University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The Interior of Cuthbert the Ranger's cottage. Cuthbert is discovered lying on a Longsettle, with bandages on his head and arm. His Wife is busied about the house.
CUTHBERT
(endeavouring to raise himself).
Peace, woman, pr'ythee peace! I'll not have patience!
I tell thee Patience is a fool, as thou art.
Will Patience heal this sword-gash? Will it knit
The severed sinews, and re-string my arm,
As it was strung this morning? If it wont,
Of what avail is it?

WIFE.
Good Father Peter
Would sweetly show thee—

CUTHBERT.
Woman, hold thy tongue!
Is Father Peter wounded? What knows he
Of the keen pain—the foul fiend take the pain!
I heed not that. But to be pinioned here!
To be laid up like a disabled hound
Gored by a stag at bay!—A murrain seize
The skulking scoundrels!—Where is Fanny, wife?

WIFE.
Poor Fanny!

CUTHBERT
(mimicking her).
Ay, poor Fanny!—Why, an owl
Might say as much. I ask thee, woman, where
Fanny, thy daughter, is? Dost thou not hear?

WIFE.
Poor Fanny!

CUTHBERT.
Still, poor Fanny!—Thou hast lost,
Methinks, the little sense that thou wast born with.
Canst thou not answer me?

WIFE.
Dear Cuthbert, be
A little patient. Give me time to answer.

CUTHBERT.
Time! Is the tale so long? But take thy time;
For, like a restive hunter, thou wilt stand,
Let the vexed rider spur.

WIFE.
At morning-tide
She left the cottage, blithesome as a fairy,
And garlanded like—

CUTHBERT.
Like a Christmas mummer.
O ye are idiots both—she for her pride,
And thou for thy abetment of it. Well?

WIFE.
She came again at noon, her eyes in tears,
Her fair cheek white as any lily leaf,
And her long hair unbraided—

CUTHBERT.
A spiked pit
Receive his living carcass, that dares wrong
A hair of Fanny's forehead!—My poor girl!
Through all her playful life, she never said
A harsh word to her Father.—Did she not
Acquaint thee, woman, who the villains were
That had misused her?

WIFE.
Meek as any lamb,
She nothing did but weep, and sing of Henry—

CUTHBERT.
Sing? Weep and sing? The woman's mad!

WIFE.
No, Cuthbert,
But I do fear for her! She looked so wild
When she went out, and O! she still is out,
Although the moon's an hour above the Fell!

CUTHBERT.
That is her step! I know it. 'Tis as light
As the young roe's!
[Enter Fanny.
Dear Fanny, wherefore this?
Didst thou not know thy father had been wounded?

FANNY
(untying a kerchief).
Ay, they will kill us all—but I have here
A charm to foil their witchcraft! These are plants
Gathered in moonshine. I forget their names—
But Henry knows them, and will tell me them.
Poor Henry! I am sure he is unhappy!—
But that's not it.

CUTHBERT.
What's Henry to thy father?
What dost thou mean, my Fanny?

FANNY.
Nothing—nothing.

WIFE.
Question her not. It pains her. Dearest Fanny—

FANNY.
Dearest!—'Tis a sweet word, but there's a sting in't.
There was a bee i'th'blossom that I clutched,
And O! I bleed—bleed—bleed.

WIFE.
Let me bind up
Thy hair, my daughter; it is such a sight.

FANNY.
Mother, 'tis black and bonny, and will glisten
In the fair morning sun, and I will tie it
About his neck, and fasten him—Ha! ha!
[Laughing.
The stag is in the toils pitched by the hind—
Seize on him, Foresters!—But he is strong,
And, free and fetterless, darts up the hill!

CUTHBERT.
O my poor child! my child!

WIFE.
Speak to us, Fanny,
As thou hast ever done. I am thy mother—

FANNY.
Dost think I know thee not? Thou art my mother.
There is a strange mist here;
[Putting her hand to her eyes.
but yet I see thee,
And thee, too, father.

CUTHBERT.
Blessed be thy name,
O God! my daughter is herself again!

WIFE
(brings a chair and places FANNY in it).
Sit, Fanny, sit. Thy stomach, love, is empty,
And hence these air-bred fancies. I will bring
A little pasty and a little milk.
Bestir thee, Cuthbert—O! I wander too;
One sorrow drives another out.—My child,
This is new milk. The cream, see, just begins
To yellow o'er the surface. Drink, my dear.
[Fanny, in taking it, spills a little on her garment.
Mind it not, love, 'twill wash again.

FANNY
(setting down the milk).
They dress
The dead in unsoiled white. Is not Death proud
To deck him like a Bride? 'Tis a cold feast, though,
The worms the revellers.

WIFE.
Banish, dearest love,
These gloomy thoughts. To-morrow is, thou knowest,
The Rush-bearing of Kirkby Malhamdale,
Where I have seen thee merry. Thou shalt go.

FANNY.
Mirth for the hostel, garlands for the church,
And rushes for the dead. The garlands die,
And the mirth's mute; but evermore the dead
Lie snug beneath the rushes—so that they
Have still the best of it.—Why dost thou weep?
I had forgot—thou weepest for my father;
And I will join thee— (she kneels beside him)

Father, thou art ill;
A barbèd arrow gives a deadly wound!

CUTHBERT.
My dear, 'twas not an arrow, but a sword.

FANNY
(starting up).
I say it was an arrow! and I know
A leech that well can cure thee. He will not
Fly from my father too. I'll find him soon
Where the moon shines into the greenwood's depth
To woo the pale white roses!

[As Fanny attempts to rush out, her Mother seizes her; Cuthbert, by a painful effort, gets upon his feet, but falls before he reaches them; and, finally, Fanny dashes her Mother aside, and Exit.