 | The Lost Son |  |
Scene VI.
—The Court-yard.Enter De Warenne and Ulric.
Ul.
They are at their foolery, every man of them,
Groom, horse-boy, serving-man, and all—and all,
Perchance, despite old Humphrey, less than sober;
But I will saddle you your bay myself,
If you are pressed to go.
De War.
Yes, yes, to-night
I do not care to stay. I 'll go with you.
Ul.
I did hear some one saying he had seen
Leonard with Cuthbert talking in the garden.
He is not within, I know, but 't were waste time,
Methinks, to seek him now.
De War.
Oh 't is no matter,
We 'll go now to the stables.
Enter Cuthbert.
Ul.
Here 's one straggler.
What, Cuthbert, have you broken from the revels
So early, you, the very life of the dance?
Cuth.
My lord, my lord! A word apart with you!
De War.
I am pressed.
273
Ay, so am I too. [Whispering.]
There 's none else
'T is fit to speak to: not that poor lad there—
Too young by half.
De War.
Come then, tell me this trouble;
Some freak of yonder revellers? That concerns
Old Humphrey's office.
Cuth.
No, no, no, my lord!
No grief like that; 't is noways what you think.
Ul.
Well, then, whilst Cuthbert whispers this great matter,
I will go saddle you your Moslem.
De War.
Thanks!
[Exit Ulric.
Now, my good friend?
Cuth.
Well, well! No use nor time,
To beat about the bush. I 'll tell it plainly.
That man, my lord—that self-same Leonard Grey,
Who rode black Sorcerer—that very man
Young Master Ulric sets such store by—
De War.
Is
Some thief that has broke prison, Jesuit spy,
Or disguised Spaniard?
Cuth.
I must out with it!
That man, my lord, is—Bernard Lyle himself!
Oh, I knew well that I should startle you!
But rouse yourself, in heaven's name! Look to it!
Though I do see your face is white,—ay, whiter
Than this white moonlight makes it,—there 's no time,
My lord, for wondering; something must be done,
And quickly.
274
Some impostor—
Cuth.
No, no, no!
Don't tell me that! I not know my own lad!
Trust me and Druid!
De War.
Oh, some dexterous knave,
Trusting to a chance likeness, and the changes
Ten years may print on any stripling's face,
Covets the lands of Lylford.
Cuth.
And the gallows
Along with them?
De War.
Man, you are mad to say so!
Who dares speak such a word? No law could touch him,
Whatever you or I may guess or think;
For we may feel a deed in the air around us,
May see it written there, yet never prove it!
Cuth.
That 's as may be. But Bernard Lyle it is,
And here he must not stay. My lord, you 'll tell him!
De War.
Not I? I will not see him.
Cuth.
What, my lord!
And will you have your lady that 's to be—
De War.
What?
Cuth.
Be the first to give him welcome hither?
De War.
In the devil's name, what mean you?
Cuth.
This, my lord—
I saw her white dress flitting down the path
To the churchyard—and there she will find him;
And 't is not fitting—no. I think, my lord,
She knew him in the hall. I saw her dart
One look at him,—'t was whilst she danced with you,—
And turn as white as you are now.
275
By God!
You are right—I see it! Madman that I have been!
What devil sealed my eyes?
[Exit.
Cuth.
And she they thought
Did love the other, talking with his murderer!
And my lord jealous! Ay, it needed that
To wake him from his stupor. I scarce thought
To see him so struck down. But I did well:
He is a noble gentleman, and loves
My master. Curse it! Oh, my poor, poor lad!
I 'll go and watch that boy from coming near them.
[Exit.
| The Lost Son | |