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.

I believe

You have guessed right.

HER.

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 privilege;

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 withered 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 –

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.

MAR.

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

Is brave.

 

Taking Marmaduke's sword and giving it to him.

 

To Clifford's arms he would have led

His Victim – haply to this desolate house.

MAR advancing to the dungeon.

It must be ended! –

OSW.

Softly; do not rouse him;

He will deny it to the last. He lies

Within the Vault, a spear's length to the left.

 

Marmaduke descends to the dungeon.

 

Alone.

 

The Villains rose in mutiny to destroy me;

I could have quelled the Cowards, but this Stripling

Must needs step in, and save my life. The look

With which he gave the boon – I see it now!

The same that tempted me to loathe the gift. –

For this old venerable Grey-beard – faith

'Tis his own fault if he hath got a face

Which doth play tricks with them that look on it:

'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 withered 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 he –

This 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

In this deserted Castle – I repent me.

 

Oswald goes to the dungeon – listens – returns to the Beggar.

 

OSW.

Woman, thou hast a helpless Infant – keep

Thy secret for its sake, or verily

That wretched life of thine shall be the forfeit.

BEG.

I do repent me, Sir; I fear the curse

Of that blind Man. 'Twas not your money, Sir, –

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?

MAR.

The features of Idonea

Lurked in his face –

OSW.

Pshaw! Never to these eyes

Will retribution show itself again

With aspect so inviting. Why forbid me

To share your triumph?

MAR.

Yes, her very look,

Smiling in sleep –

OSW.

A pretty feat of Fancy!

MAR.

Though but a glimpse, it sent me to my prayers.

OSW.

Is he alive?

MAR.

What mean you? who alive?

OSW.

Herbert! since you will have it, Baron Herbert;

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.

We have indeed

Been most presumptuous. There is guilt in this,

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.

I 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

Blown to you from a trumpet.