. But that tale Touching her chamber! It’s mere jest? Dray. ’Tis sworn to By our landlord’s niece, a dweller in the village, Who, having business with the lady, entered The room inopportunely. [Renewed laughter. leeves. [Starting up, and advancing to them.| May I share Your pleasant secret, sirs? Miles. My lord! Reves. Go on! My sister and her chamber? Stint not breath ; I would laugh too. Dray. Your sister? Reves. Ay, her chamber ? Dray. |Hesttating.| My lord, it has been new furnished in your absence To suit young Ringwood’s taste. Miles. Whereat we laughed. flolme. No offence, I hope? Reves. Beware! You’re warned; beware— Dray. Nay, nay; we fear not threats; but own the claim Of your misfortunes. If in light discourse, We have given unmeant offence, accept our sorrow, And grant your pardon. [REVESDALE dows haughiily, and walks apart.| Come, the day wears down. Flolme. Have with you! Dray. |To MILES, who refills his glass.| Sirrah, dye mean To sit your horse? SC. IL.] ALIFE’S RANSOM. 227 Miles. |Draining his glass.| There, there ! Dray. Good day, my lord ! [DRAYTON, MILES, axd HOLME go oud. Reves. [Coming forward.| My lands are sold then ; Revesdale now is Ringwood’s ! To-day, these men came from the very spot That was our home—was for five hundred years! What meant their mirth about my sister’s chamber ? There lurked beneath it more than they expressed. ’Tis plain that all men know young Ringwood’s suit, And her consent. [After a pause, with uncontrollable pas- ston.| Would hurricanes had strewed Earth with my towers! would that the earth, our soil, Had gaped, and so engulfed them !—Wed Felicia ! Our blood that sprang from mountain heights of time, Caught glory’s rays while all below was dark— Had fate no blast to freeze, no torrid heat To scorch, even to its bed, that stream, or e’er It lapsed into a sluice, and turned a mill-wheel? Well, well ; well, well! [Drinks excitedly, and throws himself into chatr. Enter BANCROFT. Ban. Are those I sought not here ? Mine host is ignorant,-or bribed. [Aszae.] How, Reves- dale! He meets my very wish. That scrupulous sense Called honour sways him so, that in cool blood ’T were vain to tempt him; but I’ve news will lash His passions into fury—fact, broad fact, The man whom most he hates his sister’s guest, And by a village matron found last night Where no foot but a husband’s should intrude ! This, if I know my lord, shall gain my ends, And so arouse his pride, that, like a sea, In fury, and unconscious, he’ll cast up 228 A LIFE?S RANSOM. [ACT II. His inmost secrets. [Fezguing surprise.| Ah! whom do I look on? Lord Revesdale? ’Tis my honoured lord ! _ Reves. [Fiercely.| Your will ? Why mock with this feigned respect a ruined outcast? Ban. Because you are one; I can show respect, And not be thought to flatter. leeves. [Recklessly.] Right !—At least I’m a gainer that way ! Ban. [Aside] Wine or rage, or both, Have fevered him. The better !—you’ve heard all? Reves. | Aside.| Peace, heart! Such griefs as thine are not to prate of, As hawkers prate their ballads.—Yes, sir, all. Ban, That your castle’s sold ? Reves. Ay. Ban. And to whom? Reves. That, too. Ban. You bear it nobly. Strangers were more loud In your behalf than you. No man would bid For your inheritance, save Arthur Ringwood. Reeves. It fell to him cheaply, then? Ban. This fortitude, Though I rejoice at it, seems more than natural. Dull wit! You have compounded with young Ringwood Renewed your friendship! To be sure you have! Well, well! ’Twas prudent ; you had no resource _ But to yield your sister, and to trust his bounty. Reves. Youre venturous, sir ! Ban. Plague on’t ! my rough, blunt way. : I might have guessed before That you were reconciled, or he had not dared, ? While Revesdale yet was yours, to come there wooing, ; Against your strict command. ‘ keves. When I left home— j I mean, left Revesdale ? Ban. There the next day found him, The next to that, the third ; at last he stayed. Beil] A LIFES RANSOM, 229 Reves. Stayed ! where? at Revesdale? and my sister? Ban, There I’m baffled. If with your leave he wooed her, why Forget all caution in his interviews, And draw men’s gossip on her? Reves. Gossip ! Ban. Well, I’m loth to call it scandal, but the world Will judge by what it sees. eves. Judge what? [BANCROFT averts his face.]| Judge what ? Ban, What would you judge yourself, if a gallant, Unwedded, sought a maiden in her home, No father near, nor brother, she alone— Sought her at eve, and had not left at dawn? At least, he slept at Revesdale yesternight. Reves. ’Neath the same roof with her? Ban. Yes, one despatched On an errand to your sister, unawares Entering the boudeir which adjoins her chamber, Found him there late. Reves. In her chamber ? Ban. Nay, I said The adjoining room ; now, though I charge no guilt Reves. Guilt! Guilt! Ban. You're so intemperate ; I but say ’T was indiscreet ! Reves. ’T was indiscreet! Ah! now The jests those men cast on her flash upon me In their foul sense! Felicia, a theme For ribald tongues, a name for reeking lips To mouth between the drainings of a flagon, A key-note to the chorus of such laughter As shakes a tavern ! Ban, | Aside. | The gale whistles now ! Reves. My innocent one, that in her orphanhood Flew to my bosom dovelike ; whose small hand Our dying mother clasped in mine to guard, 230 A LIFE’S RANSOM. [ACT II. And sanctified love’s natural bonds at birth, By prayers in death ; my darling, whom I loved Even as my better self! O traitor! why Not thrust at my heart only? Stripped, forlorn, And humbled, one pang more had cost me little. But she, my sister! There be eyes in heaven That would forget the patience of the place, And haunt me with reproach if I forgave him ! Ban. ’Tis sure he failed in decent reverence to her. Reves. Nay, had she been mere pulseless stone, she stood Niched in the pure tradition of our honour To bend men’s thoughts in homage ; but herself, Whose very life is purity, whose love, Thought, grace, flow from its fount, all purity— To foul that stream of crystal from the urn Of shadowing ages! O, his star ascends And mine dies out ; but from my ashes leaps A comet that shall cross his rising orb With fiery portent in the midst of heaven ! Would we were met ! Ban, Why ? Reves. Ah, why, why? He seeks To blend with the blood of Revesdale, not to spill it— He’d tell me so, I doubt not ! Ban Pity ’tis That you met ever. Reves. | Traversing the room tmpetuously, as tf speak- ing to himself.| Be that hour accursed ! Accursed the shows of genial fellowship And truth that won me to him! Cursed my weak And womanish pity that, while we were strangers, Sealed up my servants’ lips that eagerly Sought to denounce his treason ! Ban. | Aside.| Mad with rage, He knows not what he utters! Treason! Nay eves. It perilled his head, though. Norris, Hurst, and others Of my following, heard it from his own confession. BCalir. A LIFE?>S RANSOM. 231 Ban. |Musing.| Norris and Hurst! Some skirmish then. | Approaching REVESDALE.] I say Some petty skirmish, then ? eves. |Impatiently. | Ay, ay, his sword Drawn for the rebels while they fled or rallied. I know not nor remember, I but felt His danger and my pity. Ban. | Aside. | Hurst and Norris May have better memories.—And he stung the heel That, raised, could crush him. Reves. Peace! Ban. His very life Lying in your grasp,—you see ! Leves. Not I! Ban. That’s strange. He is a traitor * you, with Hurst and Norris, Could prove him such. [Laying his hand familiarly on REVESDALE’S arm. Reves. Off, sir! [Zhrows off BANCROFT.] I spear the foe That dares me with his tusk ; but I don’t chase him To pitfalls for the butcher ! Ban. Humph ! the king May be less precise in his hunting. Reves. Ah! You would not—— Ban. Fair journey to your lordship. [ Going. Reves. Bancroft, stay ! Ban. Not now; youre ruffled, and you shook me off As the bloodhound’s paws had soiled you. [Aszde.| Hurst and Norris ! [BANCROFT goes out. Reves. [After a pause, as tf bewildered.\| What have I done? Now do I see his drift. The villain who would tempt me thus would he Or colour truth to dupe me. I'll pursue And drag him back! But wherefore? Could I chain His limbs, his tongue were free. That must be stilled 232 A LIFP?S RANSOM, [Act 30 At any cost! [/oves to the door.| His horse’s hoofs! They trample Upon a living path—my honour! Yes, I’ve betrayed Ringwood ! ay, betrayed—the sin Of basest cowards. Vain to say my words Flew from me like the unconscious sparks from iron , That’s hammered when afire ;—twas in the furnace Of my own pride I let this demon heat me, And beat me to his shaping! Fool, whose hand, Clutching the shows of nobleness, let slip The very thing! And Arthur—ah, why linger? They may be on his track, his life the game, And not a voice to warn ! [Seczing his hat and cloak. I should have wings To save him! Ah, what wing will overtake Those angels who have fled me—Peace and Honour ! [He rushes out. SCENE TIT. A spacious Gothic entrance-hall in Revesdale Castle ; a massive statrcase leading to apartments ; many portraits of the Revesdale family are suspended conspicuously on the wall, cheering and dance music heard without; doors open, Enter GILES, RICHARD, azd SERVANTS. Giles. O happy day! You’re sure of this good news? Rich. Quite sure ; my mistress had it in a letter From some great lord in London—Lord—Lord Norville. He has pleaded with the king, and made him pay His debts to our master. Giles. Hurrah ! | 7o ¢he rest.| D’ye hear? Lord Basil Is rich again; the good old times we knew Are back once more. ers Brave news! brave news! Rich. Lord Revesdale, SUA) A LIFE’S RANSOM, 23 o>) Being absent, knows not yet this happy change. Would he were here! He’s to have Revesdale back. Our young squire bought it in the hope some chance Like this might give it to his friend again. Giles. He’s a true friend, Squire Arthur ! [PEASANTS laugh and shout without. Rich. See, here comes A holiday group! Our lady has thrown open The park and house for a festival in honour Of these blithe tidings ; but the night drives in Our merry-makers. Enter male and female PEASANTS, preceded by ALICE. Alice. | Advancing from the groupin great excitement. | Now, son, who was right ? Said I not Revesdale still was lord of Revesdale ? And now all say it. Strike up, lads and girls! [Music. A dance. Giles. I could shake a leg myself. [Offers his arm to ALICE, who, unable to control her- self, joins the dance, Rich. [At conclusion of the dance.) Hold, hold, our lady ! [FELICIA, MATTHEW, azd ARTHUR apfear on the staircase, PEASANTS, &c., range themselves at Side. ; Join all! Long life to Revesdale and our lady! Chorus. | By the group,| Long live Lord Revesdale and his noble sister ! Giles. And his honour and Squire Arthur ! Group. Ay, long life And happiness to all! Fel. Thanks, thanks, good friends ! ' Let me not check the mirth, for my heart shares it. [FELICIA, MATTHEW, azd ARTHUR descend the staircase and advance to front; all bow and curtsey, and then retire towards doors. 234 A LIFE’S RANSOM. [ACT II. Mat. [To dancers.| Well done! Fall to again! [Zo FELICIA.] I feel So light, so gay! I never see the young Glad, but my old heart leaps up wild and full. I must dance, or sing, or kiss some one; I must ! For fear of accidents, it shall be you. [Kisses her tenderly. Fel. Fie! You, a veteran! Mat. Veteran, girl! I’m young. True youth is like true wine—the longer kept, The more the spirit of the grape comes out, Arth. There wants but one thing to complete our joy— Basil’s return. Mat. How, scapegrace? Do you feel No awe of the man from whom you’ve stolen his sister ? Fel. No danger now. The winter that congealed His love dispelled, ’twill open all its sweets In Fortune’s sunshine. ’Tis not in his heart To turn from your devotion. Mat. What delays him ? Tis clear he’s not with Norville, who despatched The letter that restored your brother’s rights From London. Fel. You speak anxiously. Mat. No, no; There’s nought to fear. And yet ’tis true the land Is rife with plots. Arth. - [Tm glad of it! Mat. Hush! Scarce a house But holds a spy. Hundreds are daily seized In the name of Order. Arth. Order—name abused ! When shall this harassed land know order more ?— The glad obedience freemen pay the laws That keep them free. Cruelty on the bench, Fraud in the council, menace everywhere, The heart denied its commerce with the tongue— weer it | We LLCS RANSOM, 235 Can there be order? Can unscrupulous power Strike on a nation’s heartstrings with a gauntlet, And look for music ? Mat. Tis said all men’s hopes Are set on Holland; but the cautious prince Resists entreaty. Arth. Till his time be ripe. ’ [Laughter from the DANCERS @t¢ back. Fel. Leave these grave themes, and list their happy laughter. [A pause, during which they watch the DANCERS. Reves. | Without.] Way, there! My sister! Arthur! Fel. Ah, that voice ! [Zhe group divides in consternation. REVESDALE rushes in. | My brother ! [Going to him. Reves. Touch me not! No, no embrace. Hence, Arthur, for your life ! Arth. Go, friends. [PEASANTS go out with ALICE, RICHARD, avd GILES. Doors are closed,| Now, Basil ? Reves. [Astde.] He is here ; in that Bancroft spoke truth. [Zo ARTHUR .] By what right do you share One home with her ? Fel. By the best right—a husband’s, My brother eves. [Aside.| Married ! That explains the slander. Married ! What depths of horror at that word Yawn in my path! Fly, Arthur, fly ! Fel. You speak In terror, not in wrath. Reves. Fly ! Arth. On this night, That hails you back to Revesdale—to your Revesdale ! Fel, Ay, brother, yours. Lord Norville from the king Has won your rights, and Arthur holds your lands But to restore them. 236 A LIFES RANSOM. [ACT IT, Reves. [Aside.| Restore them! This for me, Beyond redemption lost! [Zo ARTHUR.] Why do you stand With that calm brow, when every moment falls Like a sand from the glass of fate? Fly for yout life, From hence, from England ! Mat. What do you mean? Reves. ’Tis known— His treason, or the deed which the law calls so, Is known. His foes are mustering, on their way, Fleet as the wind, stanch as remorse ; there’s not To spare a second! Arth. If suspicion’s roused, Flight would confirm it. Those who seek my life May lie in wait at the port. ’Twere wiser far To stay and front them. “Reves. Madness! [Kneeling to ARTHUR.] On my™ knees I do beseech you Fel, Hear him, Arthur ; yield, My heart’s beloved ! Arth. And leave thee? Fel. Ay, to save Thyself—my self, that’s wrapped in thine. Arth. But, hear me! Fel. Hear me! We'll fly together ! Mat. It must not be. Arthur was right. Where are the proofs against him? His deed is known to none save Basil here And his trusty servants. A\ll’s secure ; we'll face This crisis! [Zo FELIcIA.] Courage! Reves. [| Aside.] Then I must confess My baseness. Arthur! Arth, Basil, ’tis your zeal For me provokes these fears. Ah! when most harsh, I felt that you were still my friend at heart, My warm, true friend ! SC) Itr.} A LIFE’S RANSOM. 237 Reves. No, listen! If a wretch—— Ah! [A loud knocking ts heard without. REVESDALE stands as tf tranced in horror. A short interval of silence. Knocking repeated. Fel. Husband ! Reves. To the library. It opens On the rear of the park—the private path! Escape! [Drawing his sword and rushing to the door. I'll guard the door. More strength than’s packed in iron Stiffens this arm! Hence! there’s yet time. [Louder knocking and clamour without. Arth. [Seizing REVESDALE’S arm. | Resist not ! Your life is perilled now. Reves. What bliss if that Could ransom thine! [Struggling with ARTHUR. | Arth. Be calm; I must remain. The doors are burst open, and BANCROFT enters, followea by two OFFICERS of the Militia. Ban. Disarm that madman ! Teves. [OFFICERS disarm REVESDALE.] Villain! Ban. Arthur Ringwood, I arrest you for high treason ! Mat. On whose charge? Ban. {Aside to OFFICERS.] See those men, Hurst and Norris, kept apart, Then stand in call; quick! [Zo OFFICERS go out. | Arth., Still athirst for blood! Ban. Is it so strange in a bloodhound? That’s the name You and my lord gave me; the name that crowds Chorus with yells. When I was so baptized, You were my sponsors. Giving me the name, Should I not have the nature? Know, your crime, If proved, is death, Mat. Say, who accuses him ? 238 A LIFE'S RANSOM. [ACT II, None save you have suborned them. Ah, beware! My boy is loved of the peasants, Ban. No mob escort Shall see your son to prison; a detachment Of the king’s force is sent for in his honour. Mat. Task for his accuser. Ban. Ask my lord. Arth. Insolent scoffer ! Fel. [Crossing to REVESDALE, and speaking to him aside.| Do not heed him, Basil. Your anguish helps suspicion. It was night When the fray chanced ; none recognised my husband, Or he had been seized before. Reves. ’Tis known ! Fel, To none But Hurst and Norris, our old faithful followers ; They would not act a baseness which no tongue Could curse to the full. Reves. There was a third—a third Who knew ! Fel. Who? If he have betrayed My noble Arthur, may that solemn justice, Which, unlike man’s, looks to the heart as well As to the act, judge him! Reves. It does, it does ! Fel. His name? Why droop your head? He can- not be Your friend. You shudder! Ah, what fearful thoughts Dart through my brain! Your feud with Arthur, your , Close intercourse with Bancroft, now that look! No, no—I loathe my mind for the doubt distraction, Not reason, prompts! Speak, brother, speak in mercy ! This traitor’s name? Reves. Behold him! [During the previous dialogue MATTHEW, ARTHUR and BANCROFT have approached them. Arth. Whom? , sc. 111.] A LIFE'S RANSOM. 239 Ban, A witness To your guilt, Here, sirs ! [He goes up the stage and calls in OFFICERS. Mat, My son! [Zo FELICIA, who turns to ARTHUR. | Away ! Thou hast no part in him ! thou art his sister. fel. No! Arth. Father ! Mat. Forgive me, girl! [Zatends his hand to her. Arth. Basil, what brought thee To this abasement ? eves. [ln a deep whisper.| Why, my pride, that listened Unto that demon ! Fel. [To ARTHUR.] Speak no more; let’s meet Our fate in silence. Arth, Wife, his wretchedness Doth outweigh ours. Look on him, and have pity, Mat. Pity! he had none. Arth. [To REVESDALE.| Say, how wast thou wrought To this extreme? Reves. I deemed by you our house Had suffered shame, [ Zwo OFFICERS go out: Fel. [With bitter laughter.| Our house! [ARTHUR signs to her to be silent.| If any speak, Imust. Ourhouse! Thy house! Where ranks thy name In its rollof heroes? [Ponting to portraits.|. See, their pictured forms Start into life and ask thee! Art thou heir Of him whose chivalry spared gallant foes? Thou didst not spare thy friend! Of him whose counsels Quelled bloody strife *twixt kingdoms? Thou hast stained With blood thy hearth! Of him whose tuneful lips Sang noble deeds? How will this deed of thine Tell with the minstrels? Rise, ye shapes august, And with your lips, white more with scorn than death, Renounce him for your son ! 240 A LIFE’S RANSOM. [ACT III. Ban. Come, the king’s business must be cared for now. Those stand without, who, till the troops arrive, Will be your guard in the castle. Arth. I am ready. Fel. But not alone. There’s yet one comfort, love— That I can knit my fate so close with thine, No hand shall rend them. We await our doom. Ay, ours! If he be guilty, I partake His glorious crime ! A rth. Felicia ! fel, I concealed him Within these walls to save his life. I failed, I triumph now, for I shall share his death ! [Casts herself on ARTHUR’S neck. Arth, What hast thou said ? Ban. I would it were unspoken, I meant not ill to her; but for this deed The law exacts its due. [Goes up and signals, Several OFFICERS enter; at a sign from OFFICERS, ARTHUR and FELICIA, followed by MATTHEW, go up towards door.| Conduct them hence. Reves. [As if awaking from stupor.) No, wretch! I'll save them—save [FELICIA, ascending steps towards door, turns ana looks earnestly at REVESDALE; all go out but REVESDALE, who stands awhile dumb and motionless ; then, with a cry, falls prostrate. AGTH ligsSCENKER Same as last Scene. REVESDALE 7s seated in an attitude of mental prostration, RICHARD /eans over him; BANCROFT stands apart, watching ihem, Ban. [To RICHARD.] He'll not answer? ae A LIFE’S RANSOM, 241 Rich. You’ve done your work too well; for these two hours Has he sat thus, more kin to death than life. Lan. | Aside.| Yet he must speak; for there be secrets still I would worm from him.— Bid the guard conduct His sister here ; the sight of her may rouse him, Rich. Ay, to new torture. Ban. Better that than humour A fatal lethargy. Go! [RICHARD goes out.| Our state secretary Writes in reproach—| Reading from a letter. |—“that Ihave missed my clew To traitors here, who signed the requisition To the Prince of Orange.” Now, of these, ’tis like One is young Ringwood. His known lenity To Monmouth’s faction, and the treasonous acts By him committed, make suspicion strong. Could I discover this, and his confederates Deliver up to justice, wealth and honours Beyond all hope were mine. By threats or wiles, Ill wring the truth from Revesdale. Enter FELICIA, guarded by two OFFICERS, Ou. i.etire, [OFFICERS retire to door. A torpor on your brother hangs, pernicious To health and life. Your voice, perchance, may wake His slumbering sense. Fel. [Gazing on him.| So prostrate! O my brother! Now that my heart is calmer, it consents To my dear husband’s pleading. Thy remorse Tells of a soul not base, but sorely tempted. Turn thy face hither ; ’tis thy sister, Basil, Entreats thee! eves. [Vacantly.] Who? Fel. Felicia. Reves. Let no bless’d shape VOL. I. Q 242 A LIFE’S RANSOM. [ACT IIL. Visit this gulf. There’s one to come; for him I wait here. Fel. Whom expect you? Reves. Go! yovurre fair And pure ; he’ll not consort with such, the fiend Who plunged me here. Ban. [Approaching with coarse laughter.| He raves ! eves. [Springing upon him.| Ah, ah! thou’rt come ; I have thee in my gripe! Ban. Let go your hold! Madman, be warned! release me! Off, I say! I’ll crush thee to the earth ! Reves. Fool! dost thou think My arms enfold thee merely? ’Tis my soul That grasps its tempter! Mighty with despair, It twines around thee, drags thee down, down, down To its perdition ! Ban. Off! I choke! What right Have you for this? I sought my enemy’s life, But you eves. [Pausing.| Ay, well? Ban. Betrayed your friend ! eves. [Releases him and staggers back:| Thou’rt right, Thou fast crushed me to the earth! Fel. Basil! eves. 1 look on thee, yet live! Fel. You never dreamed Of these sad issues. *ITwas a moment’s frenzy Surprised and overcame you. Reves. Is’t to a wretch Like me, your murderer Fel. Listen! If I’m wronged, I have a claim on thee. Oh, let my words Fall in thy soul like holy seed, which time Shall turn to fruitful duty. Live to prove He who repents can expiate; live to serve Thy kind, that thou may’st say, when grateful hearts 6G; 1] A LIFES RANSOM. 243 Bless thee—I had a sister once, whose spirit Still lives in mine ; she prayed for me, she blessed me ; With her last breath she won me from despair, And left me what I am! [REVESDALE zxterrupts her with a cry of anguish. Ban. |Looking off: | A step ! who comes? Enter OFFICER. Well, sir, the troops? Officer. Are on their way, I met them with a force More fit to take a city than a prisoner. Ban. A wise precaution. Officer. On their heels the crowd Followed with shouts, Ban. And curses, doubtless. Officer. That I know not; I but bore your summons to their captain. He laughed—“ Your errand’s stale ; we were already Bent towards Revesdale.” Ban. [Surprised] So! Officer. I set spurs to horse, And thus outrode them. [At a sign of dismissal from BANCROFT, OFFICER goes out. Ban. Lady, you’ve scant time For preparation. Fel. Basil, one embrace ! Reves. No,no! [Rushing up to BANCROFT.] Bancroft, as yet the law knows not Of their offence ; have pity—save her !—save Her husband! Ban. What, so low? Reves. [Sinking on his knees.| Ay, in the dust. Where should guilt be? Solow! Oh, thou mightst tower Above me like a god! This prostrate thing That’s at thy knees, helpless, disgraced, and hopeless, A word from thee can fire with hope, strength, honour, The worm crawls ; thou canst bid it rise a man! 244 A LIFE'S RANSOM. [AcT I. Ban. There’s but one chance. Let Ringwood own his share In the petition [Showzng a letter] to the Prince of Orange, And trust to the king’s mercy. Reves. [| Rising. ] What petition P Ban. That signed by traitors, urging William’s presence, Implying, if not offering, support. Reves. [Aside.| The same I signed that day Felicia’s prayers Won me from the conspiracy. [Aloud.] He never Set hand to that. Ban. Then he can give no clew To the plot. I cannot save them. ’Tis of moment, Most vital, some accomplice in that act Should be discovered. Reves. [Aside. | And my signature To the requisition makes me such accomplice! Ban. Time hurries, Officers! Reves. Go, sister. Bancroft, Remain. Fel. One last embrace. Reves. Not now—I dare not; yet, A time may come, Go; we shall meet once more, Once more, my sister. [FELICIA goes out, guarded by two OFFICERS.| Now, you said detention Of one who signed that deed was vital. Save My sister and her husband, and I place An accomplice in your power. Ban. (Aside. | Ah! he bids high, If I could trust him ; yet to lose my vengeance ! Stay ; I might compass both. Were Ringwood free, The troops who are at hand might overtake him. Reves. Your answer! The king’s force is nigh. Ban. What ground Have I to trust you? Reves. This: I have confessed I know the traitor. If I break my word, The peril lights on me. SCHI1.] A LIFE’?S RANSOM. 245 Ban. It does already. Reves. I can be silent. Ban. [Aside.| True ; the prey meanwhile May cheat me and escape. Will this accomplice Name his confederates ? Reves. No. Ban. | Aside. | A foolish question ! Once seized, if he prove obstinate, the rack Will force avowal. And within what time Will you reveal the culprit ? Reves. When my sister And Ringwood are safe on shipboard. Ban. [Aside.] lll so plan That ere they well spread sail they are pursued. Should they escape, the stake will justify My venture to the king. I take your terms. Reves. Quick, then; release them ! Ban. Should you fail, be sure Your life-—— Reves. Will answer it. Ban. , I go; we meet Straight in the courtyard ; but your pledge—remember ! [BANCROFT goes out. Reves. He yields; they may be rescued! They may live In joy, with children round them, and my life, My worthless life, may save them. Well said, sister ; He who repents can expiate ! | He goes out. SCENE II. Courtyard of the Castle. Very large centre gates. Enter BANCROFT aud OFFICER, Bar. Mount you the roof of the castle; it commands The road for miles. The instant you catch sight 246 A LIFE’S RANSOM. [ACT III. Of the troops, return ; [’ll speed you with instructions To meet their leader. [OFFICER goes out.| So, ’tis well contrived. Enter REVESDALE avd RICHARD. Reves. She lies in the offing ? Rich. Ay, sir. Reves. Bound, you say, To Holland? Haste, good Richard ; see a boat Straight manned by the beach, and thither summon friends From the peasants and our people. Rich. Think it done. [RICHARD goes out. eves. [To BANCROFT.] The order for release Ban. Is given; even now Your sister and her husband quit the door. eves. They pass this way ! Ban. I’ve kept my share of the compact ; Look to your own ! keves. |Astde.] ’Twill be a last farewell, And then these arms will no more fold a sister So noble, so forgiving, nor this hand Clasp his whom I so wronged, so basely wronged, And now would ransom! May they never know That ransom’s price! Enter FELICIA and ARTHUR, preceded by four OFFICERS, followed by ALICE, GILES, and a group of domestics, who press around them. Fel. Farewell, till happier times! [bracing ALICE. Oh, they willcome! Farewell, kind friends ! [FELICIA axd ARTHUR, wifi OFFICERS, advance. Fel. My brother ! Heaven has had mercy, and your prayers prevailed. Reves. They did. sc. IL] A LIFES RANSOM. 247 Arth. [Glancing at BANCROFT.] And could his heart be touched with pity? Tis strange ! Reves. Arthur ! Arth. (Giving his hand.] Basil, believe no thought Of harshness lives between us. Reves. I believe it, My generous friend ; farewell ! Fel. Now to thine arms ! Reves. Yes; now I think I dare embrace thee. Bless, Oh, bless and pardon me! [ They embrace. Fel. From my heart’s depths. But we shall meet again ; you'll join us soon In the new land we seek? Promise! Reves. [Very tenderly.] How like you are To our lost mother, sweet! That's the same look Of anxious love she wore when we two children Rode from the hall, and I, rash brother, urged , Your palfrey to his speed, or from the bough Broke off the blossoming chestnut for your hat. Fel. Ah, those old days, they'll come again ! once more Well be boy and girl together. [Anzriously.| Dear, we part But for a time. Reves. But for a time, Felicia— But for a time. Arth. Nay, there’s some mystery. [Pozuting. [ Zo BANCROFT.] Basil, you stand not in his power? Reves. |Affecting gaiety. | His power ! His power! You stand so, lingering here ; no safety Till you embark! Think of your father, Arthur ; He waits you on the beach. Farewell, farewell— No word but that! Arth. Basil ! Fel. My brother ! [ Returning and embracing him. Reves. Go! [He gently forces them-off, OFFICERS following ; ALICE, GILES, aud domestics go out. 248 A LIFE’S RANSOM. [ACT III. - Ban. [Aside.| The troops not yet in sight ! Reves. [Watching FELICIA and ARTHUR from side.| The gate stands open ; The beach is lined with friends ; they pass the walls ; The living lane divides; and yet one group Conceals the boat. Ah, now ’tis clear! the pilot Stands at the helm; they pause! ’Tis to embrace Their father. Now her foot is on the plank, And Arthur follows her. The rowers bend ; It moves ! it moves to the wide seas; they’re saved ! Thank God! thank God! (Kneeling. Ban. | Aside.| May storm and hidden shoal Wreak my full hate on Ringwood ! [.Saddenly, to REVESDALE.] Now, your pledge ! That traitor who subscribed the requisition— His name? Where lurks he? Reves. Lurks ! Why should he lurk ? The caitiff in his mesh lurks spider-hke, Who from his very filament of life Spins death for others ; cowards lurk, who gag Men’s reason by their passions, and then strike A soul in fetters ; bravos lurk, sometimes Beneath a soldier’s cloak, and, spite of all, The slouch betrays them. Lurk! lurk thou! Thy victim Stands in broad day and waits thee. Ban. Who? Reves. Myself. Ban. You signed that deed ? Reves. Ay. Ban. And you know your doom? Reves, ’Tis death. Ban. I see: you think to ’scape By naming your confederates. Well, proclaim them. Reves. Never! they’re fled: thou hast lost the scent. [With scornful laughter. Ban. (Enraged, and half drawing.| Beware! Reves. [Touching the sword-hilt.| It is a sword; I thought to have seen a knife. SC. I1.] A LIFE’S RANSOM. 249 Ban. Mark, then; ’tis not your death alone impends, But, ere death, torture. Reves. Torture! Man, I’ve lain Upon the rack—remorse ; can thine affright me? Re-enter OFFICER. Ban. Well, laggard ? Officer. Sir, the troops Lan. A curse reward their dallying !— Officer. Are at hand. But for the mist, we had descried them long since. Ban, To your horse, and hide Your rowels in his flanks! Haste them ! Officer. They come, Battalion on battalion, and the shout Of following crowds roars like a distant sea. [He goes out. Ban, That’s strange! such numbers! [Goes Zo side.| Ah, the boat returns ! And with its freight—Ringwood, his wife! They land, And bend this way. Unlooked-for chance! Fools, fools ! They’re in my power at last, for now the troops Will bar escape ! Reves. O fatal sight! Back, back! Ban. They’re welcome. Guards! Enter FELICIA, ARTHUR, MATTHEW, avd OFFICERS. The tables turn, my lord. Their lives and yours are at my mercy. Arth. No! Fel. Hold, husband! What! his life? Ban. He has confessed To a treasonous plot, and thereby bought your rescue, But screens his guilty partners. Hark, the troops ! . [Military music without. Not theirs slow justice. In one hour they try, Pronounce, despatch! Look on that pair. [Poznts to FELICIA avd ARTHUR.] The sun 250 A LIFE’S RANSOM. [ACT IIL. Climbs, they bask in his light, are here. An hour He will be in his zenith ; but where they? ’Tis you must answer. Speak! Your comrades’ names, Or friend and sister perish ! [Ze beckons to OFFICERS, who advance towards FELICIA and ARTHUR ; they halt ata signal from BANCROFT. Reves. Wretch ! to bribe The conscience through the heart. [/z great agony.]| Felicia! Arthur! What ! must a brother doom them, or pollute Their very lives by blood! Off, tempter, off ! No; I'll not buy their pure lives with dishonour. Earth has a Judge; I trust in Him to save them. Fel, [Embracing him.| O,twice redeemed, my brother ! Mat. [To REVESDALE.] My brave son! Ban. [To OFFICERS.] Away with them! Away! Fel. They will not stir. Ban. How? Fel. |Clinging to REVESDALE.| Hear! As through the mist we ploughed the main, A skiff crossed ours. Its pilot stayed our course, Inquired our name and errand. These being told, “ Return !” he cried ; “no need to quit your shores ; Friends follow you—friends able to protect Or to avenge.” Wouldst meet those friends? [Cheering without at back.| Uark, hark, The cheers of thousands greet them !} [Discharge of artit- lery at back.| Does that sound Shake thee? ’Tis but a whisper to the shout A nation’s heart would utter—a free nation’s ! Enter RICHARD, GILES, axd ALICE. Setainers ana Peasants rush in, shouting, Fling wide the gates! See William of Nassau, The Prince of Orange! [Zhe large gates are thrown open, and discover in the distance the fleet, PRINCE WILLIAM OF d Bir ell. | A LIFE’S RANSOM. 251 ORANGE disembarking, the coast lined with troops and others. Soldiers, Banner-men, and Dignitaries discovered: renewed discharge of artillery, FELICIA throws herself into ARTHUR’S arms, Ban. But the troops Mat. Go over to the Prince. [Zo Soldiers who have entered.| Secure this man. [ Soldiers seize BANCROFT. Wretches, by him suborned, as I shall prove, Have brought the innocent to timeless death. Mat. Off with him ! [Several Soldiers go out with BANCROFT. Arth. How fares Basil? Reves. Oh, as one Who, ’scaped from shipwreck, wakes, half deeming still The billows round him, but beholds the earth And the soft sky. Mat. You wake in a new reign. Fel. And, brother, with new hopes. Reves. To a new life! [Renewed shouts and discharge of artillery; the Prince ts seen surrounded by his suite; he takes off his hat; flourish and shouts. END OF A LIFE’S RANSOM. | THE - PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. A Tragedy, Lie eRe Io Vries. Cor Sy 7" Che Patrician’s Daughter. first performed at the THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE, o7 Saturday, December 10, 1842. CHARACTERS. THE EARL OF LYNTERNE, a statesman, Mr PHELPS. CAPTAIN PIERPOINT, Ais nephew, . Mr Hupson. HEARTWELL, pps Mr ELTON. LISTER, tenia ; Mr G. BENNETT. MoORDAUNT, afterwards Sir Edgar Mor- daunt, ‘ j ‘ : : . Mr MACREADY. ne friends of Mordaunt, . oe anes LORD CHATTERLY, . : : . Mr SELBY. Sir ARCHER TAUNTON, : : . MrM. BARNETT. PHYSICIAN, . : : ; ; . Mr RYDER. SOLICITOR, : : £. Mr YARNOLD. THE EARL’S SERVANT, ; : . Mr BENDER. MORDAUNT’S SERVANT, ; ».Mr C; J. SMItE: LaDy LypIA LYNTERNE, the L£arl’s sister, pe, RE * a6 Vito ee Lapy MABEL LYNTERNE, ¢he Zarl’s daughter, . ; : ; : . Miss HELEN FAUCIT. LADY CHATTERLY, : : ‘ . Miss ELLIs. LADY TAUNTON, ; ; F . Mrs SELBY, ATTENDANT, ; : : : . Mrs WATSON. Wedding- Guests, Servants, &c. & ce. Time, 1842. Scene, Partly at the Earl of Lynterne’s country seat, partly at Mordaunt’s house at Richmond. An interval of five years ts supposed to elapse between third and fourth acts ; also an interval of some months between fourth and fifth acts. fiers r AT RIGLANS*DAUGHPER AGA SL SCLIN oL Library in Lynterne Castle. The EARL and LADY MABEL discovered. Mab, | With a book.| Yes, my dear lord ; But have you read this scene? Earl. | Who is seated by table,| 1 have not. But the point in hand, dear Mabel. Mab. ’Tis full of mirth and sprightly incident, And keen, bright satire, through all which the heart Breathes truth and sympathy! Oh, how I love To track a noble soul in masquerade ! Earl. If it so please you, Mabel, that I wait Until your raptures shall expend themselves, I am content. [He arranges papers. MABEL, after a pause, rises and gives the book to the EARL, standing by his side. Maé. You think, dear father, that I trifle. No! You question of a lover; I reply By comment on a book—themes separate, As it may seem to you, but in my mind Blended together ; for the qualities This book discloses I would have inspire The man to whom my tributary soul Should render its allegiance. By 256 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. [acT 1. Earl. Poor child! the author of the book you laud, This limner of the mind’s fastastic dreams, Long ere old age found his art profitless, Foreswore his troth to fancy,—and died rich. [Returns the book. Mab, His book is henceforth sealed to eyes of mine. Oh, how degraded is the venal soul Chartered by its Creator to be free, Yet putting on the dull world’s livery, Not the less menial for its golden fringe ! [Laying the volume on table. Earl, You are enthusiastic, my fair girl! I blame you not; those who aspire too high Rest nearer heaven than those who ne’er aspired. I love you, Mabel. For me you sum up every human tie Save those which link me to my country’s weal, Your mother lives in you, and in some sort You are my age’s bride as well as daughter ; To lose you were a second widowhood. My only child! sole tenant of the heart Your brothers, did they live, would share with you ! Mab. [Embracing him,| O my dear lord and father, well I know Your love, your patient and forgiving love, To your oft wayward Mabel! Your desire Shall guide me in this matter! But command, And I will wed Sir Everard, Earl, At no command unsanctioned by your heart Would I require you wed! Yet would I speak Of poor Sir Everard a word or two, And leave to time and your own heart the judgment, He loves you well, is generous and kind. Mab. He is most kind ; he is most generous. Eazl. And though he be no genius, has fine taste In arts that charm a woman’s eye and ear ; Has an accomplished mind and graceful bearing, Mab. That all who know Sir Everard will confess. SC.c7.] JHE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER, 207 Earl, Is rich. Mab. He has the broadest lands in Warwickshire. Earl. And has the one great requisite—high birth. Mab. Most true; and yet I hope, possessing these, He has no more than I; for generous, I trust, I am, and riches and descent I know we have, surpassing even his own. Larl. And do you hold these things of light account ? Methinks they should be potent arguments. Mab. True ; but the heart ne’er guides its choice by logic. There is nought rational in love ; it has, Above all reason, high prerogative. Who is there that hath loved because he ought? ¢ The meet, the proper, and the dutiful Z Belong to the head’s lore ; above all rule Is the heart’s passion, gushing like a stream, In its exuberant nature finding law For all it doth, and pouring oft, alas ! Its unblessed course along the wilderness Which reason would have taught it to avoid. Earl. Then Mabel is in love ; for never, sure, Was one who valued reason less than she. Mab. Not so; for, although reason makes not love, Love may consist with reason ; am I right? Now, if you grant me audience, | will Possess you of my secret thoughts, till now Nursed in the solitude of my own heart. He whom my will shall for its king elect Must bring me something more than that I have ; Women who marry seldom act but once; Their lot is, ere they wed, obedience Unto a father ; thenceforth to a husband ; But in the one election which they make, Choice of a mate for life and death, and heaven, They may be said to act. The man they wed Is as the living record of their deed, Their one momentous deed. If he be base, It veils their deed with shame ; if he be great, VOL. I, R 258 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGATER. [ACT I. Encircles it with glory ; and if good, Haloes it with religion. Would you know Whom I would have to be my husband? Listen, In brief terms I will sketch him. He shall be High born, handsome, I’d rather; but at least With features lit up by the sacred light Which marks the elect band of noble men Whose history is the world’s, and whose high names, Linked close with empires, sound their synonymes : With eye that quails not in the war ; with voice That thrills the popular ear, and o’erawes senates ; And of a wide, ceaseless benevolence, Bounded but by the walls of the great world ; And, oh! whene’er affection breathed his name, Or mind did homage to it, should my heart Rush back to the bright hour when first I chose him, Saying it was my act Earl. Well, well, my sweet one! all I would require Is, that the proffered love you cannot take, You should put back with thoughtful gentleness. I censure not your nature. Some there be, Of a romantic spirit like your own, Have thought all decencies chimerical, And linked their fate with that of men obscure, That they might thereby show contempt of station And all that wisdom holds inviolate : But this from you I fear not; you have been Nurtured too well; you are too much my daughter. Mab. You do me justice, sir; think not that I Will e’er disgrace our lineage ; whom I wed High in descent, noble in mind, shall be. Earl. Thou art my best beloved ; but leave me now— [4s MABEL zs retiring.| Stay, Mabel; one word more with you! To-morrow A visitor named Mordaunt tarries here ; Perhaps a week or two as it may be. Show him all kindness ; though of humble birth, He is no common man ;—may serve me much, Scuii.] THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER, 259 Mab. Mean you the Mordaunt? Earl. I did not know his fame had risen so high As to make him the Mordaunt ; but I think We mean the same man ; he whose eloquence Has stirred the Commons so. Mab, My Mordaunt is a poet. Earl, True! he has That failing, I believe, and ’tis a great one In public men; but time will cure him of it. Mad. Fie, fie, my lord! Do we not mourn when time Plants wrinkles on the brow? and shall we joy When his touch chills the freshness of the heart ? For such is poetry. Earl. Be it so, chit! I'll not contest the point ; as to this stranger, Let his reception be most courteous. I would we could persuade Aunt Lydia To doff her stateliness for some few days ; It must be looked to; let us seek her, sweet. Mab. With all my heart; [Z7houghtfully.| the Mor- daunt! [Rousing herself, and giving her hand to EARL.] O, I’m ready. [They go out. SCENE II. MORDAUNT’S House at Richmond. Enter LISTER, HARTWELL, MORDAUNT, COLVILLE, ana DEANCOURT. Dean. Decide for one of us. Col. My yacht’s the thing ! After your labours you need change of scene— Almost of element, which you shall have, When, the dull land forgotten, our light skiff The Mediterranean skims. Dean. There’s nothing beats A good old English house—the morning rides ; A sweep, perchance, o’er hill and hedge to sound 260 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. (ACT a Of the enlivening bugle ; then at night The merry party, and the bright fireside, The good old games and stories. Fleart. Gentlemen, Duties are sometimes pleasures. Perhaps Mordaunt May hold the cares of public life too dear To wish a respite, though it be recess. Lis. We cannot spare him from us. Col. I will take No answer but his own. Dean. Nor I]! Mor. Good friends, Hold me excused, I pray you. Were my will To arbitrate this matter, I would go Delightedly with both ; but, as it is, I stand engaged already. [Zo HEARTWELL.] That reminds me To ask your eye for this. [Presenting a letter which HEARTWELL reads, Dean. If it be so, There’s nothing left but to regret your absence, And wish you well in ours. Farewell till spring. Col. Adieu, dear Mordaunt. Mor. Heaven be with you, friends. Lis. Vil walk with you. Mor. What! all take flight together ? Heart. V'll stay in pity to your solitude. [Zo the others.| I trust ere you leave London we shall meet. [LISTER, COLVILLE, azd DEANCOURT go out. HEARTWELL carelessly folds up and returns the letter. I had expected this ; you are a prize To him who shall have wit to capture you; But who is he? Not this complacent Lynterne— This sleek and courteous lord. You must have smiled, My Edgar, at each gracious period. He has a high esteem for you, forsooth ! od /_ sc. I1.] THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER, 261 Admires your noble views, your mind’s great scope ! And though he sees in all your daring plans Unsoundness, here and there temerity, He has a marvellous respect for them ; And being at this moment respited From cares of State, some portion of his leisure He’d have your sweet society engross ! Well, in what terms was your denial couched ? Mor. Denial! On what grounds should I refuse Such kindly tendered courtesy ? ffeart. 1 did not think your eye, so quick to pierce Public hypocrisy through all the glare With which convention decks it, could have been Dazzled by this man’s hollow compliment ;— I charge you, spurn this specious show of friendship. Mor. Why call it specious, ere you prove it so? ffeart. Upon plain lkelihood and inference My censure rests. Mark me! two years ago, When any to another breathed your name, His fellow cried, “ Wild innovator! Dreamer!” The proud laughed short, “So, so, the yeoman’s son ! Why left he team and harrow?” Sages hemmed! One of your rising men! Town’s full of them.” But now you are a theme of public talk— Men, as they slowly pace through stately squares, Discuss your latest words of eloquence, And busier folk, who thread the crowded streets, Pause where some window shows the latest page Your name inscribes—a household name in England ! Mor. Thanks for your eulogy ; but whither tends it? Wi é0F7. Iavento: this ; Minds of your order come not every year, Nor are they grown in clusters ; instruments Of power ; if they be true, of destiny ; Truth’s pioneers, the vanguard of the world! Now, while the issues undetermined hang Between the just and base, if one step forth, Wily, and smooth of speech, and can arrest 262 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. [ACT I. The great man’s march a moment, turn his eye Upon the glitter of some costly bribe, It may be that he spurns it ; and it may be That he becomes Iscariot to his cause. Mor. Nay, nay; speak out, if you would call me traitor ! fleart. I mean not soto name you. I but say, Beware this subtle courtier. Mor. The grounds Of your suspicion? Why do you condemn him? Fleart. Why? Is he not the sworn foe of our party? Mor. A phrase! I have no party. [Both rise. Fleart. Rapidly The poison works ; and yet it is not strange That one so loving to his party’s foe Should soon disclaim his old associates, Mor. Where is your warrant, sir, To taunt me thus? I say I have no party. You and your friends of late have striven hard For certain ends which I approved ; ’twas fit That I should aid you—so far travel with you, As one road served us both. Therefore have I Entered in league with you? or am I bound To follow where your trumpet blows, and fight With whom you list to bid me? Have I sworn To shut my eyes to all the greatness grows In one-half of the empire? That’s the oath Ta’en by the partisan. Fleart. Well turned and proudly said !—Perhaps your speech May couch itself in humbler tones when meant For the Earl’s ear. [A short pause. Mor. Sir, | have known you long; respected you ; And it may be, have served you heretofore ; And not on slight occasion would I wear The stranger’s carriage to you; but take heed. You speak as if I were a parasite, A hireling, an apostate ; had my father Sct. | THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. 263 Broached such surmise of me, it had gone far In recollection of that one dishonour, To merge all kinder memory. Fleart. I seek your love No longer than pure friendship’s elements Are fruitful in your nature. Let me ask If it be meet that one like you should wait For an occasional condescending smile From this proud nobleman; or haply make, Through ignorance of unaccustomed forms, Mirth for his haughty daughter. But your pardon. Perchance you aim at greatness, and will deign Honour the Lady Mabel with your hand ! Mor. Peace, sir. Your language holds not with my mood. By all report, upon the face of earth No fairer or more noble creature moves Than this same Lady Mabel; for the rest, The man who has credentials in his soul, Avouching its immortal ancestry, Presumes but little, even if he seek Alliance with the proudest of the earth. Is it your creed, sir, that in righteous scales The name outweighs the man? Shame on such doctrine! Heart. Nay, shame on you, who dare thus to upbraid An age ’tis fit that you should venerate ! Mor. I venerate not age; but, when ’tis present, That which alone makes grey hairs worshipful. It may be by the calendar of vears You are the elder man ; but ’tis the sun Of power on the mind’s dial shining bright And numbering thoughts and deeds that makes true time.— Your pardon, sir, you force me to speak thus. Fleart. Farewell, sir! Should we ever meet again, It will be in that deepest of all strangeness Which grows ’twixt those who have loved ovce, and love not. [HEARTWELL goes out. Mor. So friendship passes. Well, I will not seek 264. THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. [act 1, A heart to rule in, if affection’s sway Depend on paying dues to interest. I’ll not believe that Heartwell judged aright. Lord Lynterne means me fairly—will not dare To use me for his tool. Yet, if he do— \ Oh, if he do !—my heart heaves at the thought, So that I fear and quake before myself. There is within me that quick hate of wrong Which, being stung, would spur me on to vengeance, Although the path were fire! And I have, too, That in my nature which would make me slave To genuine kindness. I'll deal with the world As the world deals with me,—if well, its friend,— If otherwise ; but for the day, ’tis said, Sufficient is the evil. ACT IIL, SCENE I. Drawing-koom in Lynterne Castle. MORDAUNT discovered, seated at table, gazing on a miniature of MABEL. Mor. Rumour has not o’erdrawn her. She is rich In beauty—ay, in that surpassing beauty Which bears the glorious signet of the soul. I’ve known her but a month, and yet she seems, As their own light, familiar to my eyes. Would that I Were sprung of noble lineage! That’s unworthy. Was not my father tender, constant, upright ? And shall I wrong his homely, honest virtues By vain repinings at my humble lot ? Heaven sees not with our eyes. That’s well, at least. Enter MABEL, carrying a piece of embroidery, on which she occastonally employs herself during the scene. Mab. Good morning ! what a bright one—a fair change From last night’s tempest. beg ey JHE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. 265 Mor. ’Twas a stormy night. Mad. [| Sitting.) And yet I never knew‘a briefer one ; For that I must thank you ; and the sweet tale, In listening which the hours like minutes sped. Mor. |Smiling.| You flatter me, Mao. Although I somewhat wonder That you, whose life is chiefly dedicate To grave State policy, should yet beguile Your leisure with the poet’s simple art. Mor. What is the end of all true policy? To work out poetry in act. To feel A deep and constant love for human kind ; A sense of beauty’s presence, not alone In lofty show, but in its latent haunts, Which few investigate—the humble hut And bosom meanly clad ; worship of justice ; The warm emotions of an unchecked nature Which rises, as by instinct, against wrong— These are the elements of poetry. Is that man fit to be a statesman, think you, Whose heart is stranger to them? Mad. O, how true! Shall I confess that after I retired Your tale dwelt on my mind, moved me to tears— Those sweet and tender tears that speak not pain, But soothe whoever sheds them. In my dreams The maid whose fate you told was present still. How fair the old times seem when poets sing them. Oh, would that I had lived in ancient days, The days of dear romance! Do you not think I should have been a heroine? Mor. Why not now? Mab, Alas, alas! there is no scope for it. Comfort has superseded chivalry, There’s nothing dangerous or delightful left. [Rzsezg.] O, would that I had been the worshipped one, Of some devoted troubadour, half knight, 266 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER, ~ [ACT im Half minstrel. My sire, a baron, Irascible and proud, perchance commands That I forswear my troth. I cannot do it. Straight in some chamber, tapestried and lone, I am confined, armed guards before my door. I pen a dzl/e¢ -—“ O sweet traveller, Into whose care these tidings, from the hand Of an unhappy maid, shall come, haste thee To Sieur—De Lacy,’—that shall be his name,— “ And tell him in this castle’s eastern tower His Eleanora lies a prisoner— For his dear love!” I drop my scroll; its words Are borne to my brave troubadour. Some night, While I sit gazing at the placid moon, Wearing the lucid stars, a diamond wreath, To deck her brighter brow, soft music floats Around my lattice—quick I open it! O joy! ’tis he !—he scales the wall, secures, Fast by the casement, his elastic stair, Which straightway I descend—I’m on the earth— I’m on my steed: away! away we fly! I and my troubadour, and in the morn My hand rewards my brave deliverer !— What think you, sir, is not my tale well told? It is my first attempt. You do not smile! Mor. Alas, sweet lady! mournful thoughts were mine. I make no question of your constancy, Your enterprise, your courage ; but methinks You scarce had borne the part you paint so well. Mab. Sceptic! why not? [Resuming her seat.) O for one little year Of the romantic past, that I might prove Myself, in your despite, a heroine. Mor. I have known heroines in this modern time ;— Ay, there are homesteads which have witnessed deeds That battlefields, with all their bannered pomp, Have little to compare with. Life’s great play sc. 5] THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. 267 May, so it have an actor great enough, Be well performed upon a humble stage. Mab. You find such beauty in our dull, tame present, I look on it with kinder eyes. Mor. The forms Of the heroic change from age to age; The spirit in the forms remains the same, Your heroine of old, in love’s behalf, Would dare imprisonment and venture flight, Though near her files of lances were arrayed. Your modern heroine, in love’s behalf, Will often dare hostility as dread. Not seldom you will meet a maid whose heart Was pledged to one of lowly heritage, But of high qualities, that well atoned The churlish lot of Fortune. Enmity From haughty parents, exile from the sphere, Had been her own from birth, care, poverty, And other ills as weighty, have conspired Against her love, and yet she had avowed it, And cherished it as life. O Lady Mabel—— Mab. Why do you pause? Mor. I fear I weary you. Mab, Ono; your heroine [ Pauses. Mor. Yes ; what say you of her? Mab. ‘That although she had acted indiscreetly, For the high love that caused her so to act She should be gently censured—not cast out. Mor. And of her lover? Mab. Nay, I know not what To say of him. Mor. | Sitting near her.| 1 knew a lover once Whose heart had poured its riches at the shrine Of one whose lot ranked higher than his own, In the wise world’s esteem ; and this he knew, Yet could he not recall to his lone breast The feelings thence allured. She was their home, And all beside was foreign. 268 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER, [ACT It. Mab. And she loved him ? Mor. His love was silent, and dared scarce intrude Upon her sight. He prayed for her—he blessed her— He wept for her; but she heard not his words, Nor saw his tears ; for they were breathed and shed In sacred solitude. At times he felt As if the joy of loving were reward ; Although she knew it not. He thought of angels Who nightly to the sleeper’s couch repair, But vanish ere he wakens. Mab. Did he not Lay his heart open to her? Mor. As I said, He was of lower rank than she, and feared That she might scorn him. Mab. Scorn such fervent worship ? Had she so done, she were the thing to scorn. Mor. | With fervour.| You had not spurned him, then ? Mad. . I cannot dream What I have said to move you. O, this friend! *Tis like you loved him as a very brother, And own a debt to all who pity him. Your story interests. How ended it? And was this long since? Mor. It is very. strange. I cannot call the time to mind. I know The truth of what I tell, but nothing more. Enter the EARL amd LADY LYDIA. Lyd. Not out yet, Mabel? Should you thus permit The freshness of the morning to escape ? ’Tis three o’clock already. Mad, Is it so late? [Zo MORDAUNT.] Do you ride withus? [Zo LORD LYNTERNE.| And you? Nay, you must; I know you will; these are your holidays. Fart. I may not, sweetest. Sc. 1] THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. 269 Mab. No? [Zo MORDAUNT.] You then will be Our single cavalier. Earl. I fear, dear Mabel, I must assert a prior claim to Mordaunt. We've grave and pressing matters to discuss. > Mab. | After a short pause.| ’Tis very late. I will not ride to-day. Lyd, | Apart to her.| You will. Mad. I think you said that it was late? Lyd, | Apart to her.| Go for my sake. Mab. Well, if it please you, aunt. Fart. Adieu! Mor. A pleasant morning ! Lyd. Thank you, thank you ! [EARL and MORDAUNT go out. LaDy LYDIA walks after them, and then advances to MABEL, who ts seated. Lyd. Mabel, you love that man! Mab. Love whom? Sir Everard ? Lyd. This is evasion. I know you have refused Sir Everard. I say you love this Mordaunt. Mab. I fail to comprehend you. Lyd. You deny it? Mab. | Haughtily, rising.| It does not need denial. Edgar Mordaunt! Lyd. Pardon me! I did but jest. I knew you loved him not ; _ It was impossible, for he has nothing In station, fortune, or in qualities That can excite esteem, far less affection. Mab. O, now methinks that you are somewhat harsh. Lyd. Harsh! would you have me measured inmy speech? I am beside myself to see a man, Whose birth had fitted well your father’s groom, Thus licensed to invade our privacy, And wear before us the familiar air Of one inured to dignity ! 270 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. [actT il. Mab. Good aunt, Men three relations hold to dignity : By gradual use some grow inured to it, And some are born to it ; but there be those Born of zz, natured of its element ; With them nobility is personal, And they must die ere it can. Lyd, In which rank place you Mordaunt ? Mab. In the last. Lyd. What strange infatuation blinds you thus ? Can you not read the obvious history Of an ambitious and time-serving man? What does he here who was your father’s foe Upon all public questions? Trust me, Mabel, He is of those who, by exciting speech And persevering effort, make their names Of value in the mart of policy, And sell them to the man who offers most. Mab. Madam, ’tis false—his heart is honour’s home, His deeds her witnesses—O, foully false ! Lyd. This is unmaidenly and insolent ! Does no shame flush your cheek? or wherefore is it You should forget all deference to me In favour of a stranger ? Mab, Because he is a stranger, And has no friend to spurn back calumny, When those whose guest he is, forget the rights Owing to hospitality and justice. [Throws herself into a chair. Lyd. Justice! Under that poor pretence, your passion, No longer coy, speaks plainly. I had hoped My eyes deceived me when they watched your own Pouring the light of unchecked feeling on him. I strove to think it was but courtesy That hushed your very breathing when he spoke. But the truth flashes on me, I thank heaven! O shame that this adventurer should depart Boasting your love his trophy, which to wear sc; ] THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. 270 Waits but his time of taking! Suit your manners More to the decent, less to the fantastic, Or I will to your father, and require His comment on your conduct. Mab. To my father? You threaten, Lady Lydia ! Lyd. Yes; why not? Mab. | am amazed you can, so strange it seems That you, whose words suffice to show what you are, Should dare rebuke that I am. I wonder not you value station so: It is but a poor treasure in itself, Yet becomes rich when ’tis the sole possession. Believe me, noble spirits never wrap Honour so closely round them as to let The garment hide the wearer. Rank’s a robe Which sits the best when negligently worn, Disclosing the mind’s perfect symmetry That needs not gorgeous attire to grace it. Lyd. |Aside.| I have gone too far.—Mabel, could you have looked Into my heart, you would have spared me this. Mab. Could you have sounded mine, I do not think You would have ventured to this length of insult, Lyd, Insult ! Mabel! And is your father’s sister’s love so strange, That when it would advise you, guard you, save you, You should miscal it thus? Perhaps my zeal Took an impatient tone, but did not need The deep rebuke it suffered. Mab. |Approaching her.| 1 have been wrong, dear aunt; but still I say, You judge poor Mordaunt harshly. Lyd. He’s ambitious. Mab, What’s he that is not so? Ambition, aunt, Is instinct in great minds, even as to soar Is nature to the eagle. Lyd. This plausible 272 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. [act t. And general reasoning, however just, Meets not the special instance. We were asked To entertain this stranger for a week ; A month has rolled away. If you would ride, Straight he needs exercise ; stay you at home, He finds the air too sultry, feels fatigued, | And keeps the house ; beside all which, but note How much he adds by glances, motions, sighs, Smiles, even cast of visage, to his words, Which, as I lately said, your eyes reward With interest more than maidenly. Mab. Nay, gentle aunt, I am not carved from stone, and cannot hear Music without emotion, nor unmoved : Look on a flower, or aught that’s beautiful ; And must I, when a glowing sentiment Or noble thought finds utterance, emulate The barren rock that never pays the sun With produce for his smiles? O, blame me not, If at discourse on themes magnificent My eyes light up with joy! They testify Love to the speaker’s thoughts, not to himself. Lyd. The speaker will not make that nice distinction ; And, to be plain, he has sufficient cause To augur that Mab. That I esteem, admire him ; I will not wrong him so as to surmise He dreams of more. He knows what bounds divide us. But let us hasten, ’tis so very late. I trust we're friends again. You'll follow me? [LaDy MABEL goes out. Lyd. Esteem and admiration! She would dupe me Even as she dupes herself ! No; this is love, And has gone further than I thought. This Mordaunt Is an accomplished player on the heart ; That praise I’ll give him. He must read success In the girl’s face, which, like a mirror, shows The image of his thoughts. Should this proceed, oe ee THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. 27% No motives, counsel, prayer, threat, influence, Will stand between her and her love. Well, then, I and this schemer are at war! I’ll watch His demonstrations one more week ; if then He purpose longer stay, I’ll in plain terms Urge his departure ; if he still remain, Ill tempt him to disclosure of his end Before it ripen further, and thus shake In spring the blossoms autumn had seen fruit. [She goes out slowly, ACT TIL,-SCENE I. A terrace in front of Lynterne Castle. Sunset. Enter MORDAUNT. Mor. How beautiful are all things when we love ! The illuminated globe revolves around The loved one as its axis of pure light. She whom I love is human; for her sake I love all human-kind—yea, all that is. Whene'er birds sing, she hears them in her walks, Or from her open lattice ; henceforth birds Are sacred to my soul. The sun, that lights Her daily path; mild moon, and solemn stars, That shine into her chamber ; trees, her shade From noontide heat ; rivers, whose winding way And murmuring song console her when she strays By their green banks at eve; delighted flowers, That yield their fragrance to her ; forest paths Pressed by her feet—I love. Our planet earth Is her abode ; for her sake I love earth, And for earth’s sake love all that earth contains. O, it is great, and wise, and good to love ! To feel we live in all things, and that they Live by us, and not we by them ; to be The pulse to our own universe! VOL. I. S 274 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. [acr m1. And loves she me? She listens to my words, and seldom speaks. Why need she speak, when every glance replies ? First it was otherwise ; her repartee, Quick wit, and lively sallies flashed all day ; \ Her answers now are few and brief, as though The task of ordering her thoughts for speech Woke her from blissful dreams ; my soul itself Seemed suffused in her presence, bathed in light, As plants beneath the solemn, tender moon, Which gilds their life with beauty, as she mine, And joys in heaven to see their silvered leaves, Unknowing ’tis her smile that makes their brightness, Which fades from earth whene’er she wanes in heaven. A cloud comes over mine. ’Tis Lady Lydia! Enter LADY LYDIA. I trust you find the evening breeze refresh you ? Lyd. A debtor to your wishes, sir! I thank you. [Aszde.] VU not delay, for opportunity, Once slighted, oft escapes. When do you leave us? Mor. Shortly. Perhaps within a week or two, Provided for that time my sojourn prove No inconvenience here. Lyd. I fear it will. Mor, Had I thought so, you had not seen me now. Lyd. 1 will be plain, sir. Plainness is always the best courtesy Where truths are to be told. You still are young, And want not personal grace ; your air, your words, Are such as captivate. You understand me? ; : Mor. Scarcely; for these things most men harbour guests. Lyd, True; except sometimes When they are fathers, You are honourable, And, after what has passed, will leave us straight. SC; *I.} THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. 275 Mor. I scarcely dare presume to give your words Their nearest meaning ! Lyd. Yet you may do so. Mor. The Lady Mabel? DV ite 2X CS; Mor. Looks not on me indifferently ? Lyd. That you will join me in regretting, sir. Mor. 1 may hope [Pauses in agitation. Lyd. She has confessed it. Mor. In your hearing? Lyd. You are minute, I see, and well may doubt, Except on surer witness than surmise, So strange atale. Alas! the evidence Courts sight and touch : I hold it in my hand— This letter—[MORDAUNT vegards her inguiringly.|— nothing—[As with a sudden tmpulse.|—I dare trust your honour. You know I lately spent three days from home : I then wrote Mabel what I could not speak— My warning on the signs I had perceived Of love’s unconscious growth. This is her answer. [Showing letter. I was too late. That answer bore—O patience !— What can I call it else >—her love’s confession. Mor. Her love for me! Lyd. Forgive me, ’tis too much. [Tears 77. Thus let the winds disperse the proofs of shame ! *Twould be most happy were its memory As easily effaced. [Throwing away the fragments. Mor. Her love for me! Lyd, In words Mor. O, name them not, Those sacred breathings of her soul—relate not What precious items make my sum of bliss Past computation rich! Enough, she loves me! I'll seek her on the instant. [ Going. Lyd. [Aside.] That, indeed, Would mar my plan, No; silence is your course : 276 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. It is most delicate, least painful, too. No word were well save farewell, and that said As those who have no long acquaintance say it. Mor. I will not say it So to the Lady Mabel now, or ever, Unless it be her will. Lyd. You will not take Advantage of her weakness. Do not, sir, Let it be thought that we, in welcoming you, Shook hands with an adventurer. Mor, |Indignantly.] Madam! [With constrained courtesy. [ Going. You are her relative, and I am dumb. Lyd. Stay. [ACT III. Think you the Earl’s voice would not crush your plan, The moment that surprise permitted speech ? Mor. Why should it ? Lyd. Must I speak outright ! Mor. Yes, surely. Lyd. The house of Lynterne Dates from the time that he of Normandy O’erthrew the Saxon sway ; since then its lords, In war or peace, have held the foremost rank In conflict or in council, Of the race, Not one has formed alliance, save with such As boasted kindred honours. Sir, our house Is noble—must remain so till its end. Mor. Is not yon sunset splendid ? Lyd. Possibly ; But we may see that often, and it bears Not now on our discourse. Mor. Indeed it does. However proud, or great, or wise, or valiant The Lady Mabel’s ancestors, that sun From age to age has watched their honours end, As man by man fell off; and centuries hence Yon light into oblivion may have lit As many stately trains as now have passed. scr} THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER. 277 And yet my soul, orb of eternity, When yonder globe is ashes as your sires, Shall shine on undecaying ! When men know What their own natures are, and feel what God Intended them to be, they are not awed By pomps the sun outlives. Lyd. Think of me as your friend—when you are gone. You have a towering spirit. Had the rank And blood of Lady Mabel been as yours, I had not said a word to spite your wish. Mor. You see this ring ? Lyd, 1 have admired it oft. Would you thus hint That you are rich? Mor. Is not the setting precious ! Lyd. The diamond is superb ! Mor. True ; but the setting ? Lyd. The diamond is the treasure. Mor. No, the setting ! Lyd. The setting is but silver, worthless, base, Contrasted with the stone. Mor. True, Lady Lydia. Then when I treat for merchandise would buy All stars of heaven up, were they diamond worlds,— A peerless woman’s love,—why runs your phrase, “You might have had that unmatched gem for nought Had it not been so se¢,” in ancestry Or some such silver rim? Enough of this; I'll now to Lady Mabel. [| Going. Lyd. Be advised, If you persist in this strange scheme, seek first An audience of the Earl: if he consent, The which is most unlikely, Mabel’s love Is honourably yours ; if he refuse, You incur no disgrace, as you would do Luring his daughter’s heart unknown to him. Mor. The Farl is in the library even now. V’ll learn his thoughts at once. 278 THE PATRICIAN'’S DAUGHTER. , [ACT.1U8 Lyd. I pity you. It will be a hard task for your high spirit To sue the Earl in such a humble strain As will be requisite. Mor. Humble! I—Mordaunt! Lyd. Your ground is delicate ; you must be cautious ; Confess your low estate, and own the prize You seek to gain far beyond your desert ; You must put by your recent haughty tone And kingly glances; plead with downcast eye And hesitating voice; all this, I say, Must keenly gall your nature ; and therefore I pity you. Mor. I were indeed a slave, And needing pity, could I so forget My manhood ; but ’twere vain to reason more With one who knows me not. [He bows with cold dignity, and goes out. Lyd. O, this is well! : He'll to my brother in a haughty mood— The very one I wished for ; ’twill arouse All the Earl’s latent pride. And now for Mabel! Upon the wish she comes. [Retires to back. Enter LADY MABEL ; she comes on slowly, and in thought, Mab. Why have not noble natures noble names ? Or why are names of import? O world, world! With many a captious custom dost thou bind The heart that seeks enlargement! What is birth? The gift I prized seems my misfortune now. I know none like to Mordaunt. Even my father Honours and courts him. What is this to me? A line invisible divides our fates. O, would that he had rank—that he were poor, So he were well derived! The day may come When he will earn nobility, and men Of prouder birth may court his smile; and then, sc. 1.] THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. 279 Perchance (for love is strong), I might descend A few steps from my pinnacle. Fool! fool! This is a dream of summer and of youth. I know not my own soul; ’tis ardent now, But years may chill it into apathy. Why not ?—'tis thus with others. I could weep. Lyd. | Advancing.| So, you've been secret, Mabel, ’Twas hardly kind; but I waive all displeasure. I trust you may be happy. Mab, This is strange language, aunt. Lyd. I might reply, Yours is strange conduct, niece: but let that pass. My brother too was silent ; but I fancy He understood it all ; perhaps had planned it Before his guest arrived. Mad. Planned what? What guest? Try me not thus! Your meaning ina word? Lyd. Why counterfeit surprise? Do you not know Mordaunt is with your father, even now ? Mab. Well, what is that to me? Lyd. Much, I should say, Were I now young, in love, and knew what boon The man I loved was seeking from my father. Mab. You jest. Lyd. 1am in earnest. He had your consent, Doubtless, to back his prayer. Mab. No; never, never ! Lyd. Not in strict formal terms, perhaps, but still By such expressions as the timid use To help the lips’ checked utterance by the eye. Mab. I never spoke the word presumption’s self Could torture to a pledge of love for him. Lyd, 1am amazed! it is not half an hour Since his own lips assured me that the Earl Must needs confirm his choice. Mab. Presuming arrogance ! Lyd. He spoke in easy strain, His air half buoyancy, half carelessness, ey 280 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. [acT 11, As though success were slave to him, and came ~ Without the pains of calling. Mab, What sanction have I given him thus to boast ? Lyd. I warned you once to.guard, lest what you meant For courtesy he should interpret love. \ Mab. I never passed the bound of courtesy. | Lyd. You meant it not, that’s certain; but, forgive me, At times I thought myself the bound was passed. Did you not tell me, Mabel, that the Earl Requested special kindness for this man? Mab.|With sudden indignation.| What man ? Lyd. This gentleman, this Mordaunt, at whose hands The Earl looked for some service. Am I right? Mab. Yes; so he said. Lyd. Then what can be more plain ? Your father seeks support in power from Mordaunt, Which he intends to sell—the price, your hand. How now! you shiver; yet the air is mild. Mab. The mind has seasons like the body, aunt. My father shall resent this. Buy my hand! Lyd. You may depend he means it. Mab. So you said. Why is your tone so measured, and your look So calm on this occasion? Where’s the fire That should be in your eyes? Your temper’s sweet ; But now I like it not, I like it not! [ Weeps. Lyd. I cannot chide If under quick excitement at your wrong You are unjust tome. A step! Enter SERVANT. Well! Ser. Madam, My lord would see you and the Lady Mabel ; He waits you in the library. [He goes out. Sealk | THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. 281 Lyd. Come, Mabel ; Nay, sweet, take heart ! Mad. What is there I should fear? Let us be going, aunt ;—I’m calm—quite calm. [They go out. SCENT: Library, as before. The EARL and MORDAUNT discovered. Mor. Is love a crime? Can we prevent its coming ? or when come, Can we command it from us? Earl. We may, at least, Curb its expression, when disgrace and grief Are like to follow it. Mor. Disgrace! Your daughter’s noble, fair, and good ; I shall not feel disgraced in taking her. Earl, | Sitting.| Sir! you are insolent. Enter LADY MABEL amd LADY LYDIA. Mabel, my child, Have I not loved you truly, shown all kindness That is a daughter’s due? Mab. Indeed you have. farl, Have you done well In making stranger to a father’s heart The dearest wish of yours ?—in plighting faith For life, unknown to him who gave you life? Mab. This have I never done. ' Mor. Tell all, speak frankly ; Have you not, Lady Mabel, given me proof Of favour in your sight will justify The boon I have entreated of the Earl— Permission to be ranked as one who seeks 282 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. [ACT iil. For closer union with you than a friend’s ? I know you gave no pledge ; but looks and deeds, And words whose precious sense was in their tones— These bade me love! Was it not so? Answer, Mabel! Mab. Mabel! the Lady Mabel, when you speak, Lyd. She utterly denies what you infer. Mab. Yes, utterly. Mor. And Lady Lydia speaks thus ; She who confirmed my hopes !—I see, for sport. Lyd. We think you but presumptuous; let your honour Guard you from veiling shame by sin; nor strive From loose discourse, spoken in pleasantry, To justify your conduct. Mor. And the letter ? Lyd. The letter! He’s distracted. . Mab. Letter! [Afartto LypiA.] Aunt? Lyd. es, love. Mab, | Aside.| No, no; I will not wrong her; it is plain His folly has deceived him, Mor. May I then ask, If you have never loved me, why you deigned To wear love’s semblance; deigned, when I approached, To feign joy’s sudden smile ; to urge my stay With lips that, faltering, won me, and with eyes That pleaded more by drooping ; hour by hour To sit half mute and bid me still speak on, Then pay me with a glance in which there seemed A heart’s whole volume writ ? Mab, | Sitting. | This 1s too much. Whate’er my kindness meant, it did not mean To foster your presumption, though, perhaps, Suspecting it, and lacking at the time Better employment, I allowed it scope, Did not repress it harshly, and amused, Rather than angered, failed to put a bound To its extravagance. SC Ih, THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. 283 Mor. All, then, has been a jest; the thing resolves Itself into a harmless dadnage / You had no other toy, so took my heart To while away an hour. The plaything dvokfe ; But then it was amusement / Lyd. You were honoured In thus assisting to beguile the hours Of Lady Mabel’s solitude. Mor. Honoured, say you? Men’s hearts have leaped within them at my words, The lowly have adored me, and the proud— Ay, sir, the proud—have courted me; you know it. Lyd. All this would sound much to your credit, sir, Were other lips to speak it. Mor. Understand me. You deem me proud. I am so; and yet humble: [Zo MABEL.] To you I would have been a slave; have moulded Each wish to your desire; have laid my fame, Though earth had ratified it, at your feet, Nor deemed the offering worthy of your smile ! But when, admitting what I am, you scorn me For what my father was, sport with me, trample On the same hopes you fostered, then I claim The patent which the Great Paternity Of heaven assigns to nature—not descent— And walk before you in the march of time! Lyd. The stale, fond trick—to boast of honours stored In ether, where no human eye can pierce. You may be prince of several stars—possess All cloudland for your realm ; but one poor knighthood, Conferred by a real sword upon real shoulders, Beats fifty thousand dukedoms in the air. The old, convenient trick ! Earl. Nay, courtesy ! Lyd. You'll suffer us to go? Earl, Yes, «leave! me. [MABEL vises,; they are about to go. 284 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. [ACT ILS Mor. Stay ! Before we part, I have a word or two For Lady Mabel’s ear. [Zo MaABEL.] I know right well The world has no tribunal to avenge An injury like mine ; you may allure The human heart to love, warm it with smiles, To aspirations of a dream-like bliss, From which to wake is madness—and when spells Of your enchantment have enslaved it quite, So that you are its world, its light, its life, And all beside is dark and void and dead— I say, that very heart, brought to this pass, You may spurn from your path, pass on and jest, And the crowd will jest with you ; you may glide, With eye as radiant, and with brow as smooth, And feet as light, through your charmed worshippers, As though the angel’s pen had failed to trace The record of your crime ; and every night, Lulled by soft flatteries, you may calmly sleep As do the innocent ; but it zs crime, Deep crime, that you commit! Had you for sport Trampled upon the earth a favourite rose, Pride of the garden, or in wantonness Cast in the sea a jewel not your own, All men had held you guilty of offence ! Lyd. [To EAR..] Is it fit that longer you should brook this censure? Mor. And is it then no sin To crush those flowers of life, our freshest hopes, With all the incipient beauty in the bud, Which know no second growth? to cast our faith In human-kind, the only amulet By which the soul walks fearless through the world, Into those floods of bitter memory Whose awful depths no diver dares explore? To paralyse the expectant mind, while yet On the world’s threshold, and existence’ self sc.1.] HE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. 285 To drain of all save its inert endurance? To do this unprovoked—I put it to you, Is not this sin? To the unsleeping eye Of Him who sees all aims, and knows the wrongs No laws save His redress, I make appeal To judge between us! Earl. Sir, our conference Is ended. Mor. It zs ended. [He goes out. Mab. He’s deceived ! He hears me not! He knows menot! He’s gone! Earl, Why, what is this, dear Mabel ? Mab. Nothing, sir. -I am not used, you know, to witness strife. It somewhat chafes my spirit. Earl. Hither, love. [MABEL veels forward, and falls into her father’s arms. [Ax interval of Five Years ts supposed to elapse between the Third and Fourth Acts,| AU eV tee OC HON EL, Same as Scene I., Act 1. Enter LISTER, HEARTWELL, DEANCOURT, and COLVILLE. Lis. The marriage, then, takes place at noon to-mor- row? Col. ’Twill be a royal festival. Fleart. For me, I never looked within these ancient walls For welcome as a guest, far less as one Summoned to Mordaunt’s marriage. Dean. It is strange, After his sharp repulse—'tis now five years since— He should renew his suit and win. We all be te 286 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. [ACT Iv. Remember his first wooing, with the gibes And taunts that followed it. FTeart. All which he owed To Lady Lydia, his aunt elect. She told the farce—so then she called his suit— With such malicious wit, ’twas London’s jest. Scarce any one dared know him. It amazed me To see him, thus the mark for public scorn, Calmly outbrave it, give his mind entire To public duties, daily gathering friends, Until his strength so grew, the Earl conceded All our demands ; then sought him for a son. Col. The Minister, and not the father, sought him. Lis. Proceeds the match with Lady Mabel’s will ? Heart, Her cold and pensive carriage testify In this she only brooks her father’s choice. Not ours to scan too nicely. Pass we on: The Lady Lydia and her nephew come. Enter LADY LYDIA azd CAPTAIN PIERPOINT. [Lows to LADY LyD1A.] Fine weather and fair promise for to-morrow. Lyd. Fair as our brightest hopes are, gentlemen. [LISTER, HEARTWELL, DEANCOURT, avd COLVILLE £0 out. Zyd. You know already These are the members of a factious clique Mordaunt has brought to notice of the Earl. Pier. You scarce bear Mordaunt better will than I. Lyd. We do not idolise our future kinsman. Pier. Who won his way, no doubt, by artifice And smooth insinuation ? Lyd. No; the truth, Though bitter, must be granted. Haughtily He trod his separate path. Alone, he forced His way to power and rank. My brother bought His service by concessions, claimed the more; The more were granted, Out of weakness grew Sart THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER. 287 - Necessity for compact, and, in fine, This union was offered, almost pressed, — It costs a pang to own it, by the Earl. Had I been he !—but this is folly. Pier. What Intend you now? Lyd. To bear what can’t be shunned. When first my brother named this humbling contract, I wrote to Mordaunt, asked an interview, And wrought him to belief that Mabel’s heart Shrank from this union, though her hand, indeed, Obeyed her father. This looked plausible ; For a still pensive mood has ruled her late— Seldom dispersed, and then for reckless mirth. Pier. So he believes she never loved him? Lyd. Fully. In proof of which he’s seldom here; and then He greets her distantly. He pressed the marriage With most indelicate haste ; no time for wooing, Little for preparation. A proud alliance Bribed him, and not a heart. Pier. |Indignantly. | Aunt! Lyd. (Interrupting. | Since we’re conquered, Let’s even make the best of it. Here come A group of bland nonentities. Enter LORD and LADY CHATTERLY, SIR ARCHER, and LADY TAUNTON. Ah, good friends! With smiling faces as befits the time. Lord C, Dear Lady Lydia, We share your happiness in seeing it. Lyd. You're good to say so. Happiness like mine Grows by participation. Dare. Lady Mabel Has positively had no mercy on us— Her wit’s so brilliant, pungent, piercing and——[ Hesi¢ates. Lord C, Truly enchanting. 288 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. [act tv. Lady 'C. Tis benevolence In you to call it so; for ’twas indulged Greatly at your expense, Lady T. Nay ! that’s severe, Sir A. A little Zoo severe, but in plain truth, Mordaunt’s much to be envied. Lyd. Surely, not More than my niece. Lady T. Mordaunt !—Is he connected With the old family in Devonshire, Lyd. This gentleman is of a race whose rise Is far more ancient.—But ’tis near the hour My brother named to read the marriage-deed, [All are about to go. Enter MABEL, Your pardon for a moment ; I’ll soon follow. [GUESTS avd PIERPOINT go out. She advances to meet MABEL. Nay, be of better cheer. Should one betrothed Upon her bridal-eve look downcast thus? A strange foreboding shadow clouds your brow, I marked not ere this wooing. O my child! Carry it gaily; go among your guests ; Be liberal of your smiles, free of your mirth, As one should be upon the verge of joy. Mab. Believe me, I have striven to do my best, Nor quite in vain; nay, heard you not yourself Our sprightly jests, as I led forth the train Through the wood’s maze? Oh, we were very gay! Lyd. 1 was not unobservant of your mirth ; It did not please me, Mabel ; it was strained, Abrupt—wanted tranquillity ; your tones Were quicker than belong to quiet joy ; Your smiles not such as peace serenely wears. Mab. You are right; and I, it seems, am not so skilled As I had thought in artifice. Yes, aunt! There is a care lies heavy at my heart. . | _- sc. 1]. THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. 289 Lyd. Confide it, love ! Mad, I fear that time has changed him. Lyd. You mean Sir Edgar ? : Mab. Ay: ’tis even so. Lyd. Despite of which, your love still perseveres ? Mab. True love, though tender, is immortal too— Easy to wound, incapable of death. Not that he has at any time been harsh, * At least in words ; but that to me seems stern Which others might not deem so. Public cares Leave him few hours for converse, and in those He speaks me formally. Then I grow cold, And proudly hide my heart. I know I’m blameful To tell you this ; but then I have no mother, Whose voice might solace weakness or reprove it. Lyd. Alas! sweet niece, you merit better fate. Mab, Why sayso,aunt? I havein nought accused him Except in change; such change as comes like growth, Sure but unnoted. Lyd. But you kept my counsel, Avoided all recurrence to the past? Mab. We have not spoken of it. Much I fear It steals upon his meniory, and clouds The sunshine of his love. Lyd. I would fain hope The best, dear Mabel. You did well at least In keeping silence ; but we shall be late. You know your father’s wishes are to grace Your nuptials with all ceremony, whence This public reading of the marriage treaty. Would I could bribe those lips to smile. Come, love ! [Zhey go out. Enter MORDAUNT, looking after them. Mor. ’Tis she. What sad reluctance in her step! The conscious victim in each gesture speaks. True, true, confirmed by many a certain sign, VOL. hI gh 290 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. [ACT Iv. The Lady Lydia’s tale! She loves me not, And curbs her loathing at her father’s will, Whose interest and ambition force her hand— His child’s hand—to the man she spurned before, And yet despises. Shame that to my breast They bind a form that inwardly recoils ! There’s the one drop that overflows the cup, And makes endurance treason to mankind ! She turns within. What witchery of grace! Proud scorner, I could love thee, spite of scorn ! Ill fits this mood the time. Hence, yielding self ; No private weakness now. No! though each word Were coined in fires that fed upon my heart, I’d speak their rights whom nature crowns and man’s Poor pride would crush. So, lady, heart, take heart ! Thy cause I champion here, no less than mine, And haste to snatch thee from my fathe?’s doom ! Enter SERVANT. Ser. My lord, sir, seeks your presence. Mor. Does he so? I will attend him instantly ; I come. [MORDAUNT and SERVANT go out. SCENE TI. Library as before. EARL OF LYNTERNE, MORDAUNT, HEARTWELL, LISTER, COLVILLE, DEANCOURT, PIERPOINT, LADY LYDIA, LADY MABEL, LORD avd LADY CHATTERLY, SIR ARCHER aud LADY TAUNTON, and other WEDDING GUESTS, wth SOLICITOR, exter and take places. fart. Good friends, assembled here to confer honour Upon the near espousals, I beseech Your kind attention while this gentleman Reads in your hearing the accustomed deed — SC./1T, } THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER, | 291 Determining the rights and property Of such as stand affianced, [SOLICITOR zs adout to rise. Mor. |Réising.| My Lord Lynterne, And guests who grace us with your presence here, I’ve that to say, which ’twere unseasonable To broach at any later stage than this. Deem you not me much honoured, who have sprung From lineage obscure, in this alliance With a most noble lady, who can trace An ancestry which from the Conqueror’s time Has never mingled blood with churl’s before? Lyd. |Aside.| What frantic scheme has this man now to compass ?— You're modest, sir, and underrate your birth, Mor. Not so. My father was a man of toil; I mean real toil, such toil as makes the hand Uncouth to sight, coarse, hard to the touch ; There are none here who would have clasped that hand Save at our borough contests, when all fingers Grew marvellously pliant. Lyd. Well this frankness Becomes a noble mind! How great it is To rise by our desert from lowliness, And blush not at its memory! Ommes. Most noble ! Dean. | To HEARTWELL afarz.| I understand not this. Fleart¢. There’s meaning in it. Mor, You would do honour then, good friends, to him Who from obscurity should win his way To eminence and power? Lord C. Such men adorn their country ! or A. Their merit Transcends all praise ! Lyd. They are earth’s master spirits ! Mor. Then had you known one such in his first years Of effort, you had aided him—at least, Given him encouragement, showed him respect? Lady C. Respect most due ! 292 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER, [ACT Iv. aay 7; Decidedly! Who doubts it? Mor. You had been just, and had not plotted then Against his peace, nor baited with such smiles As the heart loves to feed on, the dire poison Of wanton, causeless scorn? Lyd. Why ask them this, knowing that they would not? Lady C. Who would be guilty of such crime? Lady T. Oh, no one! Mor. But did such live, what should be their desert ? Earl. You trespass, sir, too much upon the time Of this high company. Methinks ’twere well The lawyer should proceed. Mor. I am indifferent. Earl, Mean you to wed my daughter? Mor. [Turning fiercely on him.) No! [All rise in surprise. Pier. Malignant viper! you shall dearly pay The debt of this disgrace. Mor. Yet hold awhile. If you accuse me, grant me the same rights That all accused enjoy. Hear my defence! That over, I will bide whatever shape Your anger wills to take. Earl. Begone, sir!—leave us, while contempt stills wrath, Mab. 1 do beseech you hear him. I am curious To learn what sins of my commission urged To deed so pitiful. If I had wronged Lord C. Even then it was most pitiful revenge. Lady C. Most pitiful retort ! Lady T. Most infamous ! Lyd. But still consistent with his character? Chorus of Voices. Oh yes, yes, yes! With Azs—past doubt ! Mor. Why, see now, How much your expectations mock your acts ! You sow the heart with bitterness, and marvel SC. It] THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER. 293 That it bears kindless fruit ;—the slave’s treatment Is what you give man, and the angel’s meekness Is what you demand from him! ’Tis five years Since this same Lady Mabel lured my soul With such soft phrases and such winning words As only leave the words “I love” unsaid, ’Twas not my vanity that thus construed These signs of tenderness. The Lady Lydia Noted their import ; duped me with feigned proofs, To think my love returned Pier. Audacious ! Lyd, |Scornfully.| Hear him ! Mor. Deluded thus, I straightway sought the Earl, Entreated his permission to be ranked As Lady Mabel’s suitor; when it pleased her Smilingly to admit that she had toyed With me, to while away an idle hour. I hasted home. In a few days the tale Of my crushed love was blazoned to the world ! A proud heart’s honest passion woke to life, By specious smiles and studied blandishments, But to be trampled on—the deep excess Of passionate devotion—charm of day, And dream of night, and hope of life—it was— It was all this to me—blown, published, chorused In the quick ear of scoffers! This low churl, This foiled plebeian aspirant, supplied Mirth for a thousand jesters. What presumption In Azim to love thus! Mark! Years passed ; that churl Rose to power’s summit. From his arms still shrank The loved one of his youth. A father’s law Now forced her struggling hand, and bade him take The victim, where he once had hoped the wife! Pier. No more, I say ! Mor. For once be men and women. Have you loved ever ? known what ’tis to stake Your heart’s whole capital of blessedness Upon one die, the chance of love returned ? 204 THE PATRICIANS DAUGHTER. [ACT IV, To lose the cast, go forth with beggared soul, And hear scorn’s pack pursue you ; cheered by those Who tempted but to ruin? “ S¢ay,” you cry ; “ Your case ts changed since then!” By what? * Swceessye Success! I cast it off. [Zo Lapy LYDIA and the EARL] Madam—my lord Here in your stately halls ; here where your robes Of blazoned memories thickly fold you in ; I stand—God’s common work, a naked heart— To say, the prize that lured, then scorned my love, I scorn to take in barter for success ! fart, Enough, sir! You have had your vengeance. Hence! . Mor. \ have not sought for vengeance in this act. My life, my energies, my talents, all Were meant for nobler uses than belong To a mere private feud ; but I have fought A battle for high principles, and taught Convention, when it dares to tread down man, Man shall arise in turn and tread it down ! As for this lady—she has never loved me, Nor have I lately sought to win her love ; I would not wreak on her such wretchedness As she caused me for pastime. I have done. My errand is fulfilled. [| Going. Lier. You go not thus! Mab. [Rushing forward and arresting him with great agitation.| Upon your life, Injure him not! Stir not a step I say! [ MORDAUNT regards her earnestly. He is not worthy of it, [MORDAUNT goes out followed by HEARTWELL and DEANCOURT. [Zn the interval between the Fourth and Fifth Acts the season changes from Summer to Autumn. | __— el lel, ine, eke LG 13 LHE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. 295 ACT Vi, SCENE: I. Library in Lynterne Castle, as before. PHYSICIAN and EARL discovered. Phy. Have you, my lord, of late received account Of Lady Lydia’s state ? fart. No recent news ; poor sister Lydia ! When first suspicion dawned that my child’s grief Was wearing health away, her aunt, o’ercome By daily witness of such touching woe, Caught its infection—strength and peace forsook her. Still her condition varies with your patient’s ; When Mabel seems to rally, our report, Is answered by good tidings of her aunt ; And when the one declines—declines the other. From Venice, where my sister purposes Some few months’ stay, I anxiously wait letters. But say, how fares it with my blesséd one? Tell me the worst.—Nay, pause a moment.—Now I think that I am man enough to hear you. Phy. The mind is our chief enemy ; And failing its alliance, all endeavour Hastens the evil it would fain arrest. Could we obliterate the past, efface All memory of this wrong, whose double edge Wounds both her love and pride, recall to life Her hopes and her affections Earl. Cease, sir, to torture me ; ‘tis mockery To name specifics out of human grasp. Enter SERVANT announcing LADY LYDIA, who enters tn travelling costume. SERVANT goes out, Earl. (advancing to meet her) My sister! dearest Lydia, you are changed ! Lyd. Speak not of me. Mabel! is she much altered ? Earl, Alas! much altered, as yourself may see. 296 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. [ACT Y, Enter MABEL, supported by an ATTENDANT — ¢he PHYSICIAN Places a chair for her; they conduct MABEL ¢o z#. ATTENDANT goes out. Lyd. [Who has kept her eyes on the ground, suddenly raising them as she faces her niece.| Ha! I need not support ; let us embrace. No, no, it is forbidden ! Mab, Forbidden ! Lyd. By Conscience, The Haunter, the Avenger who can bow Wills tyrants cannot move—extort deep groans From men mute on the rack—and from the lips Of guilty pride, which the flame’s agony Cannot distort or open, wring the tale Of stn and degradation. Earl. [To PHYSICIAN.] What can this mean? I fear her mind’s disturbed. Lyd. (Overhearing him.| True! but not in your sense ; now, listen to me. I am my niece’s murderer! [MABEL dooks up. Earl. |Compassionately.| Poor, poor unfortunate ! Lyd, 1 did not drug her drink With poison, nor at night with unsheathed blade Startle her chamber’s darkness ; but by arts Born of infernal pride, I poisoned hopes That outvie life in worth, and plunged my dart Where it is mercy to stab mortally, Such anguish follows where the wound is made. Mab. Oh, mercy! mercy! You deceived me ¢here ? Lyd. When he who shall be nameless was our guest, I prompted him at once to ask your hand, Assured him of your love, which I declared Yourself had owned tome. With sinful wiles I taught you to believe that he had dared To ask you of your father as the hire For future service. I awoke your pride, Moved you to show him scorn Mad. Alas! alas! sc, I.] THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. 297 Lyd. With bitter raillery I told the tale I had invented where I knew ’twould gain Admission to his ear: the effect you know. Mab, Wake me! I cannot bear this dream. Oh, wake me! Will none of you have pity? Lyd. More remains. This letter will tell all. [Gzves letter—MABEL ¢akes the letter mechanically.| Mabel, my niece, In deep remorse, in guilty agony, I pray you to forgive me! [Kneeling. Mab. | Passionately. | Hence! your presence Tortures my eyes, as have your deeds my heart ! Lyd. Niece! child! turn not away. I will be heard! I loved you ever. When I wronged you most, My sin was born of love. So high my aims And hopes for you, I could not brook you wed, Save where to every human excellence Was added all the world accounts most noble. And now these tears, this soft and plenteous dew Speak not an arid soil—a stony heart. After my long and weary pilgrimage, I clasp thy feet, a humbled penitent ! Mab, 1—I—O God, send tears! Lyd. Ah, Mabel, think— We both are dying women—think that you May need forgiveness too! [Lyp1A sézl/ kneels at MABEL’S feet, who slowly bends forward, and puts her arms round her neck. Mad. | Falteringly.| You are forgiven. Lyd. Bless you! Death willbe gentlernow. Farewell! [Kisses MABEL’S hand, then goes to EARL and kneels.| Brother ? Earl, Yes, V’ll-not add to other misery That of repulsing penitence. Now go: You need rest, and must take it. ATTENDANT enters, and supporis LADY LYDIA from scene. 298 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. [ACT V. Earl. The tale so long discredited was true. Mordaunt is wronged. Mab. I ruined and disgraced ! Earl. [After a pause.| It shall be done. Down, down, rebellious pride ! What’s pride when set by love? What price too great To save my dear one’s life ?—Give me the letter. [ Takes letter from MABEL. Mab. What mean you? for your look is strange; you tremble ! Earl. No, no; the strife is passed. O God! that we, Whom thy one breath can prostrate utterly, Should dare to foster pride ! Mab. | Starting to her feet.| You would see Mordaunt ! Earl. Yes, I will see him—supplicate his ear For this most sad mischance. My prayers and tears Will surely reach his heart. Ill bend my knee, And wear a look so meek, so lowly Mab. Never ! Earl. Oh, yes; and he will pardon all the past. Mab. My path of desolation nears the grave ; Yet can I turn my face to him once more, And look on him forgivingly. I know That he has been deceived, and I forgive him. He might have pardoned me; but he chose vengeance, And left the print of shame on my crushed heart ; Yet wrung not from its depths one sigh of pain. My misery has been silent. Oh, dear father, Torture it not to speech! Earl. Be calm, my child. Mab. Then go you not. Bow not your reverend head In unavailing shame, nor let him know What cause has sped me hence. It shall not be! Your hand—a sudden weakness. [MABEL sinks into the chatr—the PHYSICIAN, kneel- ing, Supports her. Earl, Alas! emotion has o’ertaxed her strength ! Phy. \ will attend her. Meanwhile, my dear lord, State} (HE PATRICIAN' S DAUGHTER. 299 If your good purpose hold, seek Mordaunt straight, Show him the letter. His mind, once convinced, May prompt him to contrition, and such signs Of penitent affection as shall win Your daughter’s heart to love of life again. fart. And yet I fear I go on a vain errand ; For should fe yield, to o’ercome fer resolve Will be a task more hard. Phy. We're in a strait Of peril that admits no other hope. I do conjure you go, and please you bid Your daughter’s maid attend to share my watch. Earl. You counsel right, my friend. I go. Farewell. Phy. Almighty aid be with you. [EARL goes out. Her eyelids open. She revives.—Dear lady! Mab. Who speaks? Where am I? Phy. ’Tis I, your faithful friend, who watch by you.’ Enter ATTENDANT, Mab. Thanks, sir. Where is my father. Call him hither ! Phy. Affairs of moment took him hence awhile. Mab. Is he within? He has not left the house? Phy. Soon to return. Mab. ’Twas strange he did not wait till I revived, Nor stayed to say farewell. [Weeps.] ’Tis not his wont To quit me thus abruptly. —I remember, He spoke of seeing Mordaunt ! [ATTENDANT advances. Heard you the Earl’s command? Which way went he? Att. | Hesitatingly.| Madam, I think to Richmond. Mab, | Rises. | Quick ! a carriage ! Then wait mein my chamber. [ATTENDANT goes out. Check surprise ; I must set forth and overtake the Earl. Puy. ’Tis madness! Think not that your shattered frame ; Could undergo such trial of its strength ! 300 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. [ACT Vv. Mab. The feelings that inspire the deep resolve, Can grant the strength for action. I must go. Phy. You will forgive me if I countermand Your order lately given. -. [Gotng. Mab. Stay ! stay! [Supporting herself °Y chair. ’Tis to preserve my father and myself From scorn, from ignominy, from repulse, I venture on this errand. Oh, just Heaven! It will be thought we have devised some feint To move this proud man’s heart. In vain, in vain, My father will implore. One word of mine Would spare hin—save his honoured head from shame ! Do you deny me? Think you that my life Is not more perilled by your present act Than by my own design? What, not moved yet? Behold me take the suppliant’s attitude. [| Kuneels, I do implore you in all humbleness To let me now depart.—You will not yet? [Pzses. I claim my right of motion—trample on All counsel that prescribes subservience From the soul to its poor vassal. J command You let me pass forthwith. You dare not brave me. Phy. | Astde.| What supernatural anger fires her eye! She’s right. More danger lies in opposition. Madam, your will has way. Mab. Thanks, thanks, my friend. In a short time you'll join me. Thanks! No help. [MABEL goes out rapidly, followed by PHYSICIAN. SCENE II. MORDAUNT’S House, as in Act I. Enter MORDAUNT. Mor. I know not whence or wherefore there has come This woman’s weakness o’er my yielding will? What have I done but given pride to learn * sc. Tt] LHF PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. 301 That as our Maker stamps no mark of caste, Except the soul’s, on men ; so by their souls, Not by their birth or fortunes, men shall rank! [A short pause. Why am I not at peace? What whispers me That right was never vindicated yet By wrong returned ; or, if Heaven work out good By men of wrath, its blessing crowns the deed, But not the doer. Why—why will the thought, Perchance she may have loved me, thus intrude? Can I have sought revenge and called it justice? Enter SERVANT. Ser. The Earl of Lynterne. Enter the EARL. SERVANT goes out. Earl, Pardon, Sir Edgar, that I venture thus To break on your retirement: but my cause Is one that outruns all respect of forms. Mor. A country’s servant knows no privacy That bars consideration of her weal. I pray you sit, my lord. Farl. My errand is not public. ’Tis not now The minister who claims your patient ear, But a plain sorrowing man, whose wounded heart Your skill alone can solace. To be brief, I ama father ; let that word tell all. Mor. The father of a daughter! Is it well We should discourse of her? Larl. Tell me that you permit it. May I speak? Mor. Of her, my lord, or any other stranger, If mention of a name delight your ear. Fart. And you will bear with me—you will be patient ? Mor. Why should I not? What man is there so well Can bear the verbal history of wrong As he who has it written on his heart? If you recite the past, you will not grave 302 THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER, [ACT Y The inward record deeper. And its trace Endures, though you be silent. Earl. Oh, sir, repulse me not, for love of mercy. Say that you retain some gentle thought, Some tender recollection Mor. Of your daughter? \ My lord, she has my pity. “ari, What !. No more? [4 pause. Ah, sir, I have watched Mabel many a time, When accident, or as it now seems, purpose Long held you from her presence,—quit her chair, And by the hour watch in love’s deep suspense, Pale, fixed, and mute—a very statue then ; But when the tramp of your approaching horse Broke on her ear—for that love-quickened sense Anticipated sight—she woke to life, As though your safety gave her leave to be, Rushed forth to meet you, but stopped bashfully To wait your entrance with downcast lids, Which vainly tried to hide the lucid joy Floating, like sunshine, in the orbs beneath ! Mor. What is your story’s sequel? What succeeds? Earl, You loved her once! Mor. I did, and since it pleases you, I speak. It shall be to such purpose as to wring, Even from your confession, that my act Was one of justice, not of cruelty. I loved her once! Ay, she was then to me The incorporated spirit of all good. My soul’s once science was to study her ; Her eyes were all my light, her voice my music, Her movements all I cared to know of grace, Loved her! ’Twas worship! ’Twas idolatry ! And how was I repaid! The meanest man Who has nor wealth, nor talent, nor distinction, Giving his heart, proffers the dearest gift His Maker gave to him—a gift that merits, Even when not accepted, gratitude ! Scr ah | THE PATRICIANS DAUGHTER. 303 I gave my heart, my mind, unto your daughter, Of which she feigned acceptance, not by words, But by confession far more eloquent. I pressed the love she favoured; she repulsed it ; She trampled on it! It was glowing fire ; She trod it into ashes! fart. It was not so; but hear me. Mor. ’Tis too late. Earl. [Rises.| I do implore you, then, to read this letter. [MORDAUNT f¢akes letter, rises, and reads tt apart. Mor. lf this be true, it must pronounce me guilty ; And my own eyes bear witness ’gainst my heart ! A life-time’s love would not atone my sin. Can I, indeed, have wronged her thus? Enter SERVANT announcing “The Lady Mabel Lynterne /” MABEL enters and rushes to the EARL. SERVANT oes out. Mab. My father! Larl. My child!—[7o MORDAUNT.] Read ¢here the answer to your doubt. Mor. ’Tis evidence that stabs, while it convicts. Why knew I not this sooner ? O Mabel, how I’ve wronged thee ! [Kuneels to her. Mab. What words are these? I came here to forbid Vain supplication to a haughty heart, And lo! I find one meek and penitent. And thou dos¢ love me, Mordaunt ? Mor. [|Rising.| Love thee, Mabel ! My careworn heart revives at sight of thee, And hoards the life ’twas weariness to keep. How now! thou tremblest, sweet ! Mab. Love! aid me to my chair ; My strength is failing fast ; I am as one Who has striven hard to distance Grief, and gained The goal before her, my strength but sufficing 304 THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. [ACT Y. To win the triumph. Mordaunt, I shall die With thy love for my chaplet, and in peace! Mor. | Kneeling by her side.| And thou wilt Zvein peace for many years! [ Astde.| What demon gives my fear-struck heart the lie? Mab. Vve much to say, and but brief time to speak it. Thou knowest zow I love thee ; but thou canst not— Thou canst not tell how deeply. That our lips Should so belie our hearts! Couldst thou read mine! Mor. Or thou read mine; the thoughts of agony Remorse sears on it with a brand of fire ! Mab. Oh, couldst thou know how often in my walks My soul drank gladness from the thought that thou Wouldst share them with me, and the beautiful Grow brighter as thy voice interpreted Its hidden loveliness ; and our fireside ! How I should greet thee from the stormy war Of public conflict, kneel beside thy chair, And cause thee bend thine eyes on mine, until ! Thy brow expanded, and thy lips confessed The blessedness of home! Mor. Home, sayest thou? Home / Home! That’s the grave. Mab. My fate is gentler, love, Than I had dared to hope. I shall not ve Encircled by thine arms ; but I may deso. [Sinks back. Mor. (Rising and turning away.| I cannot bear it; Oh, I cannot bear it. Fool! Not to know the vengeance of forgiveness ! Earl. You see, sir, that the wound is deep enough. Mab. Nay, speak not harshly ; for in noble minds Error is suffering, and we should soothe The breast that bears its punishment within. Tell me that you forgive him. Do not pause. Stint not the affluent affection now, That hitherto outran my need in granting All dimly floats before me. While I yet Can hear your voice, tell me that you forgive him ! [MABEL has now raised herself, and stands erect. SG.aLLa) THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. 305 Earl. 1 do, Ido! Mad. Now take him to your arms, And call him son. Earl. Thou art obeyed :—My son! Mor. |Advancing.| My father ! [MABEL jozns their hands. Mad. I am happy—very happy ! [She falls into MORDAUNT’S arms—a short pause— she dies. END OF THE PATRICIAN’S DAUGHTER. MOLSI, U SUNN) ood ol bys ed Bp A Wplav, IN FIVE! ACTS. ; Anne Blake. First performed at the ROYAL PRINCESS’S THEATRE, 07 Thursday, October 28, 1852. CHARACTERS. SIR JOSHUA TOPPINGTON, Zaronet, . Mr ADDISON, THOROLD, lodging in Wales as an artist, Mr CHARLES KEAN. LLANISTON, is friend, a gentleman of fortune, heir to a peerage, . wl . Mr WALTER LAcy. JILLOTT, @ butler, é 5 ‘ . MrJ. CHESTER. SERVANT, . ; : . ‘ + MrCorniis: LADY TOPPINGTON, w/e of Sir Foshua, Mrs WINSTANLEY. ANNE BLAKE, a dependant, Sir Foshua’s | Niece, , é ; : ‘ . Mrs CHARLES KEAN, — CLARA THURLEIGH, Thorold’s cousin, if LLOYD, @ housekeeper, ‘ ;” Mrs: Darya a DAVIES, . ; 5 : ; . Mrs SAKER. Scene—North Wales. . Time—WNear the middle of the nineteenth century. UN Ee BLAKE ACT I. SCENE.—fHall in Toppington House, extending to the back of the stage. The doors are backed by view of the distant country. Doors are closed at opening. Enter LLOYD aud DAVIES. Lloyd. Stir! my young lady will be back at noon. The wind cuts, this spring morning. Quick, a fire! Davies. For her, indeed! Sir Joshua and my lady Will not be home till six ; and for Miss Blake There’s your own fire. What serves the housekeeper May do for her to warm by. Fire for her! [She goes out tossing her head disdainfully. Lloyd. Hard-hearted insolent Enter JILLOTT, Dear Mr Jillott, The wine’s out ; and Miss Blake will need a glass After her long, cold ride. Fie Why, Mistress Lloyd ! Of your five senses is there one remains ? Shall I—Sir Joshua’s butler—make a journey Down to the cellar ? open, as I must, An untouched cask ? and bear the further labour Of drawing and decanting, all for her? For Anne Blake! Is that rational? Lloyd. I'd do it 310 ANNE BLAKE. [ACT I. For any creature living—for a beggar, A sweep, a Hottentot ! eels Ah! there we differ. : Lloyd. But, sir, for Miss Anne Blake, remember this: She is your master’s niece. yi Sir Joshua, I know, has the misfortune to be called Her uncle. Lloyd. |Incensed.| Why misfortune ? Py ie. Mistress Lloyd, Be rational. You know Sir Joshua’s sister, Who might have made a creditable match— A match Sir Joshua prayed for—sunk herself By marrying some poor devil—scribbler, clerk, Tutor, or—I forget the man. What followed? They'd not a coin or crust. She must have starved, But that Sir Joshua received her here, With her puling baby. Lloyd. Ay, took child and mother : But not the husband. yea No; most properly The door was closed on him. What happened next ? His wife—Sir Joshua’s sister—ere a year, Frets herself out of life, and leaves my master This squalling wench to Lloyd. Shame! Poor innocent ! Fil. Poor vixen! From a babe she couldn’t bear Sir Joshua or my lady. Why, she failed In common gratitude, Lloyd. For what? Harsh words And frowns from him, neglect from her; for taunts, Imprisonments, and blows of angry nurses, To cure her temper, till she half became The sullenness they called her. Yet a heart Opener to kindness beats not. Ef oke Poh, poh, poh! F Hearts are low things. I speak of manners, Lloyd ; And hers distress me. Well, you did good service, ; Ui Seals] ANNE BLAKE, Zit When, while Miss Blake was at your husband’s farm, You snared that strolling artist for a lodger, And gulled him into love—love for Anne Blake! I hope he’ll take her, and so rid my taste Of what offends it, my poor lady’s nerves Of daily shocks, my master of disgrace ! Lloyd. Disgrace! Isn’t she flesh and blood like them, And, though she’s poor, their equal ? Tae Equal ! Lloyd. Ay! Fil. Equal! Ill hear no more. Such sentiments Strike at the root of order. O, you’re dangerous, A leveller, Lloyd—a leveller! I’ve no doubt You’d have the cow-boy sit at table with us And pledge us in his pewter! Nay, no more. [He stalks out. Lloyd. Why not their equal! Our Sir Joshua’s father, Though London alderman and baronet, Was yet a trader, nor in wealth forgot The means that raised him. There be two extremes Of men that one can bear—those born to station, Who take it graciously, and those who earn it ; But save me from those doubtful honourables That have no root in custom, yet despise Their honest planter, labour! Had Sir Joshua Been used to rank, or won it by his wits, He’d not have shown his niece such spite because Her mother married humbly. [Avzock.] A knock! not hers : -There’s too much flourish. Her knock’s sharp and bold, As if the door, too, were her enemy— All but poor Lloyd ! [Doors are thrown open by SERVANTS, who enter. Doors remain open, admitting view of Welsh scenery in distance. 312 ANNE BLAKE, [Act 1 Enter LLANISTON, speaking to SERVANT, who retires. Llan. So,so, I’m out of luck! Good day, good Lloyd ! Lloyd. Good day, sir. Llan. And Sir Joshua Lloyd. Returns to-night at six, sir, with my lady. Llan. | Abstractedly.| Humph ! Lloyd. | Aside.| Now, I told him they’d be gone a week, And thrice within the week he comes to seek them. Llan. ve called, you know, on business. Lloyd. Will you wait ? Lian. Yve nota moment. [Goes undecidedly towards the door, then returns.| Can I see Miss Blake? Lloyd. She’s out, sir, for her ride. Llan. Humph ! - Lloyd. She'll be back, though, In an hour, or half an hour, or less. Llan. Vl wait. [ Szzs. Lloyd. | Aside.| That’s odd; he said just now he’d not a moment, How can she help his business? Llan. | Starting as from a reverie.| So he’s dead? Her father—Miss Blake’s father? Lioyd. Sir, ’tis like. He crossed the seas ere she could lisp his name. All trace of him is lost, as in the wave The furrow of his ship. Llan. Poor girl! Lloyd. Ah, sir! Her life’s had little sunshine, little soil ; But she’s a hardy nature. Llan. True. Lioyd. She has A spirit, sir. Llan. I know it. I’ve heard her talk. [Rising and pacing the hall. Spirit indeed! Her very words are cuffs ; And yet I like them. They’ve a health that suits me; sc. I.] ANNE BLAKE, 313 Because well-born and rich, forsooth, my life Has been all tame and breezeless. Gliding servants Have noiseless done my bidding ; tradespeople— Forgetting man’s a perpendicular— Have crooked when I approached ; often, even woman, Whose outside should be mirror to her heart, Has feigned the glance, the motion, and the blush Heaven meant for instincts. O, all these have closed me In a dead, sultry noon! But brave Anne Blake Blows like a morning gust from our cragged hills. I breast it, and am man! Lloyd. Hark! that’s her pony. [ANNE heard without. Anne. I say you must, for the beast’s sake, not mine. She’s hot. Walk her round gently. Sirrah, do it! Enter ANNE in a plain riding-dress. She rushes up to LLOYD, and flings her arms round her neck. Is it not shame now, Lloyd, that for my sake Dumb things should suffer? Though poor Jenny smokes, The groom won’t walk her round the yard. Of course not : She’s mine! [W7th great bitterness.] No matter ! Guess what I have here ! Lloyd. What ! Anne. | Gaily.| Five bright sovereigns ! the price My sketches brought in Bangor. Now they’re yours ; [Gives a purse. On trust, as lawyers say! you'll give them, Lloyd, To poor sick Jervis, whom my uncle, else, Will thrust out of his humble shed for rent. And say that ’tis your gift, Lloyd—no, your loan ; For, as you will not ask it back, a loan Has a gift’s worth, and nothing of its pain. Lloyd. Kind heart ! Anne, Be prompt—save him from further shame. It makes my blood turn fire to hear a man Rated as if his sickness were a crime! 314 ANNE BLAKE. (ACTS, Lloyd. But, darling Anne. Wait ! there’s something more to guess— I’d half a guinea left ; what did I buy? Lloyd. A book? Anne. No. Lloyd, Crochet needles? [ANNE shakes her head.| Pencils? Paper? Anne. Youll never guess. A doll—[Producing tt from a parcel which she carries.|—a doll in white, With eyes that move like life ; but, unlike life, Ne’er fill with tears: a doll with forehead smooth, That never aches ; with feathers and a sash To set her beauty off ; but never proud ! Now, say for whom is this perfection meant ? For my pet, Minnie, Lloyd—your granddaughter. Ah! won’t my little lady dance for joy ? How oft I’ve wished I’d been a doll myself ! I then had had soft hands to stroke my hair ; Kind words and kisses—till the paint wore off ! [Gives doll to LLOYD. Lloyd. | Soothingly.| Hush ! here’s a gentleman to hear. Anne. What then? — Is my tongue to be jailed because he has ears ? Llan. Rather because he hears, he’d have it free And speak unchecked, Anne. Nay, your tongue forces, now, Debts on me which my body pays. See, sir, Curtsies for compliments! [She curtseys.| Good day. [Gozng. Llan. But Lloyd. | Who goes after her, apart.| Stay! He speaks you softly. Anne. Softly ! So your lady Speaks to Sir Joshua, yet I’ve seen him writhe. Our courteous guests speak softly when they stoop To notice the dependant. Who has ever Spoken softly to me but to mock? Save you— You, Lloyd, and him ! Stee Ie) ANNE BLAKE, . 315 Llan. She doesn’t deign a look. Anne. Well, he’s not come? [.St2l2 apart to LLOYD. Lloyd. | Archly.| Who, sweetheart ? Edward Thorold ! No, not yet come. Llan. {|Aside.| This is civil, on my life. [He turns on his heel, and again walks up and down. Anne, Absent again for weeks, And still he hides the cause! Nay, [ll not murmur. I’ve no more claim to his dear love than has The heather to the sun ; yet how I dashed Down crag, through wood, o’er plain, in hope to meet him ! I’m in full time ; dependants should be patient. Lloyd, Nay, nay, pet ! [ANNE goes out dezectedly, LLOYD accompanying and caressing her. Llan. So she’s gone; the porter’s chair And I are left for company. [Looking off.| Here’s one To make athird! Why, if I’ve eyes, ’tis Thorold, My hero friend from India, my rare compound Of grave and gay, whom I perhaps more love That I half fear him ! Enter THOROLD. Thorold. Once more here. What! Llaniston ! Away from London, leaving all May Fair Under eclipse? Lian. What matter to a world That lives by gaslight? What took you from London, After your Indian triumphs, ere a maid Had asked your autograph, or a fond mother Secured you for a breakfast ? Thor. | Smiling. | Business, business. Wigteowny, true; lrecollect: Thor. But recollect Most to forget—my name, my quality, And chief, all points between us that affect Sir Joshua. 316 ANNE BLAKE. [ACT I. Lian. I’m pledged. Thor. You but see an artist In quest of beauty. Llan. Good ! I’m on a quest ; After the grand. Folks call the rugged grand: \ I’ve found the rugged. Thor. Snowdon? Llan., No. Thor. The peak Of Cader Idris >—the Pont Aberglaslyn ? Llan. No; it’s ashe—a girl! D’ye know Anne Blake? Thor. | Starting, but quickly composing himself.| Anne Blake! Sir Joshua’s niece ! IGLES The same; don’t laugh. I’m that girl’s slave; I’ve seen her thrice. Thor. | Carelessly.| Does she Encourage you ? Llan. Not she. She pelts my heart With such force from her, it comes back again In the rebound. Ill win her. Ah, you know not, When women have well chased you all your life, The zest of giving chase to one yourself ! Ill win her ! Thor. Will you /ove her? Llan. By my life! | Thor. 1 doubt that. Women who are but pursued For the pleasure of the ehase, are, like its victims, Cast off when captured ; and the huntsman lover Turns to new game. A wife, my friend, should be a sweet bird won To one’s breast by cherishing ; not a wild quarry To be hawked down. Llan. (Taking off his hat.| My five-years’ senior, I bow to your reproof. In truth, dear Thorold, I own its justice ; but don’t balk this passion. Thor. Miss Blake will. Were it otherwise, you’d tire With your honeymoon no older than a crescent. SC. L.] ANNE BLAKE. 317 Llan. A challenge! Tl make ready for the lists ; Soon shall my constancy unhorse your scorn, While I cry, “ Victory, Wales, and sweet St Anne!” _ [Ae goes out. Thor. I could not tell him in this frolic mood, Her heart had chosen me, her friend, preceptor, Met, as she thinks, by chance. Ah, now, dear orphan! Not for thy father’s memory art thou loved, But for thyself. She guesses not my station, Nor that I knew her father ; but her soul, Which chill neglect had frozen, at one touch Of kindness from me, thawed ; and, though the current Foams at opposing wrong, its waves are clear And bright with glints of heaven! And now to see her! (Turning, he looks accidentally through window at side, and pauses. Alas ! my eyes that thirst so for that sight, Awhile must wait. Sir Joshua returns, And Id not meet her in zs sight, whose taunts My prudence scarcely brooks. Brave Anne, bear on; The day is near I shall have right to shield thee ! [Goes out. Re-enter LLOYD and JILLOTT. Lioyd. Not six yet by two hours, and here’s Sir Joshua And my lady back. Enter SIR JOSHUA and LADY TOPPINGTON, followed by SERVANT and LADY’s-MAID, with travelling gear. Ser, [Timidly approaching SIR JOSHUA.] Your coat, Sir Joshua. Sir F. Back, sir—know your place. er, VCs, Sir. Str F. Why does the fool stand gaping there? Why don’t you take my coat? 318 ANNE BLAKE, [ACT I. Fil. [To SERVANT, who hesttatingly touches the coat.| Not so, you country loon ;—so, there’s your pattern. [Zakes the coat from SIR JOSHUA, with a low bow, and flings tt at SERVANT, who goes out. Sir F Wait, sir. The cards. Lady T. A chair, Lloyd. My poor nerves! Fil. The cards, Sir Joshua. Str fs Are these all? File All, sir. Sir $. [| Glancing over the cards.| Dobbs, Evans, Jones, the curate, Andrew Ray, From Budge Row, City! Stretch of insolence. Because he knew my father! Roberts, Owen— There’s not a name worth reading in the batch. [flings down the cards contemptuously on salver. No callers else? Fil. | Places salver on table.| Why, no, sir, none— Except the Earl of Conniston Ay ATE Litcept The Earl of Conniston! Dare you drag in An earl’s name, a real earl’s name, at the tail Of fifty nobodies, with an—except ? Well, well, Lord Conniston called -—— Fil. At the lodge gate, sir, To ask the nearest cross-road to Llanberis. Sir F Leave the room, sirrah. [JILLOTT dows, and goes out. Lioyd. He forgot to say Squire Llaniston, who’s home from London, called, Sir $. | Troubled.| Squire Llaniston! Lady T. [Throwing back her bonnet, with an air of inadifference.| Yes, she spoke plainly. Lloyd. And he called three times. Sir F Three times within a week! Who spoke with him? Lloyd. Myself, sir, and Miss Blake. SUF. | LOPE Miss Blake! Lady T. (In a corroborating manner. | Miss Blake. : J 1 SC. L] ANNE BLAKE. 319 Sir F. Send her here—no words. Lloyd. |Muttering.| More spite at my poor pet ! [Goes out. Str F Well, madam? Zaay I. Well, Sir Joshua? Ay or Youre calm Upon the brink of ruin. Lady T. [Still calmly.| Ruin ? te f: Madam, D’ye know or not, that my estate is mortgaged To Llaniston for thousands ; that last year He pressed for its redemption ; that he’s called Thrice in this week, doubtless to urge repayment, And that to meet his claim I’ve not its tithe. Lady T. You would keep hounds, give dinners, bet with lords. Str F. Zounds ! © Lady T. Mind my nerves. Saale ie Nerves, ma’am! You’ve nerve enough To warm your feet by a volcano! Well, The money was my own. I’d none with you ! Lady T. No; but you'd family. A ete What has it brought me? I’m shunned by the whole county. Lady T. Dear Sir Joshua, Is that my fault? You married and gained entrance To the first circles ;—/ accomplished that. They cut you ;—you accomplished that yourself. Enter ANNE, with an air of fixed depection. Anne. You sent for me? tt Fi yc Anne. Well, sir ? Sir F. That’s your welcome After my absence, is it? [4 pause. Lady T. | Sarcastically.| Can’t you say Youre glad to see Sir Joshua? 320 ANNE BLAKE. TACT Ty Anne. Madam, spare me ! I'd not offend. SEF 7 .. You're too like your low father To be grateful. Would my house were quit of you. Anne, It will be soon. Sir F. Yes, when yon strolling sketcher Makes you his wife. Why leaves he still unfixed Your marriage-day? He had my full consent To take you hence. The dolt most like repents His hasty bargain. [ANNE shudders, and utters an ejaculation of sudden pain. Lady T. Nay, you use her hardly. Sir F. Let her not chafe me, then. Speak, Anne! you’ve seen Young Llaniston thrice? Anne. ’Twas his fault. a7 Ff. | Well, his errand ? Anne. A fool’s—he wasted compliments on me. Sir F. What was his business ? Anne. I can’t tell you that ; I wouldn’t hear it. SEP Why, you never turned him Out of the room. Anne. No; I got tired, and left it. Sir F. [Enraged.| She turned her back on him! He left insulted, Enraged beyond a doubt, and for revenge He'll claim his mortgage promptly! [Zo ANNE.] ’Tis your work, Yours who live by my sufferance, whose least crust Is given ! Anne, Earned, sir—not given; it’s but the price you pay To taunt the helpless. That safe luxury, Like others, must be paid for. WaT. Fs Minx! Anne. [With a burst of uncontrollable passion.) Be sure Serr | ANNE BLAKE, 321 You shall not lose ; there’s one shall pay you back Each crumb you dropped me; or, if not, I’d put My blood, brain, bones to hire—nay, coin you guineas Out of my life, rather than keep it bound To charity like yours. [She rushes out. ihe f: I'll tame you ! Lady T. Who— Who would have nerves? Enter JILLOTT, File Sir Joshua, a letter— I may say a despatch. . Squire Llaniston’s groom Brought it post-haste. Sir F. Out, blockhead ! [JILLOTT goes out.] AsI said! Here’s the warrant of our doom. He asks his loans, And I’m a beggar—you too! [He opens the letter. | Have I eyes? There’s no hoax; ’tis his hand. . . . Jove, how I hate her ! Yet she must save me. Lady T. What’s your news, Sir Joshua? Do you go to jail? Sir F. [Focularly.| No, ma’am ; ’tis Llaniston Should be confined for life. Lady T. For what crime? A Tain Madness ! But it makes well for us. He'll not press now To have his loans repaid. The fool’s in love— In love, in downright love ! Lady T. With whom? Sir F Anne Blake ! VOL. 1. x 322 ANNE BLAKE. [ACT II. ACT SCENE.—Library in Toppington House, overlooking the’ grounds. Open French window at back; groups of sculpture on either side; doors on each side; a glass door also partly open near back. SIR JOSHUA aiscovered. Sir F. Yes, yes, I thank my stars; but that I grudge The vixen so much luck, this chance falls bravely. Llaniston in love with her! A pedigree Old as the hills, and as much gold as, melted, Would make a lake between them! Llaniston Nephew-in-law to me! He can’t press hardly Upon his uncle. He'll extend his mortgage, Perhaps forgive it. I can breathe—I’m saved ! Lady T. [Who has entered unobserved.| You're in high spirits ? LY or a Have you seen her yet? Have you told her this good news? Does she keep her senses At such an offer? Has she yet dismissed That rambling artist? Zounds! how dare he venture To woo my niece? Lady T. She has not dismissed him ; She knows not Llaniston’s offer. aS Quick, then, tell her. Lady T, Waste would mar all. Thorold has won her love. He showed her kindness. What accomplishments She knows, he taught her. Though she may be brought To banish him, gold will not tempt her. Siar Then what will ? Lady T. Her proud and jealous heart ; and, to say truth, I’ve grounds, as yet known only to myself, To question if he loves her ios) Go sc. 1] ANNE BLAKE. Sir F. Will you urge her To his rejection? Lady T. Yes ; for love’s a dream, One touch dispels, while wealth and good position Last for a life ; also because you’re ruined Save we’ve a hold on Llaniston. Sir F. [Advancing to her.| Thanks! Lady T. | Withdrawing. | No transports ; They try my nerves. Both sides being duly weighed, I’d rather live in ease and bear your presence, Than starve—with you in jail. Sir F, [Angrily. | How? Lady T. Silence! Or [ll not aid you. [Motions him off. Sir $. |Deprecatingly.| Nay, we part good friends, Lady T. Best friends, sir, when we part. A pleasant morning. | She curtseys. SIR JOSHUA bows and goes out. Gold is not everything. It’s pleasant, too, To respect the man one marries. Once, indeed, I was love’s dupe, like Anne, and half betrothed To a poor advocate. She'll have a lot Brighter than mine—rank, wealth, and—no Sir Joshua! [She voes out. Enter ANNE, attired in a fashionable morning-dress, Jollowed by LLOYD. Anne. What means this change? I know its outside fair, But yet ’tis false. I feel it! This new dress, Worn at my uncle’s cost, hangs on my limbs Heavier than chains. I'll cast it off- Lloyd. Child, child, Be not somad! Look in the glass, and see How it becomes you, beauty ! Anne. [Apart.| Where is he Should guide me here? Why this protracted absence— 324 ANNE BLAKE. [ACT IL. The cause still hid in mystery? Thorold, Thorold! Have you too learned to stint the dues of love When a dependant claims them ? Re-enter LADY TOPPINGTON. Lady T. Go, Lloyd. [LLOYD goes out; LADY TOPPING- TON sinks indolently into a chair, while ANNE paces the room excitedly.| Anne! Anne. | Stopping short.| Madam, explain this riddle. Why am I Invited to your presence? Whence these gifts Lavished unasked ? [| Shows her bracelets. Lady I. If they displease you, choose Some other pattern. You’ve decidedly A graceful figure. Anne. [Impatiently.| Madam ! Lady T. Stay—sit down— You know I’m nervous. That’s a charming foot ! Anne. Nay, then I'll go. [She half rises, but ts re- strained by a gesture from LADY TOPPINGTON.] Would you indeed be bounteous, Send back these bracelets ; give the poor their price. O, if you knew what joy to aching hearts This gold would bring that’s idly spent on me! Take them! Lloyd has a nephew, a brave lad, Who wants a boat. Lady T. | Gently declining them.| So generous ! I’ve oft thought _ We were mistaken in you. Not an hour since I said, “ She has a heart—a heart, Sir Joshua— Whose love we might have won.” Anne. [| Softened.| Perhaps you might. Lady T. Your uncle and myself, I own, disliked you. Yet there are times when every woman’s breast Yearns to its neighbour. Yes, dear Anne, I saw Too well what you had suffered. Seri: | ANNE BLAKE. ) 325 Anne. Suffered ! Why? Lady T. From Thorold’s absence. Have I struck too roughly A string that jars? Don’t speak—— Anne. For once—once only. I love him, and could scarce debate his truth With my own heart. How should I then with you? Lady T. His truth! You run: to extremes. He’s pledged to wed you, And you may trust his honour. Anne, Do you mean That only honour binds him? Lady T. There you pain me! No doubt he means you fairly. Anne. Fairly! Ay, He'll keep his bond, you think, but curse the whim That signed it ; has no grain of love to pay That sum he vowed ; but O, he’s honourable, And ready with the forfeit! I could blush At my own jest, such love-suits—nay, such law-suits !— The bachelor a bankrupt, and the maid His creditor ; conscience the officer she fees To arrest her victim, and her heart his jail ! [With constrained laughter. Lady T. Vd give the world to have your flow of spirits. Well, well, we'll hope the best ; but love, you know, Is often blind. I’ve here a curious proof Of that old proverb, ’Tis the merest fragment Of a worn letter [ Aroducing it]; but it much concerns A friend of mine. Give me your thoughts upon it— Nay, read it! Mark, ’tis in a woman’s hand; And read aloud, that we may after join Our minds in comment. Come! ’tis a small favour.. [ANNE Zakes the letter reluctantly, and reads tt care- lessly at first while standing. Anne. “I have been in perfect solitude ever since you left. The rest are absent, and friends rarely find out this lonely house.” [She pauses. 326 ANNE BLAKE. [ACT II. Lady T. Goon! Anne. | Resuming.| “ Yet I have not been unhappy, nor needed society. Sweet remembrances and sweeter hopes—these have been my companions by day and night.” [She becomes gradually interested, again pauses ana sits. Lady T, Further still. Anne. |Resuming.| “Ah, when I recall your love— when do I not ?—I feel as if earth could give me no more ; as if hope itself could ask no more; as if my world were filled and brightened by that love alone light of my life, my heart’s sole joy !” [She lays down the letter. I'll read no more; these words are sacred ! O, how she must have loved ! Lady Te Loved whom ? Anne. You best Know that. Lady T. 1 do, Anne. How I grieve to say it— Those lines were writ to Thorold ! Anne. No! Lady T. Tis true. I found them in the lbrary that day He bade you his farewell there. Anne. But not dropped By him? Lady T. He sought them eagerly ; questioned my ser- vants If they had found such letter—a torn fragment In a blank envelope. [Shows envelope.) I then was absent For some few hours ; ere my return he left. Anne. And how came you to read a page not yours ? Lady T, | thought it mine, a mere shred undirected, So read, and then read on. I’d fears for you. Anne. Most needless ones, What man can help the love Another utters? You've no proof that he— That he returned it ! Seid.) ANNE BLAKE. 327 Lady T. Do you think she had called him Her heart’s sole joy, had he repelled her love? Anne. Cease! Are you bent to torture me? Lady T. To save you. Anne. Save? Yet rob me Of trustin him! He false! Lady T, Even if he were, There are other men alive; he is but one. Anne. | Springing up impetuously.| Ay; but one sun suffices for a world: If quenched, ’tis night, though heaven be packed with Stars ! O Thorold! I have known so little love, Forgive me if I wronged thee by one doubt! Lady T. Confiding girl! Give me the letter. Anne. [Quickly approaching the table and taking the letter, which she replaces tn blank envelope.| No! If it be his, ’tis safer in my care. Lady T. Give me your promise, then, you'll not betray That you have learned its purport ; at least, not Till I consent. Anne. |Mechanically,| 1 promise ; as you will.| Enter JILLOTT. Fil. The Honourable Mr Llaniston, of Llaniston, Through me, requests an audience of my lady. [fe goes out. Lady T. [|Astde.| V’ve paved his way ; himself must do the rest. [After looking earnestly at ANNE, who stands absorbed, she goes out. Anne. I would as soon believe heaven’s arch would fall, As think him false. My heart was void—he filled it ; Bleeding—he bound it ; fierce with wrong—he calmed it. My comfort, guide, sole joy! Sole joy! Ah! now Those words flash back on me; another used them ! Who calls him light of life, sole joy, but me? Did he permit it? Would she else have dared ?>— 328 ANNE BLAKE. [ACT ll. Such words of open passion ! these delays Repeated of our union! Do I doubt? I must not—dare not! My faith lost, I lose All hold on good. My soul that’s built on him, Would like a tower, when the earth reels, fall shattered ; Fatal to all I light on! O, these words Were never meant for him—and yet! Doubt ebbs, Then flows, and gains upon me like a sea! Thor. |Without.| Anne! Anne! Enter THOROLD. At last ! Anne.|Rushing towards him.| Thorold! [Suddenly checking herself.| So, you're returned. Thor. What! for no warmer welcome? Anne. Why, you talk As you'd been years away, not three short weeks. Thor. Did they seem short? Anne. To you. Thor. : Why, Anne? Anne. Because You’re often absent. .What one often does, ’Tis plain one likes ; and what one likes seem short. Thor. Excellent logic! Then, because you’ve borne My absence often, it seemed short to you ? Anne. O, I’d your letters. Talking now of letters, You're careless of them. One you dropped was found here. [Gzves him the fragment in blank envelope. Thor. [Opening letter, aside.| Her mother’s to her father in their wooing, Anne. Where are your thanks? Perhaps you set no value Upon the letter? Thor. Set no value! Anne. | With forced gaiety.| Ah! You do then prize it ? Thor. Anne, some other theme ! Levity suits not this, =) on eg ANNE BLAKE. 329 Anne. Why not? Thor. *Tis sacred. Anne. [Aside.| Sacred ! Thor. Another cloud. Anne. Well, can you wonder ? [Strugeling with her emotion.| Ym curious, anda woman. Come now, tell me Where you have been—what done. Unlock for me Your Bluebeard chamber, sir. [Wz7th sudden earnest- mess.| I do not jest ; Dear Thorold, I implore—explain your absence ! Thor. Myabsence? Thrice you’ve asked me that before. Thrice I replied, I cannot. Anne, Will not. Thor. Anne! Where is your faith? I grant ’twixt maid and suitor Should be no secrets save what reason claims And conscience warrants. If by these compelled To veil his thoughts—— Anne. Ay—then? Thor. Then ’tis her part To credit the compulsion. She who loves Best shows her love by trusting. Will you trust me ? [After a short pause she gives him her hand. ] knew you'd give your hand. Anne. | Aside. | He knew Id give it ! He moulds me just like wax : all calm, no passion ! If he loved me, he’d be angry. [Withdraws her hand. Thor. What! Not pardoned? Anne. Pardoned—by me, an outcast, a stray waif On fortune’s tide, without an owner’s name, Or stamped with one I scorn ! Thor. Whose? Anne. Whose but his Who lured my mother from her home, made want, That cankered life, her lot—dependence mine ; Who forced on me the life he left to insult ? My father’s—— 330 ANNE BLAKE. [ACT II. Thor. [With sudden energy.| Hold! A stigma, though deserved, When a child brands it, makes the hearer weigh The censure with the sin; but, if unjust— No, no; you could not mean it! What has warped Your heart so from its course? Anne. The words of all men Who knew my father. He lacked strength to scale My mother’s height—so drew her to abasement. Thor. Did she so deem? True, he was of a band Whom fortune frowns on, whom authority Oft uses and forgets ; but still, their souls Are the world’s life-blood ! Anne. Who? Thor. The men who think / Whose weapon is the pen, whose realm the mind. I mean not laurelled bards, but daily workers, Who, like the electric force, unseen pervade The sphere they quicken ; nameless till they die, And leaving no memorial but a world Made better by their lives ! Anne. You knew my father ? Thor. We met abroad ; ’twas in his later years ; I heard his story there. Your mother held His love above the world, and, spite of menace, Gave him her hand and heart. His thrifty earnings Sufficed till fever seized him. Then on both Fell that sharp want: his wife mourned for his sake, With which his child upbraids him ! Anne. | Aside. | Plain he hates me! Never would love on one brief, bitter mood Pronounce so sternly! I’ve at least this grace, That, heartless as I am, I free your sight Of what must needs offend it ! [| Goes out tmpetuously. Thor, Stay, Anne. Gone! My love for her lost father made me harsh. I should have thought how much that secrecy His dying breath enforced, must fret a heart $6.17} ANNE BLAKE. 331 Fervent and galled by wrong. I had fixed to-day To end her trial, and might do so yet, Would but this lagging mail from India bring The news I hope for. | Zurning, he sees CLARA THUR- LEIGH Peering in at open glass door.| Who's here? Can it be? Enter CLARA. Clara. [With a laugh.| It can. Thor. Clara, my madcap cousin! [TZhey shake hands. Clara. Yes, I found This glass door open, reconnoitred you, And so skipped in, all unobserved. You see Even marriage has not cured my pranks. Thor. | Smiling.] What could ? Clara. A steady course of whipping when a child Might have done something, but ’tis too late now. Thor. Why came you here? Clara. To scold you. Was I not Your favourite cousin ? Thor. [| Sportively. | You ! Clara. You know I was. You fell in love with me when you were ten. Deny it not! I recollect the day I had a skipping-rope and wore red shoes. Confess those shoes made havoc in your heart! Where was your conscience then to keep from me This dear delicious secret ? Thor. Secret ! Clara. Ay. But you revealed it to my aunt, your mother. I wormed it from her. Then a longing seized me To know your charming Anne. Some friends of Thur- leigh’s Live in this neighbourhood ; they asked us down. Though three months married, Thurleigh spoils me still. I said, “ Accept’’—we came. Thor. On mischief bent. 332 ANNE BLAKE. [ACT II. Clara. Don’t fear ; I quite kept your incognito. I first called at your lodgings, and inquired For the artist, Mr Thorold. You were here: Now tell me what she’s like. When shall I see her? Thor. You don’t deserve it ; but to-morrow noon. Clara, To-morrow noon ! Thor. No sooner; I’ve good reasons. Clara. I shall die of curiosity ere then. Now, what have you deserved, ungracious tyrant ? Not a considerate, benevolent friend, Like her who brings you this. [Gzves him a miniature. Thor. The miniature ! Who gave it you ? Clara. _ The jeweller in London: You had left it for repair, he said, and wished Its quick return. Do tell me—is it Anne? Thor, [Looking earnestly on miniature.| Not Anne— Anne’s mother! [LADY TOPPINGTON xow appéars outside, at window at back, and stops short.) They’re unlike in feature ; And yet at times I’ve caught that very look On her child’s face. [CLARA fakes and examines the miniature. LaDy TOPPINGTON zow enters, and slowly advances unpercetved: ANNE also enters by window unper- ceived by THOROLD and CLARA ; LADY TOPPINGTON seizes her hand, and points to THOROLD aud CLARA ; ANNE attempts to withdraw—LADY TOPPINGTON Sorcibly detains her. Clara. Yes, 1 half guessed this would ensure my wel- come. Thor. A double welcome, for its sake and yours: You could have given me no more sweet surprise. [CLARA returns the miniature, on which he gazes intently. O, I could bend for hours above this face, Lit with devotion, meek, yet brave in trial ! Sil ANNE BLAKE, O2 LoS) Los) Why, why should bitter fate be love’s dire foe, And sever hearts that with one instinct thrill— Beat with one pulse? Clara. |Earnestly.| Perhaps, that we might know Love’s constancy. How could we prove its strength But for its trials ? Thor. | Warmly, and taking her hand.| Said like you! There shone The generous soul that, seen through all disguise, First made me love you. Clara, | Affecting dejection,| Love me! so you say. Thor. And so you know. Now leave me. Clara. | Warmly.| Dear, dear Thorold ! But we shall meet to-morrow ? Thor. Yes, at noon. Be more discreet though ; meet me at my lodgings. This for the portrait. [Azsses her, then walks with her to door, by which CLARA goes out. Anne. |To LADY TOPPINGTON.] Let’s go! Lady T. Soon. | They retire a few steps. Thor. |Returning, his eyes bent on the miniature.| True heart ! How blessed had been my lot, had Heaven so willed, To take thee to my home, to say, “ All joy Sits circled round my hearth, for thou art here !” To greet thee with the tenderest tones of love And reverent duty ; with a life’s devotion Console thee for the past. It may not be. How like that look to hers ! | He kisses mintature ; at an imperative gesture from ANNE, LADY TOPPINGTON dears her aside, near window and retires behind a group of sculpture, which conceals them; THOROLD, after a pause. Shall I seek Anne, And tell her all? Perhaps ’twere best, Anne, Anne! [Goes out. Immediately afterwards, LADY TOPPING- TON comes forward, supporting ANNE, q.5 ANNE BLAKE. [ACT II. Lady T. [Looking at ANNE, who seems in stupor.| She would have fled, but that by force I held her. Poor girl! Speak, love !—you heard ?—you heard, I say? [With great gentleness. Anne. |Faintly, rousing herself.| Thank you—I heard. Lady T. You did not see her face? Anne. No. Lady T. Nor I, plainly. But you saw him take Her pledge of love-—her portrait ? Anne. Hers ! Lady T. Whose else ? Even grant it were another’s, what avails it, Being plain he loves that other? But you saw His kiss that paid that gift, and heard him say He loved her, and lament the bitter fate That severed them. Anne. |Regarding her keenly.| Go! you're his enemy ! This is [ Falters. Lady T. | Still holding her.| My work? Why, were I twenty times His enemy, could I have done this? Had I witchcraft To make them meet by stealth, change gifts, embrace, And plan a next-day’s meeting? When she went, Was it I who made him press his burning kiss Upon her painted semblance, while he cried, What bliss it were to have led her to his homne— That home where she had inade his bliss complete ? Anne. Release me! Lanyel,. Now all’s clear ; no need to ask Who wrote to him those passionate lines of love You read to-day. Anne, he may marry you, His word being pledged ; but he loves only her. Forgive the cruel truth. Anne. Your arm is iron, It crushes me ; let go! I want breath —breath ! [She breaks from LADY TOPPINGTON, and falls prostrate. ACT III. ] ANNE BLAKE. 335 Pe) ENED ETO GE SCENE.—A richly-furnished drawing-room in Toppington flouse. ANNE discovered seated on a low stool, her arm support- ing her head. Anne, He loves another—loves another! Why, I dwell upon the sounds as if repetition Could exorcise their sense. My heart rebels ’Gainst eyes and ears. Have I not seen his kiss Pressed on her cheek—ay, on her painted cheek, With warmer glow than met my living lips? Is not my brain seared with his words, that told How blessed his home had been if shared with her? Her letters too! He was her light of life! Tis true, dupe, true! As drowning men recal Old dreams of shipwreck, and in horror’s face Gasp—this is sleep—I cling to hope till billows Of proof o’erwhelm me! Yes, he loves another ! And for his vows to me, I stand a debtor To pity, jealous pique, a hasty mood— Which he repents of. Shall that promise bind him Which does not bind his heart? I flung mine wide To hail him, like a loyal city’s gate That hails its king! If there he finds no home, He shall not find a prison. He’s free as air! Free as the light he brought into my gloom, And now takes back and leaves me [She gives way, then, after a pause, starts to her feet. O shame, shame ! Where is my pride? Enter LADY TOPPINGTON avd LLANISTON. Lady T. My will’s imperious ; You'll stay and be our guest. [Linking her arm in ANNE’S.] Join with me, love. He can’t refuse two ladies. 336 ANNE BLAKE. [acT 11. Llan. [Who bows, aside.| Who’s the second ? Sure not Miss Blake. She met me at the door, And deigned me as much notice as the threshold. Lady T. Silence consents. You'll stay ; and to ensure Some life in these dull quarters, and reward Your prompt obedience, hear what I propose— We'll act a play Llan. Charming ! Lady T. If we can call A company together. Once we played “ The Story of a Duchess.” Here’s the book. I have at hand the dresses, parts, costumes. Amuse each other till I bring them. [A/art to ANNE, who turns away, and fixes her eyes intently on a marble group.| Anne ! Be kind to him. He loves you, and has made you An honourable tender of his hand. [She goes out. Lian. | Aside.| She turns from me. Our hostess, gentle lady, Bade me amuse you. Anne. She imposed on you A hard employment. Llan. True. Id choose another. Anne. Do so, Llan. I’d woo you. Anite. Then, sir, you’d succeed In your first task—my amusement. [She retires. Llan. Well, jest on ; Frown if you will, but hear me; let me plead. [Follows her. E-nter THOROLD, the miniature in his hand. Thor. ve sought her everywhere. [A side, looking off-] What! her aunt here ! And Llaniston! I must choose a fitter time For this dear gift—the all that earth retains Of her loved mother. SC.’ L] ANNE BLAKE. ~ 337 Lady T. |Re-entering, coming to front with robes, a coronet, and MSS., she observes THOROLD, lays them down, then speaks aside.| Thorold here! There’s danger That must be met ; for pity, though not love, May bind him still to wed her. Ah! what now Rivets his eye? That portrait! Anne! Llan. Unkind And sudden interruption ! [THOROLD advances to LLANISTON. Lady T. What! You know him? Llan. | Hesitatingly.| Know him?—O yes. He calls himself an artist. Lady T. Nay, is one. [Zo THOROLD.] That’s a por- trait. May I look? Your pencil’s latest, doubtless ? Thor. [Reluctantly. | Madam ! Lady T. Why, You seem reluctant—quite perplexed. Real talent Is modest! I insist. [She takes the portrait, and turning to ANNE, apart, opens the case.|_ Vve somewhere seen A face which this recalls! Where, where? ’tis fancy. Look, a fair face, love! [Gives her the portrait, then aside.| Marked you his confusion? [ANNE wth an effort suppresses her emotion; they affect to examine portrait. Llan. | Apart to THOROLD.] Deuce take me if I under- stand your mystery ! Thor. At least respect it. Nota word, be sure, Of aught between us that concerns Sir Joshua ! Lian. O, he’s your object; mine’s his niece. Re- member You challenged me to win her! Thor. Have you won her ? Lian. Not yet; she’s flint ; but I’ll strike fire from her. Thor. The spark will scorch you ; she’ll remain a stone. Lady T. [Returning portrait to THOROLD] A face that’s full of interest: we both thought so. VOL. I. Ni 338 ANNE BLAKE. [ACT III, J [ Apart to ANNE.] Look how he turns and lays it next his heart ! Courage! he'll see you tremble. Anne. I don’t tremble, [Aloud.] Come, come, the talk dies out! One’s thoughts grow numb. Who'll stir the mirth into a blaze? Will you? Llan. Gladly! [Bringing THOROLD zo LADY Top- PINGTON.| Lady Commander, a recruit For your company, not of dragoons, but players. Lady T. Ay, true, our dear theatricals! All’s ready. [Showing separate MSS. Here’s each one’s separate part. Group round and listen, While I explain. [Aszde.|] ll turn this to account. [All walk to places. Our heroine’s a young girl whose mind and beauty Raise her from life’s low level to a dukedom. The duke who weds her is, of course, the hero, Lian, Vl be the duke! Anne. [Forcing gaiety.| Beware, sir, your stage-lovers Have oft sad endings. Lian. Yes ; sometimes they die. It’s worth the risk of dying for to woo you. Anne. [With laughter.\| Ah! that’s because you’re vain, and don’t believe I’d suffer you to die. Lady T. A sharp retort ! Llan. [Apart to THOROLD.] Did you mark that ? What think you of her now? Thor. Think! that she’s in good spirits. Llan. Nay, she melts. Look on, and see me win her. Lady T. [Resuming] You're the duke, then, And Anne your duchess, [Gives each of them a manuscript character. Lian. Vl play my part to the life. Ah! would ’twere for life! scrr] ANNE BLAKE. was 9, Anne. Life’s along time. Let’s see you play the lover For half an hour first. [As¢de, glancing at THOROLD. He’s calm. My caprices Disturb him little. Llan. Come, begin! But Thorold Lady T. O, land Mr Thorold take small share, The humble lover, he who, as he ought, Resigns the maid, withdraws his flickering light When greatness breaks upon her path like day. I’m but his sister, who advises him To that just course. Llan. Besinjthen..) Firstilet’s try A scattered speech or two to test our powers. Say this, where the duke enters. [He leads ANNE /for- ward.| That’s the page. Permit me. Lady T. [To THOROLD.] With what spirit they adopt This project. . [THOROLD /akes the book. Llan. Ready! [Reads from the MS., using his glass, and reciting in tie style of an amateur.|—Scene, a rustic cottage. Enter the duke,--Alone, my Marguerite ? You turned surprised there. Anne. Right! [Reads from MS.| My lord again Beneath this humble roof! Direct your feet To loftier homes, for your high state more meet. Llan. ’Tts inner worth gives rank to outward place ; The cot’s a court tf filled with human grace. The rudest niche ts hallowed, tf tt hold A saint within; and men who delve for gold In the mean earth, rise princes. Let me be More rich than they—to stoop and rise—with thee! Anne. Thrice have you urged on me this suit before, And thrice have I refused. Lian. I'd urge the more ! Be rock, and my strong sea of love divide, It ebbs but to return a mightier tide ; Refelled again, more high the billows roll, 340 ANNE BLAKE. [ACT III. And sweep at last, resistless, to their goal! Maiden, I claim this hand ! [He kneels and kisses her hand. LADY TOPPINGTON applauds. Thor. [Interposing between LLANISTON and ANNE. | Stay, Llaniston ; that’s not the stage direction. He doesn’t kneel and kiss her in the book. [Shows the page. Llan. IJ did it upon instinct. Anne. [To LADY TOPPINGTON.] Is he jealous ? Lady T. Jealous, with that cold eye! No; but he’s proud, Nor brooks another’s homage to his bride. Ill sound him, though. Converse with Llaniston. [ANNE amd LLANISTON revire. | 70 THOROLD, who advances.| I see this pains you. Thor. What? Lady T. Nay, if your eyes Are closed, my lips are. [Looking towards ANNE and LLANISTON. Thor. Yes, you're right ; I’m pained For Llaniston, who may build delusive hopes On her gay humour. I’ve no fears for her. Lady T. Yowre so confiding. Birth and wealth like Llaniston’s Are strong temptations. Thor. Not to Anne. Anne. [Who laughingly releases her hand from LLAN- ISTON, and comes with him to front.| Nay, nay ; To your task! Llan. A cruel task to feign— Only to fezgz Ilove you. You had driven The play duke to despair. Anne. | Recklessly.| He was repulsed Three times, you know. ’Tis you would have lost patience ! [Crosses the stage excitedly. Lady T, That’s a fair challenge. Lian. So I count it. sc. 1.] ANNE BLAKE. 341 Thor. [Apart to ANNE.| Anne, A word. This frolic mood gives Llaniston warrant For hopes you little dream of. Anne. Are you sure That I don’t guess them ? Thor. I should grieve you did. I would not think you jest with him. Anne. Jest with him ! I jested once ; but twas before I knew His high condition. He’s the nephew, sir, And next heir of an earl. The man can give His wife a coronet! Jest with him !—jest! [ Aszde.| He thought me heartless ; now he'll find me so. Come, friends, the play ! Thor. |Apart.| Have I heard right? What, Anne Barter her childlike truth and plighted faith For rank—for gold! ’Twas wanton humour; yet This morning’s freezing welcome, her aunt’s warning— I'll end this doubt. Anne. Proceed! Llan. ’Tis Thorold’s turn To play the lover. Thor. Ay, the humbler one Who yields her to the duke. Not till he knows Her heart is with the duke though. Here’s a passage Strikes me. I know the words.— [He lays down the book, and advances to ANNE, who stands apart. Go: I release you! She can nought impart, Who, giving all beside, withholds her heart. Did those eyes smile, I should recal they smiled On loftier love, and deem my own beguiled. Discord to me the tones, though soft and clear, That make like music in a rival's ear. I gave thee all my heart; as on a throne Thou there hadst reigned, tf reigning there alone ! But she whom from my breast caprictous will Or pride can tempt, that throne shall never fill! 342 ANNE BLAKE. |. [acru Llan. Excellent! you quite make the part your own. [He zs about to come forward; LADY TOPPINGTON restrains him, exhibiting robes and coronet. Thor. [Apart to ANNE.] I felt as ’twere my own. Anne ‘I had acted Even as that lover. Anne. A threat ! Thor. No; a warning. If that ambition or caprice have swayed Your heart to Llaniston, your fate were wretched To call me husband ; but if from vanity, With no intent to wed him, you would rouse A true heart’s hope and love, his fate were sadder Who called you—wife. ‘Anne. [Aside.] O prompt excuse to snap The chain that galls him. Thor. Hear me—— Anne. No; I’ve chosen. Here, sir, our pathways part; you're free for ever ! [Zurning to LADY TOPPINGTON.] What have you there ? Lady T. The duchess’ robe and crown. Thor. | Apart.| This change should be the work of years not moments, She false! she heartless ! Enter SIR JOSHUA wth a sealed letter. 577-47. It’s absurd ; It’s too absurd. Lady T. What now ? Ser Tf. A messenger, Who swears that Colonel Thorold’s in the house, And claims admittance. Laay 1 Well! Si F. He brought this letter, Just reached from India. Thor. India! Give it me, sc. 1.] ANNE BLAKE. 343 Sir F. Tis not for you or yours, Though you're called Thorold, I judge you’re no relation to the colonel. Thor. No, sir, I am the colonel. Llaniston ? Llan, ’Yis true, indeed; you speak with Colonel Thorold, The gallant hero of our last campaign. Thor. Give me your pardon. [Zakes and opens letter. Sir F. | Staggered. | Is it possible ? Llan. Ay, sir—a man of wealth and family That few can boast. Llane A downright gentleman ! I thought he lived by his talents. Thor. [Reading apart. | The Indian mines— ’Tis news indeed. Friend, give me joy! Those mines In India, where I’d risks Llan. Which you thought desperate—— Thor. Prosper past hope. They’ve hit on a new vein! Lian. Brave tidings ! [Shakes THOROLD’S hand. Thor. |Resuming the letter.) Ah! what’s here? “ Wait your return ”—— My return! Then I'll be prompt. Il save her, snatch her From this corrupting air. Sir Joshua, One title you’ve allowed. I claim another— Your niece’s guardian by her father’s will. I'll bring full proofs, with reasons that till now Obliged concealment. Hold the lady henceforth At my disposal. [Gozneg. fey What? her guardian! Pooh! Her guardian ! stay, stay! [ Follows THOROLD owt. Lady T. (To LLANISTON.] Learn if this be true ; She’s much moved. Go! [LLANISTON goes out. Anne. |Musing.| So his fate were sad Who called me wife! He saidit! Thorold! Lady T. [Playfully laying her hand on ANNE'S shoulder.) Dazed ! Well, so you should be. A rich, high-born guardian 344 ANNE BLAKE. [ACT III. Dropped from the clouds! I suppose, now, you'll wed him? Anne. For his. wealth, when I dismissed him poor? Lady T. Dismissed him ! Well, then, ’twould look, I grant, should yeu relent, As a his fortunes bribed you. Anne, I’d let despair Gnaw through my heart first. Taner Right! that’s spirit, girl ! I love those flashing eyes. Stand so, and humour A fancy that I love. They’re but the robes Of the play duchess—| Disposing them round her.|—Wait the coronet! [Places tt on the table at ANNE'S right. A perfect picture! You were born to rule, To shine amidst the brilliant! Ah, there’s one— Heir to an earldom he—who sues to give No mock robes to my Anne, who’d bind her brows With their fit emblem, rank—who’d not repent His vow to a dependant ! Anne. Ah! Lady “i, Whose pride Would be to watch her triumphs. Anne. | Suddenly. | ’Midst those triumphs Should I again meet Lady T, Thorold? Yes! Anne. [As to herself.| He’d feel I lost him, and could live—no sickly flower Nipped by his frost ; but the plumed tree that shoots From the scarred rock, and thrives on desolation ! [She pauses with sudden calmness, then drops the robe at her feet. Off, off, mock shows ! I grasp realities. Heart that has ne’er been loved, whose love was scorned, Freeze till that weakness perish—freeze, but shine! Who thinks, when glaciers flash, ’tis only ice That glitters in the beam! [She stands lost in thought. Lady T. |Who has retired a few steps, intently watch- ing her, now approaches.| Anne! ACT IV.] ANNE BLAKE. 345 Anne. Ah !—Your hand! We should be friends. Tl marry Llaniston! BK Tei. SCENE.—Drawing-room, as in Act ITI. Enter THOROLD and LLANISTON. Thor. Nay, friend! a truce to jesting. You, indeed, Propose to marry her. Llan. | Sitting.| Asked like a guardian ! Do you indeed propose? ‘To think now, Thorold, You should turn out her guardian. Yes, we marry, That is, with your consent, if she decides so. Thor. Then she yet doubts? Llan. She bade me wait her answer Soon in the library. [Looking at his watch.| Cupid and Hymen, *Tis near the hour! [Rescue Thor. | With indignant surprise.| You trifle! Llan. Don’t object To my poor Cupid. He’s a comelier god Than Miss Blake swears by—Plutus! Thor. How? Lian. You know Your ward so little? She has a sparkling eye, But shrewder than ’tis bright. Sir, by her sex Nature has spoiled a lawyer. There be women Who shine in drawing rooms ; some captivate On horseback ; some are irresistible In kitchens ; but her sphere’s a pleader’s chambers ! Some charmers lure by dress ; some melt by music ; Some, with the imperious lightnings of their eyes, Effect a breach in hearts ; some awe by learning ; She’s none of these ; er forte’s arithmetic. You should have heard my wooing An hour back. “ Anne, behold me at your feet,” 346 ANNE BLAKE. (act Iv. I cried.—“ Youll give me hope?” What was her answer ? Straight to the point. She asked my yearly income— Net—after all deductions ; if indeed I were a peer’s next heir; would live in London, Take her to court, mix with the world, and see She matched its proudest—for all which perhaps She’d give me a wife’s duty. As for love, I must omit that trifle. Thor. Well ! Llan. I promised. Her frankness suits me. I prefer a hand Labelled for sale, to one that coyly slides Into your palm, and tingles for your purse. Thor. |Energetically.| It shall not be ! é Llan. It shall, if she consent. My truth’s engaged toit. Are you a rival, That you would thwart me? Thor. No; for me love’s spark Glows not within her breast ; but, sir, I knew And loved her father. When in India, One high in rule aspersed my soldier name, His honest, fearless pen disproved the lie, And won me back that amulet true souls Must wear or perish—honour! We grew friends, Heart friends, until he died—most poor—most noble ! I’d save his child from sin. Llan. Sin ! Thor. That black sin Which vows what the heart shrinks from. You have said She loves you not. Llan. You're warm, I find, sir. Time Cuts short this conference. [/7e bows coldly, and goes out. Thor. Nay, I follow, then. Anne, Anne, whom I so loved—my once betrothed ! I bear thy loss ; but could I bear thy shame? | He follows LLANISTON out. oe ANNE BLAKE. 347 Enter SIR JOSHUA, LADY TOPPINGTON, aud ANNE. Szr F. But hear me, my dear niece! Anne. Leave me, Sir Joshua ! You may trust me, madam. Lady T. You'll give full consent To Llaniston’s suit ? Anne. I’ve said it. Wrage Quick, consent, dear Anne, Say, guick! My maxim is, *‘ Secure the bird While the lime’s fresh.” ’Twas so I won your aunt. Ha, ha! You'll heed my maxim? Anne. If youll leave me To ponder it. tro ar And, further, niece, don’t tell him You take him for his money. Men don't like it. Truth isn’t told at all times, and in courtship One never tells it. Anne. Yet that very truth I'll tell unless you leave me. Lady T. [Apart to SiR JOSHUA.] You'll spoil all. Sir F¥ Vm not at ease. She'll change her mind, and Llaniston Call in his mortgage.-—One more word, and then I'll go indeed. Youw’re sure you'll not relent, And marry Thorold? Thorold, who despised The poor dependant ! Anne. Listen! By each good Men value,—by what gold or a lord’s smile Is to your heart, or pride to my own crushed heart, Or prayers to dying lips,—# take my vow, Poor and dependant, never to wed Thorold! Lady T. TVhere, there, be satisfied. That vow would bind her Though her life paid it. Come! yi ae Farewell, dear niece ! You'll be discreet, now? Lady T. |Forcing him off.| Come! 348 ANNE BLAKE, [ACT Iv. er 7, A quick consent. You'll give a quick consent,—you’ll heed my maxim, ‘“‘ While the lime’s fresh,”—ha, ha! [Goes out in glee with LADY TOPPINGTON. Anne. [Looking after them.| Were my mind less fixed, ’Twould swerve revolted from the path yow travel. No matter now. One impulse, like the glare Of a volcano inwards, lights my soul, And shows it its own nature—fire and stone. My tears, that burned like lava when they fell, Like that congea] to rock. One hope, one aim, One pulse of life,—that I, the poor, abased, Deserted outcast, by my will and brain Rise to far heights of power, of woman’s power, To dazzle and enslave! Then he may feel I had the strength to rule; I might have had The strength to love and bless !—Now to my fate. As she advances to door, THOROLD re-enters and confronts her. Thor. Stay, Anne! Where would you go? Anne. To the library. Thor. Upon what errand ? Anne, [With haughty coldness,| Six! Thor. You doubt my right to question?—I’m your guardian. Anne. But not my jailer; ’tis my will to pass ; You block my way. Thor. And is it I alone That block your way? Are there no crowding shapes Such as the soul sees—youth’s.sweet instincts gazing With sorrow-stricken faces, memory, conscience— To warn you from the gulf? Anne. I’ve not the brain , To solve a riddle, nor the time. Thor. Then wait, © sc. 1.] ANNE BLAKE. 349 And hear me solve it. Your way leads to Llaniston, And you'd accept his suit. Anne. [After a pause.| Youre right. Such is My way and purpose. Shall I pass? Thor. Not yet. Anne. I must, save force should bar me: quit my path! Thor. You fear to hear me speak, then? Anne. Fear! No, speak ! [She sits, and coldly motions him to proceed: a pause. What’s your theme? Thor. Guilt! You would marry, yet deny the love Makes wedlock sacred. Anne. Do you boast heaven’s right to judge the heart ? Thor. No.—Have I misjudged yours? Say that, and go! Anne. Vl pay the forfeiture of my own deed. Thor. Do you know that forfeit ? Anne. Count it, if you will, And then see if I shrink. Thor. Count what she forfeits Who weds and gives no heart! I'll try, though words, Which figure outward loss, appraise not ruin In things immortal. First, she forfeits truth ; She forfeits womanhood in love, its essence ; Cuts off earth’s blessed commerce with the skies ; Profanes all sacred forms ; makes home a sound, The temple an exchange, the shrine a counter, The grave a common sod, where never kneels Love that points upward ! Anne. [| Aside.] And this thing Ze made me !— The peril’s on my head. [Half rising. | Thor. And would you brave What freezes me to tell? Hear my last plea ; Then as you will. Alas! no parent’s voice May warn—implore! I’d speak of yours, I’d tell you Why you ne’er knew a father. Anne. Speak. Thor. You know already 350 ANNE BLAKE. [ACT Iv. How toil brought sickness, sickness poverty ; How—bowed in mind and frame—your father sat By his cold hearth, yet from one faithful breast Drew warmth and hope. Before him knelt his wife, Your mother ! Anne. Well! Thor. He loved her, as they only Can love who suffer—loved her, soul and form ! Her form was as the crystal to the hght ; Her soul—the light that filled it. Yet they parted! Those twin lives broke, and blent on earth no more ! Anne. What parted them? Thor. Well asked! What could? Not want,— They had quaffed it to the dregs, and in its cup Pledged love anew ; not exile,—where he stood Was home to her; not chains,—her faithful tears Had rusted them to free him ; not the seas,— They had foundered on one plank; not Iceland snows,— You had tracked her footfall there! All these, men brave For Gold; why, Love had mocked them! Anne. Tell me, then; What severed them ? Thor. They had a child, an infant. Famine was at their threshold. For their child Those true hearts quailed. ‘They sought your uncle’s aid. He offered shelter to the wife and babe— Denied it to the husband! Anne. And my father? Thor. Strained Your mother to his breast, as though that strain Could lock out time and death, till soon their eyes Lit on the form that clung for life to hers ; They saw its wan, pinched cheek, the blight of want Creep on their blossom ;-—they could save it! He With one long kiss, till their souls met, again Embraced his wife, unwound his beggared arms, And said, “ W7/e, go !”—And, for her child, she went ! Anne. | Aside.| I must quit or yield. [She rises. ACT V.] ANNE BLAKE. 351 Thor. |Detaining her.| You were that child !—for you They wrenched the bent of life—slid from the raft That buoyed their fainting limbs, that you might ride The sorrows where they sunk ! Anne. Cease ! Thor. Will you pay That mighty debt by sin ?—a sin that mocks The love they worshipped! See, your mother speaks— She pleads—look in her face! [Swatches the miniature from his breast, and places it tn her hand. Anne. fTer face !—that portrait My mother’s face ? Thor. Even so. Anne. My mother, mother! [She bursts into tears, and sinks on her knees, reve- rently pressing her lips to portrait; THOROLD gazes on ANNE with deep emotion, and goes out. pad bat SCENE.—Library in Toppington House, as tn Act [1. Enter SIR JOSHUA and LADY TOPPINGTON. Sir F Refused him! Anne refused him ! Lady T. Calmly, firmly ! I’ve seen the letter. LET Refuse Llaniston ! Twelve thousand pounds a year, and a near earldom, Flung back like a gown in tatters! Why, it’s impious ; It’s crossing Providence ;—and he’ll claim his mortgage ! Ungrateful minx, to ruin me, her friend And benefactor ! Lady T. Hush! She'll marry him. ise 7. she ll not—to spite me. Lady T, But she will—to escape you, 352 ANNE BLAKE. [acr v. And she has no choice. Mark! I’ve persuaded Llaniston, Not her own will refused him, but her guardian’s. He'll wait a second answer. Thorold leaves At once for India. It seems some mines there Have brought him sudden wealth. Sir $. [Impatiently. | There’s luck! ’Twas said Those mines would fail ; shares went for nothing. Now Their owners turn out princes, and count thousands For their risked hundreds. There’s luck! [Paces the room, then composes himself.| He has no thoughts, though, To waste on Anne. Lady T. And she would rather starve Than be his debtor. In great poverty ‘ Her father died, Llaniston had that from Thorold. Her only choice, then, lies between her suitor And you, her denefactor. O, she'll marry ! Sir F Ay, or repent it. Hush! she’s here. Enter ANNE, simply attired. Anne. I came, Madam, to tell you what ’tis fit you learn. I’ve pondered your friend’s suit, and have refused it. Sir F. [Lronically.| Can you deign your reason? Anne. [Gently.] Yes, he’s generous, And merits love. I felt none. tr 7. O, we’re meek, We're nice, it seems. We can so well afford The luxury of a conscience. We can’t marry ; It wounds our principles! Let principle Feed, clothe, and house you. Lady lf. Stay, unmanly tyrant ! She'll hate you. SEL ee ps Let her! She'll the sooner seek A husband’s shelter. Lady T. |Kindly to ANNE.] ’Tis your last resource, sec 1. ] ANNE BLAKE. we Ur ve He'll grind you into dust. Your pride forbids All thought of Thorold ; nay, your vow. Anne. [Emphatically.| The sin Of my rash, selfish heart, which his recoils from, Forbids it, too ; nay, could he pardon, still The poor dependant, who forsook him humble, Will never share his greatness—never, never ! Save time could work a miracle to show ”Twas love, not fortune, swayed her. Sir F. [Aside, exultingly.| Then all’s safe. She’s in my power ! [He moves to door. Lady T. Yield, Anne ! Anne. Go, madam ! [LaDy TOPPINGTON follows SIR JOSHUA out. [Yield! Plunge back into that guilt whence Thorold snatched me! Never. He loved me! ’Twas my mother’s face Stung me to jealous madness. [Gazing on the portrait which she wears.| ' Had I but Subdued my pride, sought him and told my doubts, All else, perchance, like this, had been explained ; Dispelled like vapour, and I had not driven Full on the rock that shivers me! Too late! Enter LLOYD, followed by CLARA THURLEIGH. Lloyd. A lady, sweet, would speak with you. Anne. With me? Clara. | Advancing, and offering her hand.\ A friend compelled to introduce herself. [LLOYD goes out. Am I so frightful that you thus start back ! Anne. [Aside.] The very voice of yesterday ! Clara. Well, well, Where are your arms? Love me, and love my dog, The proverb says. ’Tis surely right to add, Love me, and love my cousin. You love Thorold, And I’m his cousin—love me ! [Sezzes her hands and Anne. Cousin! kisses her. Clara. Yes, His favourite—don’t be jealous—favourite cousin. FOL, I. Z 354 ANNE BLAKE. [ACT v. You're still suspicious ? Sometimes cousins marry. Take comfort—I’ll not steal him, for two reasons :— I wouldn’t if I could; and, next, Z caw’t. In short, I was, three months since, what I hope To see you in three weeks—a happy bride! Anne. Married! You! [Astde.| O blind, wilful, faithless heart, For this I wronged him ! Clara, [Aside.| What’s amiss? [A/loud.]| Where's He promised me, himself, to make us known’ [Thorold ? At noon to-day ; but at the appointed hour My knight evaporates, and, in lieu of him, I only find his trunks all ranged and packed For instant flight. Anne. | With an effort.| He’s going then—he leaves— He leaves our neighbourhood ? Clara. He’s going ! He leaves our neighbourhood! Where does he go, then ? Surely you know?—There’s something wrong; dear Anne, Don’t turn from me! What, tears? There’s no division ’Twixt you and Thorold ? Anne. Severance—utter, final ! Clara. What has he done! Anne. Discovered a mistake. He deemed he had in mine a true fond heart ; He found it mean and treacherous ! Clara. And repentant. Go to him, tell your fault, and be forgiven ! Anne. Impossible ! Clara. Anne! Anne, Spare me! Clara. Well, I'll leave you ; But hear me first. The want of one frank word May blight a life. You are vet in time ; speak now. If dumb through pride, you'll let a moment pass So rich, that all your sum of future years May ne’er redeem it. Take a sister’s counsel, Who, having many faults, can pity yours. sc. 1] ANNE BLAKE. 355 Again, I siy—tell all, and be forgiven. [She kisses ANNE ; as she is going, ANNE turns to her, and falls sobbing upon her neck, then motions her away ; CLARA goes out. Anne, Forgiven—when he deems I cast him off For the sake of prouder fortunes! Oh, he must Despise me now! The tears of my remorse He will not see nor heed. Within his hand Mine will not anchor when storms lash me on, And when I die, upon my upraised eyes No love will float from his ; but oxce he loved me, And I will keep my soul inviolate, To his love’s memory ! Enter LLOYD, cautiously. Lloyd. Darling pet, dear child, The colonel’s here, and asks an interview Ere he sets sail. Anne. Sets sail ! Lioyd. For India. You must have heard it? Anne. No; or heard it but Asinadream. Sets sail for India! . Lioyd. \t's strange! all’s strange—that he should prove a hero, A great man the world talks of, one whose name’s In the newspapers! Why, all the tenants round Are bent to honour him, and in procession | To see him to his ship ! Anne. To his ship They know his worth. Heaven bless them ! Lloyd. | Observing her emotion.| Nay, bird, he’s little Who’d wrong or slight thee ! [ worth Anne. | Lloyd! Lloyd. Don’t thrust me off. I meant no ill. I'll call him kind, to please you. He may forsake you; all may; but not Lloyd! Anne. Dear Lloyd !——He waits. [| LLOYD sxatches her hand, kisses it, and goes out. 356 ANNE BLAKE. [Act Vv. Is it real? To meet once more, Then part, most like for ever! To think to-morrow Even the white speck of his sail will vanish, And a whole life slide from me in an hour ! Is it realPp—I must be calm. He shall not catch One cry of this wild grief. For me, who left His lot when it seemed lowly, now to plead For his compassion, as I sought to share His state and affluence, would seem doubly base.— I could not bear that pang ! Enter THOROLD, followed by a SERVANT with casket and packet. . Thor. So, friend! the casket. [7akes 7t and piaces tt Ser, A packet, just delivered, sir ! [on table. | Yands it to THOROLD, and goes out. Thor. [ Opening it, and taking out a deed |] Ah, from Llaniston! [Looking at ANNE, who affects to occupy herself with books and prints. How all unmoved she looks! She never loved me. [Advances to her with casket. Anne, ’tis our farewell meeting ! Anne. So I’ve heard. Your called hence suddenly. [Points to a chair. Thor. And ere I leave Would end a guardian’s duties. It may chance I shall return no more. Anne. | Aside.| No more ! You've friends— I mean you’ve friends in England, who would grieve— That is—regret to think so, Thor. | Turning aside with emotion.| What we two Seemed once to one another, and we part For ever with regret! [After a pause, with forced calm- azess.| Regret’s the word ; It suits our life.—Hope sinks, the dark abyss Parts, closes,—and all’s sunshine ! Anne. Ay, above! [Aside. Thor. (Opening casket.| We trifle and waste time. First take this token, se. 1] ANNE BLAKE. 357 Your mother’s hair. Your father’s farewell words ; Her letters to him ; some were in their courtship, Some traced the year she died. | Giving them. Anne. | Aside.| Her letters ! ‘Dupe ! The words I read were hers. Thor. You weep,—ah, wear In your heart’s depths their memory, though mine Has no more place there ! Anne. Yours no place !—you think ! No matter—— Thor. Anne ! Anne. |As with sudden recollection.| Ah, I can speak! Mark, Thorold, I’ve vowed, and here repeat my pledge Thor. Hold! hold! Anne. Never to link my abject lot with yours ! "Tis sworn, the choked tide’s free,—I love you—/ove you ! [ Szts at table, You can’t misjudge me now! Thor. No. Anne. Hear me still, You'll not to-morrow. You have seen me rash, Wilful, unjust ;—worse—ay, you must have deemed so, Basely ambitious, bartering for gold And rank your priceless love! O Thorold! ’twas not A hireling heart’s indifference ; ’twas a proud, Stung heart’s delirium ! Thor. Ay, say on! Ante. From childhood, Friendless, despised, a common. mark for taunts That poisoned where they pierced, you met me, saved me ; My mind grew happier, purer, nearer yours, Till—O deep.shame !—doubt sprang there; I was tempted By wiles that looked like truth to think you faithless ; Mock proofs swarmed round me, ringing in my ear - This knell—/e too abandons! There my soul Lost light, chart, compass! I but knew ove star ; It vanished—and I struck ! [Casts herself before hine. Thor. | Attempting to raise her.| Rise, my poor Anne ! 358 ANNE BLAKE. [ACT Vi Anne. One boon! when you are happy, If ’midst the beaming faces round your hearth, Should steal the phantom sad of her you loved So nobly, who repaid your love so ill, Think her not heartless !—Think that, night by night, She pours for you the prayers God only hears, . And, as some uncrowned queen still keeps the look Of greatness, feeling she was royal once, | So she who found in-you er world, her crown, Will live—will die, moulding her heart, mind, life, To make her worthier of one thought—you loved her ! Thor. Rise, I implore ! Enter SIR JOSHUA, LADY TOPPINGTON, aud LLANISTON. Sir F. [To ANNE.] Rise, don’t you hear the colonel? [She rises. | Apart to her.| He'll none of you. A marriage contract waits Your signature. Anne. It must wait. Sieh, Do my will, Or quit my doors. [Losing all self-control. Llan. Silence !—I sought a wife, and not a slave. Lady T. Remember, Anne, your vow ! Poor and dependent, Pll néer wed with Thorold. Thor. Was that your vow ? Anne. It was. RN oo oe Ay, word for word. Thor. Then Il annulit. [She starts up.| No depen- dant stands there ! Those Indian mines—— [Laying his hand on casket. Sin F. Are nought to her. Her ates Died poor. Thor. Most poor, For in those mines he risked his all— Half a life’s earnings to redeem his child. That darling hope seemed blighted ; the scant ore Scarce paid the miners’ toil, and with vain throes For the far heart he might not clasp to his, “sc. T.] ANNE BLAKE. 359 Her father died. Sir F. Ay! Thor. He died—not his act! Still delved the miners—delved till earth revealed A vein—a realm of wealth! ate How? Thor. In the outcast Behold the heiress ; in the maid your fraud Divorced from love, the—— [Zurus to ANNE.| May I speak that word? Your no dependant now ! — Anne. Yes, speak. [He opens his arms, into which she rushes. Thor. . The wife—the wife ! Sir F. ’Tis false—you fool me ! Thor. Her father’s dying breath Bound me to silence on her fate while doubtful, That hoping nothing, failure might not wound her. Hence I concealed my guardianship and station : For her dear self I wooed her—for myself She chose me! Llan. Humph ! that’s soothing, since I’ve lost her. Thor. | Gaily.| Nay, she’s more yours than ever ; you most prized her When she was hard to win; you'll doubly prize her Now that’s impossible. [ANNE sazzlingly gives LLANIS- TON her hand, then turns to THOROLD. Enter CLARA THURLEIGH by window. Clara. [To ANNE.| Why, here’s a change ! Here’s sunshine after storm! Ill wager, now, If he still means /o /eave our neighbourhood, He'll pay for double places when he travels. Sir F What means this gross intrusion? Thor. Clara, stay. *Tis my request. A faa 8 Yours, in wy house! What next? Enter JILLOTT and LLOYD hastily, by window. Fil. Sir Joshua, the tenants, and a mob 360 ANNE BLAKE. [ACT V, Of the—hem !—inferior classes, through the gates Pour in by hundreds. Lloyd. With a band and banners, To pay respect to the colonel. Sir F. Drive them hence ! Send for a constable. Respect to him! Thor. Stir not an inch. They’re welcome. Sir F. | With extreme indignation.| Sir! your right? Thor. | Producing deed.| This forfeit mortgage of your lands, which Llaniston Assigns to me, and I to Anne for dowry. You would have driven her from your roof, ‘And she—— Anne. Will grant him one for shelter. So my father Had said—— Thor, And so your husband ; And humble, like his fortunes. Lian. That's your sentence. Thor. |To LADY TOPPINGTON.| You, madam Lady T. Have weak nerves,—and he’s my husband ! Lian. True; she’s exempt. [D7stant music.| Hark! music! [SIR JOSHUA avd LADY TOPPINGTON retire. Anne. |Clinging to THOROLD.] In thine honour! Thor. Let all make holiday. ‘The ship shall sail This tide without us. [Zo ANNE.] What’s ambition’s far from hence, though, wreath at To love regained ? Anne. And what is love regained, To thine, which, sorely tempted, ne’er was lost ? [During the concluding lines the crowd gradually approach the window with banners ; mustc—air “ See the Conguering Hero Comes!” As THOR- P OLD turns towards the window with ANNE, curtain falls. 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