University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Ante-room in Lorn Castle, opening on terrace.
Brycefield and Roland discovered.
Bryce.
I' faith, rare wine.

Rol.
You're merry, sir.

Bryce.
Such juice,
Drunk in Elysium, would make nectar cheap
And all the gods forswear it.

Rol.
Ah! you laugh;
You could not if you thought that brave Sir Rupert
Would die to-morrow.

Bryce.
Humph!

Rol.
[Significantly.]
You head the watch.

Bryce.
How, sirrah?

Rol.
For his children, for the sake
Of Lady Isabel, whose grateful smiles
Hail you as her deliverer, you will save him?

Bryce.
Humph! Is that sure?

Rol.
Why did you bid her hope?

Bryce.
Concerns that you? For my own ends.

Rol.
A brave man,
Who sees a woman's grief, can have no ends—
None of his own, I mean—he acts for her.

Bryce.
Away, sir!

Rol.
[Aside.]
No; he cannot be a man,
And deaf to grief like hers.

[He goes out.
Bryce.
So for her sake,
I shall corrupt the watch. By my connivance,
Nay, special aid, Sir Rupert shall escape—
That's if none scent the plot, while for my thanks
There's gratitude, a curtsey, and good morrow!
Not so. Her spells have charmed me—the proud carriage
And quick eye battling with reverse, the smile
That breeze-like ripples her still face, and flits
'Twixt love and scorn, her hand, whose lingering touch
Can make its farewell kinder than its clasp!
She must be mine! Yet if she spurn me—me,
Though kindly born a thriftless outcast now?—
No, no, her father's life at stake, she dares not.

Enter Isabel, looking cautiously round.
Isa.
My friend, preserver!

Bryce.
'Tis a title, lady,
As yet unearned.

Isa.
But gratitude and faith
Forestall thy deed, and pay it in intent.

Bryce.
[Aside.]
There, gratitude! You're liberal, but not prudent.
Intents are known by acts; intents may change—
Mere vanes to winds of humour!

Isa.
Good intents
Are fixed like goodness: you did give me hope
That by your means Sir Rupert should be free—
A bless'd intent!

Bryce.
Still, a mere vane!

Isa.
Where points it?

Bryce.
To summer, if the wind be southerly.

Isa.
Southerly?

Bryce.
Ay; what brings the South Wind, lady?

Isa.
Pray tell me!

Bryce.
Warmth and odour! Her soft arms
Twine round the vigorous Spring, a perfume steals
Upon him from her locks, her glowing breath
Fires his cold cheek with blushes, while she weaves
A chain of garlands round him, and he sinks
Before her feet—a slave!

Isa.
'Tis a deep riddle.
I pray you solve it.

Bryce.
Be thy love this wind
To my bleak life, which then shall teem with acts
Obedient to thy will. Bright Isabel,
I love thee, and would wed thee!

Isa.
Wed me, sirrah!—
[Restraining herself.
How if my hand were pledged?

Bryce.
Had it been given,
Ay, to a husband, he should lose his clasp.
Consent—your father's free.

Isa.
If I refuse?

Bryce.
Why, then, the wind sets northerly; I'm ice!
I've solved the meaning of your words to-day,
You'd play a game at chess! 'Tis my move now.

Isa.
[With indignation, immediately repressed.]
Oh, thou—

Bryce.
Nay, speak it, madam!

Isa.
Oh, thou soldier!
[With assumed laughter.
Which fit thee best, thy tactics or thy valour?

Bryce.
Make me thy soldier, and with those ripe lips
Seal my commission. Even now I've dared
Much peril for you, tampering with the guard.
Come, we rough soldiers capture hearts like forts—
By storm!

Isa.
Sir, for the credit of the fort,
I'd make a show of conflict. Grant me time!

Bryce.
Have you so much to spare. But be it so;
In an hour I will return. I do but deal
By the world's commerce, lady. All men fix
Their price on service. For my own, I ask
Yourself, your hand. If you deny me, say
Why I should venture aught for her that scorns me.

[He goes out.
Isa.
Ay! scorns thee, wretch, the more that terror choked
Scorn's utterance! But that I did control
My struggling heart, he had betrayed our hope—
Our hope on such conditions? There's no hope.
Stay—Katharine! She must at once to Strathmore!
Heaven aid the wrestling of a child's despair.

[Goes out.
Enter Roland and Janet.
Rol.
Poor lady, in what haste she went!

Janet.
What grief!
Thy master bears himself unkindly to her.

Rol.
[Musing.]
It may be so.

Janet.
It may be so! Where is thy wit to help?
You say you love me; where's the proof of love?

Rol.
What can I do? Sir Rupert's too well guarded.

Janet.
Entice the guard away.

Rol.
Impossible!
'Twere death to quit their post.

Janet.
I'll drug their drink.

Rol.
They dare not drink on duty.

Janet.
Be valiant, then. Provide my master's men
With swords, and use thine own.

Rol.
My master's men
Would use their carbines, then. I should be shot.

Janet.
Well, I should weep for thee.

Rol.
I should not see thee.

Janet.
Jest on; I was mistaken; you've no heart.

Rol.
Exactly so.

Janet.
The brave knight will be murdered,
My ladies—orphans! What is that to thee?
Thou'lt sleep as soundly.

Rol.
Mistress, you have ta'en
My very measure.

Janet.
Thou'lt be rid of me.
What matters that? There'll still be ale and beef,
And thou'lt be merry with the cup and trencher.
Why talk to thee of courage, love, or glory?

Rol.
Thou hast it; yes, thou hast it; I am just
The thing thou say'st I am. Oh, shame on me,
To let the light lash of thy tongue draw tears!

[Wiping his eyes.
Janet.
Forgive me, Roland!

Rol.
Set me some plain task.
Talk not to me of glory. Say but this—
An old man's life in danger; two young hearts,
Just breaking for his sake, implore your help;
Show me the way to save them—any way
That's likely, possible—and though the odds
Be such as risk my neck, I'll take that way,
Vile trencherman as I am!

Janet.
I see too well,
However brave, thou canst do little here.
Yet grant the boon I asked before. Conduct
My mistress, in disguise, to Strathmore's followers,
Sir Rupert's guard.

Rol.
And what will that avail?

Janet.
Nothing, I fear; but still, 'tis her desire.

Rol.
I'll manage it, this hour.

Janet.
You have a heart.
Forgive me!

Rol.
And have you a heart?

Janet.
[Archly.]
Ah, Roland!

[They go out hand in hand.