University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—An Anti-Chamber in Blechington House.
Enter Colonel Wyndebanke and Edith, R. H.
Wyn.
Thus, then, is all secure 'gainst stratagem,
And time alone, with perseverance, vanquish.
(To Edith.)
Why dost thou wear that terror-stricken brow?
And, Edith, how thou tremblest. Shame upon thee!
But yet, poor girl, no marvel. 'Tis indeed
A rude induction to our honeymoon:
Still fear not, dearest, at the worst thou'rt safe,
For e'en this Cromwell, after his own fashion,
Tempers asperity with gallantry.
(Edith buries her head in his bosom.
Edith—dear Edith, where has fled thy courage?
But now you boldly said you'd stay with me,
And brave all dangers.

Edith.
So I would with you—
Aught—aught with you. My dread is of a parting!
If they subdue us, they will tear you from me,
Or murder you! Oh, what will be your fate,
If in the hands of these stern men we fall!

Wyn.
A forethought most unworthy of a soldier,
Or e'en a soldier's wife.
To entertain it were to doubt success,
To doubt, to lose our purpose—but we will not.
My Edith, were I reckless of my name,
The thought that on this brow a blush might mantle,
At future question of thy husband's valour,
Alone would make me valiant—urge me on
To give a precedent of proper firmness
To royal partizans. How now—what tidings?

Enter a Soldier, L. H. with a letter.
Soldier.
This missive, sir, from General Cromwell.
(Exit Soldier, L. H.

(As Colonel Wyndebanke reads, his countenance, which is eagerly watched by Edith, undergoes a marked change.)
Wyn.
(To himself.)
Ha!
Is't so indeed? Unfortunate! His stubborness
Has brought this on him: I had rather given
The all that I possess, except my honour,
Than this should have befallen. Luckless!

Edith.
Edward!

Wyn.
(Not heeding her.)
I should have stayed him: had it been by force.
Self-will'd young man! What now wert best to do?

Edith.
Edward, you are disturb'd. What says the paper?

Wyn.
(Still aside.)
And she, poor Edith, to her other care
Will now have heap'd a thousand apprehensions
For his—her brother's life. She must not know.

Edith.
For Heaven's sake, Edward, tell me what disturbs you?
I am not trembling now, and so beseech you
Hold me not in this agony of doubt.
Come, let me see it—

Wyn.
(Aside.)
Yet she soon must learn it.
(To her.)
Edith— (Aside.)
I know not how to tell it! Edith,
Your brother has fallen in the hands of Cromwell.

Edith.
(Alarmed.)
My brother captive! But his life—his life!
At least that's safe—is't not?

Wyn.
At present, yes.

Edith.
Oh, Heaven be thanked for that. What saith the letter?

Wyn.
(Evading her importunity.)
Nothing of import.
(Aside.)
'Sdeath, 'tis most distressing!
(Drops the paper.)
So brief a time, too, for deliberation.
This Cromwell is a man, report affirms,
To lit'ralize a threat. Well, well, the youth
Has drawn this peril on himself—but Edith—

Edith.
(Having picked up the paper, reads with great emotion.)

“Unless Blechington House be delivered up within an
hour, the said George Fenwicke will be hanged on a gibbet in
full sight of the garrison.” Oh, horrible! “But by your
peaceable relinquishment your kinsman will be set at liberty,
and yourselves allowed to depart unmolested.”

His life so threaten'd—what may be his terror
At this dread moment! What anxiety,
Perchance, while now awaiting your reply.
Oh, do not hold him, Edward, in suspense.

Wyn.
I must, by loud remonstrance and pretence
Of treating for more advantageous terms,
Gain time to adopt some measure.

Edith.
Yet, what measure?
But one will save my brother.

Wyn.
Stay, my Edith—
I know not that. Perchance while parleying,
And thus alluring them to slacken guard,
We may effect a sortie for a rescue:
I'll mount, and note if their position, now,
Favours this bold attempt. Rest, Edith, here.

Edith.
No, Edward, no: with you I will remain—
Come, let us hasten; think of my poor brother—

Wyn.
(Impressively.)
But not forgetting honour, Edith—come!

Exeunt L. H.