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.
Mar.
It would.
Osw. Justice had been most cruelly defrauded.
Mar. Most cruelly.
Osw.
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.

[Looks restlessly towards the mouth of the dungeon.

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!
Mar.
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.
Osw. Is it possible?

Mar.

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. Ost. Why are you not the man you were that moment?

He draws MARMADUKE to the dungeon. Mar. You say he was asleep,-look at this

Mar. A minute past, he went to fetch a draught

Of water from the torrent. "Tis, you'll say,
A cheerless beverage.
Her.

How good it was in you
To stay behind!-Hearing at first no answer,
I was alarmed.
Mar.
No wonder; this is a place
That well may put some fears into your heart.
Her. 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.
Mar.

Is very dear to you.

Her.

This Daughter of

yours

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.

Mar. Thank you, old Man, for this! [Aside.

Her. 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.

Mar. Do not fear; Your words are precious to my ears; go on. Her. 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?

Mar. The cold blast struck me. Her. 'Twas a foolish question. Mar. But when you were an Outcast? Heaven is just;

Oh, there is no danger;

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.
Her. 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?

Mar. Yes.

Her. More than ever Parent loved a Child?
Mar. Yes, yes.
Her.

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.

Osw. Herbert-confusion! (aside). Here
it is, my Friend,
[Presents the Horn.
A charming beverage for you to carouse,
This bitter night.
Her.
Ha! Oswald! ten bright crosses
I would have given, not many minutes gone,
To have heard your voice.

Osw. 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 Nightmare Conscience

Has driven him out of harbour?
Mar.

You have guessed right.

Her.

I believe

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

[OSWALD conducts him to the dungeon. Osw. (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 privi-
lege;

It now becomes my duty to resume it.
Mar. Touch not a finger-

Osw.

What then must be done? Mar. Which way soe'er I turn, I am perplexed. Osw. 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.
Mar. Weak! I am weak-there does my
torment lie,
Feeding itself.

Osw.
Verily, when he said
How his old heart would leap to hear her steps,
You thought his voice the echo of Idonea's.
Mar. And never heard a sound so terrible.
Osw. Perchance you think so now?
Mar.
I cannot do it:
Twice did I spring to grasp his wither'd throat,
When such a sudden weakness fell upon me,
I could have dropped asleep upon his breast.

Osw. 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

Mar.

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.
Fallen should I be indeed-
Murder-perhaps asleep, blind, old, alone,
Betrayed, in darkness! Here to strike the blow-
Away! away!-- [Flings away his sword.
Osw.
Nay, I have done with you:
We'll lead him to the Convent. He shall live,
And she shall love him. With unquestioned title
He shall be seated in his Barony,
And we too chant the praise of his good deeds.
I now perceive we do mistake our masters,
And most despise the men who best can teach us:
Henceforth it shall be said that bad men only
Are brave: Clifford is brave; and that old Man

'Twas this that put it in my thoughts-that

countenance

His staff-his figure-Murder!-what, of
whom?

We kill a worn-out horse, and who but women
Sigh at the deed? Hew down a wither'd tree,
And none look grave but dotards. He may live
To thank me for this service. Rainbow arches,
Highways of dreaming passion, have too long,
Young as he is, diverted wish and hope
From the unpretending ground we mortals
tread-

Then shatter the delusion, break it up

And set him free. What follows? I have learned That things will work to ends the slaves o' the world

Do never dream of. I have been what heThis Boy-when he comes forth with bloody hands

Might envy, and am now,- but he shall know What I am now

[Goes and listens at the dungeon. Praying or parleying?-tut! Is he not eyeless? He has been half dead These fifteen years

Enter female Beggar with two or three of her Companions.

(Turning abruptly). "Ha! speak-what Thing art thou?

(Recognises her). Heavens! my good friend! [To her. Beg. Forgive me, gracious Sir!Osw. (to her companions). Begone, ye Slaves, or I will raise a whirlwind And send ye dancing to the clouds, like leaves [They retire affrighted. Beg. Indeed we meant no harm; we lodge

sometimes

Osw. Begone Beg. (going).

There is some wicked deed in hand: [Aside. Would I could find the old Man and his Daughter. [Exit Beggar. MARMADUKE re-enters from the dungeon. Osw. It is all over then ;-your foolish fears Are hushed to sleep, by your own act and deed. Made quiet as he is.

Mar. Why came you down? And when I felt your hand upon my arm And spake to you, why did you give no answer? Feared you to waken him? he must have been In a deep sleep. I whispered to him thrice. There are the strangest echoes in that place! Osw. Tut! let them gabble till the day of doom.

Mar. Scarcely, by groping, had I reached the Spot,

When round my wrist I felt a cord drawn tight, As if the blind Man's dog were pulling at it. Osw. But after that?

He who will gain his Seignory when Idonea
Hath become Clifford's harlot-is he living?

Mar. The old Man in that dungeon is alive. Osw. Henceforth, then, will I never in camp or field Obey you more. Your weakness, to the Band, Shall be proclaimed: brave Men, they all shall hear it.

You a protector of humanity!

Avenger you of outraged innocence!

Mar. 'Twas dark-dark as the grave; yet did I see,

Saw him-his face turned toward me; and I tell thee

Idonea's filial countenance was there
To baffle me-it put me to my prayers.
Upwards I cast my eyes, and, through a crevice,
Beheld a star twinkling above my head,
And, by the living God, I could not do it.

[Sinks exhausted. Osw. (to himself). Now may I perish if this turn do more

Than make me change my course.
(To MARMADUKE.)
Dear Marmaduke,
My words were rashly spoken; I recal them:
I feel my error; shedding human blood
Is a most serious thing.
Mar.
Not I alone,
Thou too art deep in guilt.
Osw.

Been most presumptuous.
this,

We have indeed There is guilt in

Else could so strong a mind have ever known These trepidations? Plain it is that Heaven Has marked out this foul Wretch as one whose crimes

Must never come before a mortal judgment-seat, Or be chastised by mortal instruments. Mar. A thought that's worth a thousand worlds! [Goes towards the dungeon. Osw. 1 grieve That, in my zeal, I have caused you so much pain.

Mar. Think not of that! 'tis over-we are safe.

Osw. (as if to himself, yet speaking aloud). The truth is hideous, but how stifle it? Turning to MARMADUKE. Give me your sword-nay, here are stones and fragments,

The least of which would beat out a man's brains:

Or you might drive your head against that wall.
No! this is not the place to hear the tale:
It should be told you pinioned in your bed,
Or on some vast and solitary plain