No More Learning

If thou neglect
This charge of thine, then ill befall thee! --Look,
The little fool is loth to stay behind.
Sir Host! by all the love you bear to courtesy,
Take care of him, and feed the truant well.


HOST Fear not, I will obey you;--but One so young,
And One so fair, it goes against my heart
That you should travel unattended, Lady! --
I have a palfrey and a groom: the lad
Shall squire you, (would it not be better, Sir? )
And for less fee than I would let him run
For any lady I have seen this twelvemonth.


IDONEA You know, Sir, I have been too long your guard
Not to have learnt to laugh at little fears.
Why, if a wolf should leap from out a thicket,
A look of mine would send him scouring back,
Unless I differ from the thing I am
When you are by my side.


HERBERT Idonea, wolves
Are not the enemies that move my fears.


IDONEA No more, I pray, of this. Three days at farthest
Will bring me back--protect him, Saints--farewell!


[Exit IDONEA. ]


HOST 'Tis never drought with us--St. Cuthbert and his Pilgrims,
Thanks to them, are to us a stream of comfort:
Pity the Maiden did not wait awhile;
She could not, Sir, have failed of company.


HERBERT Now she is gone, I fain would call her back.


HOST (calling) Holla!


HERBERT No, no, the business must be done. --
What means this riotous noise?

HOST The villagers
Are flocking in--a wedding festival--
That's all--God save you, Sir.


[Enter OSWALD]


OSWALD Ha! as I live,
The Baron Herbert.


HOST Mercy, the Baron Herbert!


OSWALD So far into your journey! on my life,
You are a lusty Traveller. But how fare you?


HERBERT Well as the wreck I am permits. And you, Sir?


OSWALD I do not see Idonea.


HERBERT Dutiful Girl,
She is gone before, to spare my weariness.
But what has brought you hither?


OSWALD A slight affair,
That will be soon despatched.


HERBERT Did Marmaduke
Receive that letter?


OSWALD Be at peace. --The tie
Is broken, you will hear no more of _him_.


HERBERT This is true comfort, thanks a thousand times! --
That noise! --would I had gone with her as far
As the Lord Clifford's Castle: I have heard
That, in his milder moods, he has expressed
Compassion for me. His influence is great
With Henry, our good King;--the Baron might
Have heard my suit, and urged my plea at Court.
No matter--he's a dangerous Man. --That noise! --
'Tis too disorderly for sleep or rest.
Idonea would have fears for me,--the Convent
Will give me quiet lodging. You have a boy, good Host,
And he must lead me back.


OSWALD You are most lucky;
I have been waiting in the wood hard by
For a companion--here he comes; our journey
[Enter MARMADUKE]
Lies on your way; accept us as your Guides.


HERBERT Alas! I creep so slowly.


OSWALD Never fear;
We'll not complain of that.


HERBERT My limbs are stiff
And need repose. Could you but wait an hour?


OSWALD Most willingly! --Come, let me lead you in,
And, while you take your rest, think not of us;
We'll stroll into the wood; lean on my arm.


[Conducts HERBERT into the house. Exit MARMADUKE. ]

[Enter Villagers]


OSWALD (to himself, coming out of the Hostel)
I have prepared a most apt Instrument--
The Vagrant must, no doubt, be loitering somewhere
About this ground; she hath a tongue well skilled,
By mingling natural matter of her own
With all the daring fictions I have taught her,
To win belief, such as my plot requires.


[Exit OSWALD. ]

[Enter more Villagers, a Musician among them]


HOST (to them)
Into the court, my Friend, and perch yourself
Aloft upon the elm-tree. Pretty Maids,
Garlands and flowers, and cakes and merry thoughts,
Are here, to send the sun into the west
More speedily than you belike would wish.


SCENE changes to the Wood adjoining the Hostel--

[MARMADUKE and OSWALD entering]


MARMADUKE I would fain hope that we deceive ourselves:
When first I saw him sitting there, alone,
It struck upon my heart I know not how.


OSWALD To-day will clear up all. --You marked a Cottage,
That ragged Dwelling, close beneath a rock
By the brook-side: it is the abode of One,
A Maiden innocent till ensnared by Clifford,
Who soon grew weary of her; but, alas!
What she had seen and suffered turned her brain.
Cast off by her Betrayer, she dwells alone,
Nor moves her hands to any needful work:
She eats her food which every day the peasants
Bring to her hut; and so the Wretch has lived
Ten years; and no one ever heard her voice;
But every night at the first stroke of twelve
She quits her house, and, in the neighbouring Churchyard
Upon the self-same spot, in rain or storm,
She paces out the hour 'twixt twelve and one--
She paces round and round an Infant's grave,
And in the Churchyard sod her feet have worn
A hollow ring; they say it is knee-deep--
Ah! [1] what is here?


[A female Beggar rises up, rubbing her eyes as if in sleep--a Child in
her arms. ]


BEGGAR O Gentlemen, I thank you;
I've had the saddest dream that ever troubled
The heart of living creature. --My poor Babe
Was crying, as I thought, crying for bread
When I had none to give him; whereupon,
I put a slip of foxglove in his hand,
Which pleased him so, that he was hushed at once:
When, into one of those same spotted bells
A bee came darting, which the Child with joy
Imprisoned there, and held it to his ear,
And suddenly grew black, as he would die.


MARMADUKE We have no time for this, my babbling Gossip;
Here's what will comfort you.
[Gives her money. ]


BEGGAR The Saints reward you
For this good deed! --Well, Sirs, this passed away;
And afterwards I fancied, a strange dog,
Trotting alone along the beaten road,
Came to my child as by my side he slept
And, fondling, licked his face, then on a sudden
Snapped fierce to make a morsel of his head:
But here he is,
[kissing the Child]
it must have been a dream.


OSWALD When next inclined to sleep, take my advice,
And put your head, good Woman, under cover.


BEGGAR Oh, Sir, you would not talk thus, if you knew
What life is this of ours, how sleep will master
The weary-worn. --You gentlefolk have got
Warm chambers to your wish. I'd rather be
A stone than what I am. --But two nights gone,
The darkness overtook me--wind and rain
Beat hard upon my head--and yet I saw
A glow-worm, through the covert of the furze,
Shine calmly as if nothing ailed the sky:
At which I half accused the God in Heaven. --
You must forgive me.


OSWALD Ay, and if you think
The Fairies are to blame, and you should chide
Your favourite saint--no matter--this good day
Has made amends.


BEGGAR Thanks to you both; but, Oh Sir!
How would you like to travel on whole hours
As I have done, my eyes upon the ground,
Expecting still, I knew not how, to find
A piece of money glittering through the dust.


MARMADUKE This woman is a prater. Pray, good Lady!
Do you tell fortunes?


BEGGAR Oh Sir, you are like the rest.
This Little-one--it cuts me to the heart--
Well! they might turn a beggar from their doors,
But there are Mothers who can see the Babe
Here at my breast, and ask me where I bought it:
This they can do, and look upon my face--
But you, Sir, should be kinder.


MARMADUKE Come hither, Fathers,
And learn what nature is from this poor Wretch!


BEGGAR Ay, Sir, there's nobody that feels for us.
Why now--but yesterday I overtook
A blind old Greybeard and accosted him,
I' th' name of all the Saints, and by the Mass
He should have used me better! --Charity!
If you can melt a rock, he is your man;
But I'll be even with him--here again
Have I been waiting for him.


OSWALD Well, but softly,
Who is it that hath wronged you?


BEGGAR Mark you me;
I'll point him out;--a Maiden is his guide,
Lovely as Spring's first rose; a little dog,
Tied by a woollen cord, moves on before
With look as sad as he were dumb; the cur,
I owe him no ill will, but in good sooth
He does his Master credit.


MARMADUKE As I live,
'Tis Herbert and no other!


BEGGAR 'Tis a feast to see him,
Lank as a ghost and tall, his shoulders bent,
And long beard white with age--yet evermore,
As if he were the only Saint on earth,
He turns his face to heaven.


OSWALD But why so violent
Against this venerable Man?


BEGGAR I'll tell you:
He has the very hardest heart on earth;
I had as lief turn to the Friar's school
And knock for entrance, in mid holiday.


MARMADUKE But to your story.


BEGGAR I was saying, Sir--
Well! --he has often spurned me like a toad,
But yesterday was worse than all;--at last
I overtook him, Sirs, my Babe and I,
And begged a little aid for charity:
But he was snappish as a cottage cur.
Well then, says I--I'll out with it; at which
I cast a look upon the Girl, and felt
As if my heart would burst; and so I left him.


OSWALD I think, good Woman, you are the very person
Whom, but some few days past, I saw in Eskdale,
At Herbert's door.


BEGGAR Ay; and if truth were known
I have good business there.


OSWALD I met you at the threshold,
And he seemed angry.


BEGGAR Angry! well he might;
And long as I can stir I'll dog him. --Yesterday,
To serve me so, and knowing that he owes
The best of all he has to me and mine.
But 'tis all over now. --That good old Lady
Has left a power of riches; and I say it,
If there's a lawyer in the land, the knave
Shall give me half.


OSWALD What's this? --I fear, good Woman,
You have been insolent.


BEGGAR And there's the Baron,
I spied him skulking in his peasant's dress.


OSWALD How say you? in disguise? --


MARMADUKE But what's your business
With Herbert or his Daughter?


BEGGAR Daughter! truly--
But how's the day? --I fear, my little Boy,
We've overslept ourselves. --Sirs, have you seen him?
[Offers to go. ]


MARMADUKE I must have more of this;--you shall not stir
An inch, till I am answered. Know you aught
That doth concern this Herbert?


BEGGAR You are provoked,
And will misuse me, Sir!


MARMADUKE No trifling, Woman! --


OSWALD You are as safe as in a sanctuary;
Speak.


MARMADUKE Speak!


BEGGAR He is a most hard-hearted Man.


MARMADUKE Your life is at my mercy.


BEGGAR Do not harm me,
And I will tell you all! --You know not, Sir,
What strong temptations press upon the Poor.


OSWALD Speak out.


BEGGAR O Sir, I've been a wicked Woman.


OSWALD Nay, but speak out!


BEGGAR He flattered me, and said
What harvest it would bring us both; and so,
I parted with the Child.


MARMADUKE Parted with whom? [3]


BEGGAR Idonea, as he calls her; but the Girl
Is mine.


MARMADUKE Yours, Woman! are you Herbert's wife?


BEGGAR Wife, Sir! his wife--not I; my husband, Sir,
Was of Kirkoswald--many a snowy winter
We've weathered out together. My poor Gilfred!
He has been two years in his grave.


MARMADUKE Enough.


OSWALD We've solved the riddle--Miscreant!


MARMADUKE Do you,
Good Dame, repair to Liddesdale and wait
For my return; be sure you shall have justice.


OSWALD A lucky woman! --go, you have done good service.
[Aside. ]


MARMADUKE (to himself)
Eternal praises on the power that saved her! --


OSWALD (gives her money)
Here's for your little boy--and when you christen him
I'll be his Godfather.

BEGGAR O Sir, you are merry with me.
In grange or farm this Hundred scarcely owns
A dog that does not know me. --These good Folks,
For love of God, I must not pass their doors;
But I'll be back with my best speed: for you--
God bless and thank you both, my gentle Masters.


[Exit Beggar. ]


MARMADUKE (to himself)
The cruel Viper! --Poor devoted Maid,
Now I _do_ love thee.


OSWALD I am thunderstruck.


MARMADUKE Where is she--holla!
[Calling to the Beggar, who returns; he looks at her stedfastly. ]
You are Idonea's Mother? --
Nay, be not terrified--it does me good
To look upon you.


OSWALD (interrupting)
In a peasant's dress
You saw, who was it?


BEGGAR Nay, I dare not speak;
He is a man, if it should come to his ears
I never shall be heard of more.

OSWALD Lord Clifford?


BEGGAR What can I do? believe me, gentle Sirs,
I love her, though I dare not call her daughter.


OSWALD Lord Clifford--did you see him talk with Herbert?


BEGGAR Yes, to my sorrow--under the great oak
At Herbert's door--and when he stood beside
The blind Man--at the silent Girl he looked
With such a look--it makes me tremble, Sir,
To think of it.


OSWALD Enough! you may depart.


MARMADUKE (to himself)
Father! --to God himself we cannot give
A holier name; and, under such a mask,
To lead a Spirit, spotless as the blessed,
To that abhorred den of brutish vice! --
Oswald, the firm foundation of my life
Is going from under me; these strange discoveries--
Looked at from every point of fear or hope,
Duty, or love--involve, I feel, my ruin.




ACT II

SCENE--A Chamber in the Hostel--OSWALD alone, rising from a Table on
which he had been writing.


OSWALD They chose _him_ for their Chief! --what covert part
He, in the preference, modest Youth, might take,
I neither know nor care. The insult bred
More of contempt than hatred; both are flown;
That either e'er existed is my shame:
'Twas a dull spark--a most unnatural fire
That died the moment the air breathed upon it.
--These fools of feeling are mere birds of winter
That haunt some barren island of the north,
Where, if a famishing man stretch forth his hand,
They think it is to feed them. I have left him
To solitary meditation;--now
For a few swelling phrases, and a flash
Of truth, enough to dazzle and to blind,
And he is mine for ever--here he comes.


[Enter MARMADUKE. ]


MARMADUKE These ten years she has moved her lips all day
And never speaks!


OSWALD Who is it?


MARMADUKE I have seen her.


OSWALD Oh! the poor tenant of that ragged homestead,
Her whom the Monster, Clifford, drove to madness.


MARMADUKE I met a peasant near the spot; he told me,
These ten years she had sate all day alone
Within those empty walls.


OSWALD I too have seen her;
Chancing to pass this way some six months gone,
At midnight, I betook me to the Churchyard:
The moon shone clear, the air was still, so still
The trees were silent as the graves beneath them.
Long did I watch, and saw her pacing round
Upon the self-same spot, still round and round,
Her lips for ever moving.


MARMADUKE At her door
Rooted I stood; for, looking at the woman,
I thought I saw the skeleton of Idonea.


OSWALD But the pretended Father--


MARMADUKE Earthly law
Measures not crimes like his.


OSWALD _We_ rank not, happily,
With those who take the spirit of their rule
From that soft class of devotees who feel
Reverence for life so deeply, that they spare
The verminous brood, and cherish what they spare
While feeding on their bodies. Would that Idonea
Were present, to the end that we might hear
What she can urge in his defence; she loves him.


MARMADUKE Yes, loves him; 'tis a truth that multiplies
His guilt a thousand-fold.


OSWALD 'Tis most perplexing:
What must be done?


MARMADUKE We will conduct her hither;
These walls shall witness it--from first to last
He shall reveal himself.


OSWALD Happy are we,
Who live in these disputed tracts, that own
No law but what each man makes for himself;
Here justice has indeed a field of triumph.


MARMADUKE Let us begone and bring her hither;--here
The truth shall be laid open, his guilt proved
Before her face. The rest be left to me.

OSWALD You will be firm: but though we well may trust
The issue to the justice of the cause,
Caution must not be flung aside; remember,
Yours is no common life. Self-stationed here,
Upon these savage confines, we have seen you
Stand like an isthmus 'twixt two stormy seas
That oft have checked their fury at your bidding.
'Mid the deep holds of Solway's mossy waste,
Your single virtue has transformed a Band
Of fierce barbarians into Ministers
Of peace and order. Aged men with tears
Have blessed their steps, the fatherless retire
For shelter to their banners. But it is,
As you must needs have deeply felt, it is
In darkness and in tempest that we seek
The majesty of Him who rules the world.
Benevolence, that has not heart to use
The wholesome ministry of pain and evil,
Becomes at last weak and contemptible.
Your generous qualities have won due praise,
But vigorous Spirits look for something more
Than Youth's spontaneous products; and to-day
You will not disappoint them; and hereafter--


MARMADUKE You are wasting words; hear me then, once for all:
You are a Man--and therefore, if compassion,
Which to our kind is natural as life,
Be known unto you, you will love this Woman,
Even as I do; but I should loathe the light,
If I could think one weak or partial feeling--


OSWALD You will forgive me--


MARMADUKE If I ever knew
My heart, could penetrate its inmost core,
'Tis at this moment. --Oswald, I have loved
To be the friend and father of the oppressed,
A comforter of sorrow;--there is something
Which looks like a transition in my soul,
And yet it is not. --Let us lead him hither.


OSWALD Stoop for a moment; 'tis an act of justice;
And where's the triumph if the delegate
Must fall in the execution of his office?
The deed is done--if you will have it so--
Here where we stand--that tribe of vulgar wretches
(You saw them gathering for the festival)
Rush in--the villains seize us--


MARMADUKE Seize!


OSWALD Yes, they--
Men who are little given to sift and weigh--
Would wreak on us the passion of the moment.


MARMADUKE The cloud will soon disperse--farewell--but stay,
Thou wilt relate the story.


OSWALD Am I neither
To bear a part in this Man's punishment,
Nor be its witness?


MARMADUKE I had many hopes
That were most dear to me, and some will bear
To be transferred to thee.


OSWALD When I'm dishonoured!


MARMADUKE I would preserve thee. How may this be done?


OSWALD By showing that you look beyond the instant.
A few leagues hence we shall have open ground,
And nowhere upon earth is place so fit
To look upon the deed. Before we enter
The barren Moor, hangs from a beetling rock
The shattered Castle in which Clifford oft
Has held infernal orgies--with the gloom,
And very superstition of the place,
Seasoning his wickedness. The Debauchee
Would there perhaps have gathered the first fruits
Of this mock Father's guilt.


[Enter Host conducting HERBERT. ]


HOST The Baron Herbert
Attends your pleasure.


OSWALD (to Host)
We are ready--
(to HERBERT) Sir!
I hope you are refreshed. --I have just written
A notice for your Daughter, that she may know
What is become of you. --You'll sit down and sign it;
'Twill glad her heart to see her father's signature.
[Gives the letter he had written. ]


HERBERT Thanks for your care.


[Sits down and writes. Exit Host. ]


OSWALD (aside to MARMADUKE)
Perhaps it would be useful
That you too should subscribe your name.
[MARMADUKE overlooks HERBERT--then writes--examines the letter eagerly. ]


MARMADUKE I cannot leave this paper.


[He puts it up, agitated. ]


OSWALD (aside)
Dastard! Come.


[MARMADUKE goes towards HERBERT and supports him--MARMADUKE
tremblingly beckons OSWALD to take his place. ]


MARMADUKE (as he quits HERBERT)
There is a palsy in his limbs--he shakes.


[Exeunt OSWALD and HERBERT--MARMADUKE following. ]


SCENE changes to a Wood--a Group of Pilgrims, and IDONEA with them.


FIRST PILGRIM A grove of darker and more lofty shade
I never saw.


SECOND PILGRIM The music of the birds
Drops deadened from a roof so thick with leaves.


OLD PILGRIM This news! It made my heart leap up with joy.


IDONEA I scarcely can believe it.


OLD PILGRIM Myself, I heard
The Sheriff read, in open Court, a letter
Which purported it was the royal pleasure
The Baron Herbert, who, as was supposed,
Had taken refuge in this neighbourhood,
Should be forthwith restored. The hearing, Lady,
Filled my dim eyes with tears. --When I returned
From Palestine, and brought with me a heart,
Though rich in heavenly, poor in earthly, comfort,
I met your Father, then a wandering Outcast:
He had a Guide, a Shepherd's boy; but grieved
He was that One so young should pass his youth
In such sad service; and he parted with him.
We joined our tales of wretchedness together,
And begged our daily bread from door to door.
I talk familiarly to you, sweet Lady!
For once you loved me.


IDONEA You shall back with me
And see your Friend again. The good old Man
Will be rejoiced to greet you.


OLD PILGRIM It seems but yesterday
That a fierce storm o'ertook us, worn with travel,
In a deep wood remote from any town.
A cave that opened to the road presented
A friendly shelter, and we entered in.


IDONEA And I was with you?


OLD PILGRIM If indeed 'twas you--
But you were then a tottering Little-one--
We sate us down. The sky grew dark and darker:
I struck my flint, and built up a small fire
With rotten boughs and leaves, such as the winds
Of many autumns in the cave had piled.
Meanwhile the storm fell heavy on the woods;
Our little fire sent forth a cheering warmth
And we were comforted, and talked of comfort;
But 'twas an angry night, and o'er our heads
The thunder rolled in peals that would have made
A sleeping man uneasy in his bed.
O Lady, you have need to love your Father.
His voice--methinks I hear it now, his voice
When, after a broad flash that filled the cave,
He said to me, that he had seen his Child,
A face (no cherub's face more beautiful)
Revealed by lustre brought with it from heaven;
And it was you, dear Lady!


IDONEA God be praised,
That I have been his comforter till now!
And will be so through every change of fortune
And every sacrifice his peace requires. --
Let us be gone with speed, that he may hear
These joyful tidings from no lips but mine.


[Exeunt IDONEA and Pilgrims. ]




SCENE--The Area of a half-ruined Castle--on one side the entrance to a
dungeon--OSWALD and MARMADUKE pacing backwards and forwards.



MARMADUKE 'Tis a wild night.


OSWALD I'd give my cloak and bonnet
For sight of a warm fire.


MARMADUKE The wind blows keen;
My hands are numb.


OSWALD Ha! ha! 'tis nipping cold.
[Blowing his fingers. ]
I long for news of our brave Comrades; Lacy
Would drive those Scottish Rovers to their dens
If once they blew a horn this side the Tweed.


MARMADUKE I think I see a second range of Towers;
This castle has another Area--come,
Let us examine it.


OSWALD 'Tis a bitter night;
I hope Idonea is well housed. That horseman,
Who at full speed swept by us where the wood
Roared in the tempest, was within an ace
Of sending to his grave our precious Charge:
That would have been a vile mischance.


MARMADUKE It would.


OSWALD Justice had been most cruelly defrauded.


MARMADUKE Most cruelly.


OSWALD As up the steep we clomb,
I saw a distant fire in the north-east;
I took it for the blaze of Cheviot Beacon:
With proper speed our quarters may be gained
To-morrow evening.

[He looks restlessly towards the mouth of the dungeon. ]


MARMADUKE When, upon the plank,
I had led him 'cross [4] the torrent, his voice blessed me:
You could not hear, for the foam beat the rocks
With deafening noise,--the benediction fell
Back on himself; but changed into a curse.


OSWALD As well indeed it might.


MARMADUKE And this you deem
The fittest place?


OSWALD (aside)
He is growing pitiful.


MARMADUKE (listening)
What an odd moaning that is! --

OSWALD. Mighty odd
The wind should pipe a little, while we stand
Cooling our heels in this way! --I'll begin
And count the stars.


MARMADUKE (still listening)
That dog of his, you are sure,
Could not come after us--he _must_ have perished;
The torrent would have dashed an oak to splinters.
You said you did not like his looks--that he
Would trouble us; if he were here again,
I swear the sight of him would quail me more
Than twenty armies.


OSWALD How?


MARMADUKE The old blind Man,
When you had told him the mischance, was troubled
Even to the shedding of some natural tears
Into the torrent over which he hung,
Listening in vain.


OSWALD He has a tender heart!


[OSWALD offers to go down into the dungeon. ]


MARMADUKE How now, what mean you?


OSWALD Truly, I was going
To waken our stray Baron. Were there not
A farm or dwelling-house within five leagues,
We should deserve to wear a cap and bells,
Three good round years, for playing the fool here
In such a night as this.


MARMADUKE Stop, stop.


OSWALD Perhaps,
You'd better like we should descend together,
And lie down by his side--what say you to it?
Three of us--we should keep each other warm:
I'll answer for it that our four-legged friend
Shall not disturb us; further I'll not engage;
Come, come, for manhood's sake!


MARMADUKE These drowsy shiverings,
This mortal stupor which is creeping over me,
What do they mean? were this my single body
Opposed to armies, not a nerve would tremble:
Why do I tremble now? --Is not the depth
Of this Man's crimes beyond the reach of thought?
And yet, in plumbing the abyss for judgment,
Something I strike upon which turns my mind
Back on herself, I think, again--my breast
Concentres all the terrors of the Universe:
I look at him and tremble like a child.


OSWALD Is it possible?


MARMADUKE One thing you noticed not:
Just as we left the glen a clap of thunder
Burst on the mountains with hell-rousing force.
This is a time, said he, when guilt may shudder;
But there's a Providence for them who walk
In helplessness, when innocence is with them.
At this audacious blasphemy, I thought
The spirit of vengeance seemed to ride the air.


OSWALD Why are you not the man you were that moment?


[He draws MARMADUKE to the dungeon. ]


MARMADUKE You say he was asleep,--look at this arm,
And tell me if 'tis fit for such a work.
Oswald, Oswald!
[Leans upon OSWALD. ]


OSWALD This is some sudden seizure!


MARMADUKE A most strange faintness,--will you hunt me out
A draught of water?


OSWALD Nay, to see you thus
Moves me beyond my bearing. --I will try
To gain the torrent's brink.


[Exit OSWALD. ]


MARMADUKE (after a pause)
It seems an age
Since that Man left me. --No, I am not lost.


HERBERT (at the mouth of the dungeon)
Give me your hand; where are you, Friends? and tell me
How goes the night.


MARMADUKE 'Tis hard to measure time,
In such a weary night, and such a place.


HERBERT I do not hear the voice of my friend Oswald.

MARMADUKE A minute past, he went to fetch a draught
Of water from the torrent. 'Tis, you'll say,
A cheerless beverage.


HERBERT How good it was in you
To stay behind! --Hearing at first no answer,
I was alarmed.


MARMADUKE No wonder; this is a place
That well may put some fears into _your_ heart.


HERBERT Why so? a roofless rock had been a comfort,
Storm-beaten and bewildered as we were;
And in a night like this, to lend your cloaks
To make a bed for me! --My Girl will weep
When she is told of it.

MARMADUKE This Daughter of yours
Is very dear to you.


HERBERT Oh! but you are young;
Over your head twice twenty years must roll,
With all their natural weight of sorrow and pain,
Ere can be known to you how much a Father
May love his Child.

MARMADUKE
Thank you, old Man, for this! [Aside. ]


HERBERT Fallen am I, and worn out, a useless Man;
Kindly have you protected me to-night,
And no return have I to make but prayers;
May you in age be blest with such a daughter! --
When from the Holy Land I had returned
Sightless, and from my heritage was driven,
A wretched Outcast--but this strain of thought
Would lead me to talk fondly.


MARMADUKE Do not fear;
Your words are precious to my ears; go on.


HERBERT You will forgive me, but my heart runs over.
When my old Leader slipped into the flood
And perished, what a piercing outcry you
Sent after him. I have loved you ever since.
You start--where are we?


MARMADUKE Oh, there is no danger;
The cold blast struck me.


HERBERT
'Twas a foolish question.


MARMADUKE But when you were an Outcast? --Heaven is just;
Your piety would not miss its due reward;
The little Orphan then would be your succour,
And do good service, though she knew it not.


HERBERT I turned me from the dwellings of my Fathers,
Where none but those who trampled on my rights
Seemed to remember me. To the wide world
I bore her, in my arms; her looks won pity;
She was my Raven in the wilderness,
And brought me food. Have I not cause to love her?

MARMADUKE Yes.


HERBERT More than ever Parent loved a Child?


MARMADUKE Yes, yes.


HERBERT I will not murmur, merciful God!
I will not murmur; blasted as I have been,
Thou hast left me ears to hear my Daughter's voice,
And arms to fold her to my heart. Submissively
Thee I adore, and find my rest in faith.


[Enter OSWALD. ]


OSWALD Herbert! --confusion! (aside).
Here it is, my Friend,
[Presents the Horn. ]
A charming beverage for you to carouse,
This bitter night.


HERBERT Ha! Oswald! ten bright crosses
I would have given, not many minutes gone,
To have heard your voice.


OSWALD Your couch, I fear, good Baron,
Has been but comfortless; and yet that place,
When the tempestuous wind first drove us hither,
Felt warm as a wren's nest. You'd better turn
And under covert rest till break of day,
Or till the storm abate.
(To MARMADUKE aside. ) He has restored you.
No doubt you have been nobly entertained?
But soft! --how came he forth? The Night-mare Conscience
Has driven him out of harbour?


MARMADUKE I believe
You have guessed right.


HERBERT The trees renew their murmur:
Come, let us house together.


[OSWALD conducts him to the dungeon. ]


OSWALD (returns)
Had I not
Esteemed you worthy to conduct the affair
To its most fit conclusion, do you think
I would so long have struggled with my Nature,
And smothered all that's man in me? --away! --
[Looking towards the dungeon. ]
This man's the property of him who best
Can feel his crimes. I have resigned a privilege;
It now becomes my duty to resume it.


MARMADUKE Touch not a finger--


OSWALD What then must be done?


MARMADUKE Which way soe'er I turn, I am perplexed.


OSWALD Now, on my life, I grieve for you. The misery
Of doubt is insupportable. Pity, the facts
Did not admit of stronger evidence;
Twelve honest men, plain men, would set us right;
Their verdict would abolish these weak scruples.


MARMADUKE Weak! I am weak--there does my torment lie,
Feeding itself.


OSWALD Verily, when he said
How his old heart would leap to hear her steps,
You thought his voice the echo of Idonea's.


MARMADUKE And never heard a sound so terrible.


OSWALD Perchance you think so now?


MARMADUKE I cannot do it:
Twice did I spring to grasp his withered throat,
When such a sudden weakness fell upon me,
I could have dropped asleep upon his breast.


OSWALD Justice--is there not thunder in the word?
Shall it be law to stab the petty robber
Who aims but at our purse; and shall this Parricide--
Worse is he far, far worse (if foul dishonour
Be worse than death) to that confiding Creature
Whom he to more than filial love and duty
Hath falsely trained--shall he fulfil his purpose?
But you are fallen.


MARMADUKE Fallen should I be indeed--
Murder--perhaps asleep, blind, old, alone,
Betrayed, in darkness! Here to strike the blow--
Away! away!