 | A Life's Ransom |  |
SCENE I.
Grounds in front of Revesdale Castle. The front of the Castle occupies the back of the stage.Richard Frampton discovered, leaning thoughtfully on a gun. Giles and group of Peasants and Retainers of Lord Revesdale rush on and surround Richard.
Peas.
Here's Master Frampton!
Retain.
Master Richard Frampton!
He'll tell us all.
Enter Alice.
Alice.
What, Richard! my son, Richard!
[She makes her way through the group to Frampton.
Rich.
So, so, mother!
Alice.
It can't be true—I won't believe 'tis true;
My young lord sell his lands—sell Revesdale Park!
Giles.
The castle, too—old almost as the earth
On which it stands, and which, since it has stood,
Never owned man for master but a Revesdale!
Rich.
Ay, lands and castle, all must go!
Alice.
Why must?
Rich.
Because the king won't pay his debts—vast sums
By our late master, brave Lord Godfrey, raised
To help the first King Charles, who perished, leaving
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Who put Lord Godfrey off with promised payment,
Till in one month both prince and subject died.
King James, his brother's heir, sat on his throne;
My master's heir was beggared!
Giles.
But King James
Will give my lord his rights?
Rich.
King James but chid him
For thrusting in his need 'midst public cares;
So sent him with his sister home to ruin.
Giles.
Our young Lord Basil—open hand that ne'er
Forgot the poor!
Alice.
Ay, sirs, and his sweet sister,
Lady Felicia, whom but to look on
Were cure for evil!
Giles.
Talking of evil, look!
[Points off.
Rich.
His worship, Master Bancroft! 'Tis his cousin,
Living abroad, to whom my lord's estate
Stands pledged, to satisfy whose strict demand
It must be sold; so wills our magistrate.
Giles.
Magistrate, 'sooth! 'Twas more brute's deed than man's
To hunt to death by scores, as Bancroft did,
The poor mistaken souls who rose with Monmouth.
Alice.
So said my lord and young Squire Ringwood.
Giles.
All
To gain promotion! Magistrate, indeed!
Bloodhound!
Rich.
Hush, hush! he's here.
Giles and Peas.
Who cares?
Enter Bancroft. All shrink back except Richard.
Ban.
Well, friend, can I see your master? [Richard, who polishes his gun-stock vigorously, makes no reply.]
D'ye hear?
Your master, knave, I say! [Advancing to him.]
Have you no answer?
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Oh, it's to me you speak?
Ban.
You knew it!
Rich.
No;
You called me friend, which I am not; then knave,
Which I am not, not being your worship's friend.
My master's in discourse; if you would see him,
You can wait his leisure, or return. [A murmur of approbation from the group.]
To your tasks!
Alice.
We'll bear your love and duty to my lady.
[Peasants and Retainers go out; then Alice, Richard, and Giles.
Ban.
Bloodhound! My zeal that brought the rogues to justice,
Who leagued with Monmouth's duke against King James,
Has won me this new christening. Arthur Ringwood!
You taught the mob to hate me—taught this proud
And ruined lord, who now lies in my power—
Thanks to my cousin's mortgage—thus to brand me.
Shall I forget how at a public feast,
Laying, in talk, my hand upon his arm,
Roughly the youngster shook me off? Said he,
“I like not, sir, to bear the soil of dust
Upon my coat, far less the soil of blood!”
Shall I forget how all men at those words
Shrank from me as contagion? how my equals
Have shunned me since—a man proscribed and shunned—
A social leper? 'Tis his new command
In the militia that still foils my plans.
He little deems the appointment was but given,
That, should his schemes be treasonous, they might
The better be observed, and he entrapped.
Bloodhound! I'll earn my name—swift, keen, untiring!
Though, from loose gossip, I suspect young Ringwood
Shared Monmouth's treason, was in arms for him,
And that Lord Revesdale knows it. [Looking off.]
Ah, 'tis Ringwood
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'Slife! his arm's free with her! The hound's in ambush.
[He retires through the door of Castle, and stands concealed.
Enter Matthew Ringwood, followed by Arthur Ringwood and Felicia Revesdale.
Mat.
[Laughing to himself.]
And she answered yes, so soon! Ha, ha! that boy
Has the world at his fingers' ends! To fight or argue,
Discuss affairs of state, or win a woman—
All's the same to him. [To Arthur.]
Pooh, sir! she repents,
And droops her head.
Arth.
You broke so suddenly
Upon our conference—
Mat.
O, conference!
What two young hearts, masking for years with friendship,
Can't fling aside their vizards, and display
The honest love behind them, but it needs
A conference, does it?
Arth.
'Twas her very friendship,
Frank, like a sister's, made me doubt till now
Love's deeper spring beneath.
Mat.
And what says the daughter
Of those grim Normans to the rich brewer's grandson?
Fel.
That when she looks on him, she has no thought
To spare for grandsires.
Mat.
Tut! How this news
Will surprise Basil!
Arth.
Yes; his recent absence,
And his reserve since then, have kept my hopes
Strange to him yet.
Fel.
Reserve!
Arth.
When late deposed
From his colonelcy in the militia,
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Rankles his pride, which deems I built advancement
On his disgrace.
Mat.
Yet you but took the office
To curb the cruel licence of the soldiers,
Prompted by Bancroft.
Arth.
I had said as much;
But Basil would not hear me.
Fel.
Bear with him,
My true, kind brother! By the king's injustice,
Soon to be driven from home, forlorn and poor,
Wrong makes him quick and proud.
Arth.
Have we forgot
That to his generous silence and your shelter
I owed my life?
Mat.
And you were strangers then.
Alas! poor Monmouth and that fatal night!
[In a low and cautious tone apart to him, and advancing to the front.
Oft, Arthur, have I rued the chance that threw you,
A peaceful subject, 'midst those hapless rebels!
Arth.
'Twas, as you say, but chance. My horse's path
They crossed, leagues from the field, poor fugitives,
A score to one pursuer! A brace of troopers,
Deaf to their cries, clove down those helpless wretches,
Staggering, unarmed, and famished! What could man,
Who had a heart and sword, do less than I—
Parry the slaughterous blow, and give them time
For flight and life?
Mat.
Ay, lad, till the king's men,
Coming to their comrades' aid, forced you to fly
For your own life. Well that you were disarmed
And masked by twilight. Promise never more
To tempt your fate so.
Arth.
[Gaily.]
Sir, you'd bid me do it,
Did the chance come round. [Felicia advancing, and laying her hand on his arm imploringly.]
You too; you'd never ask
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As to keep down the impulse just or kind
That gives time worth. You'd have me live, I know,
Or long, or brief, a thinking, loving man;
No torpid thing, that only measures time
By the almanac. To feel, to act, is life;
Who wants these lives not, sweet; he only breathes.
Mat.
Here's an oration! Well, 'twas worth the risk
To hear the rogues tramp by, nor guess the traitor
Lurked snugly by Felicia's loyal hearth.
Fel.
[Earnestly.]
My brother knew not that.
Arth.
That you concealed me?
On that point I was silent; 'twas your wish.
But why? I met him with his retinue
At the Castle gate, and told him all my plight.
Fel.
He must not know you passed within our doors.
I kept the knowledge from him, that, if questioned,
He might deny it truly.
Mat.
And so 'scape
The peril you incurred! Oh, wise as noble,
Thou'rt worthy of my boy!
Arth.
And now to Basil.
Fel.
He's held by strangers now.
Mat.
To-morrow, then.
But mind you keep our secret, for I mean
Myself to tell him. 'Twill be brave to thaw
His pride in our warm love. Come, we'll all cheer him
In his harsh lot, and henceforth have one interest,
One home, one heart—perhaps one home indeed,
For there's a grand investment, a rare toy,
In stone that Arthur covets—a—Well, well,
I'll say no more—a new surprise for Basil!
You'll keep your word; remember, now, I tell him.
[Matthew, Arthur, and Felicia go out.
Re-enter Bancroft, from Castle.
Ban.
Plague on the distance and my own dull ears!
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With what did reach me. Sheltered from some risk!
Sheltered by whom? Her brother? Shelter, risk,
Basil was silent! Then the peril lay
In what he knew and told not. So I thought.
Young Ringwood was in arms for the Duke of Monmouth!
This modest squire, too, wooes the fair Felicia,
Which my lord knows not, for he stands aloof.
That wound of the militia which I probed
Will fester, though he hid the sore from me.
To gender hate 'twixt the proud blood of Revesdale
And base-born Ringwood I have striven, will strive;
And from that hate perchance so work my ends
As to sting both; win the king's gratitude
To swell my lands, to lift me into rank.
Sir Richard—Bloodhound! Oh, I must walk to cool!
[He goes out.
| A Life's Ransom | |