University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

A court within the castle, surrounded with buildings.
Enter Dugald and a Vassal, two servants at the same time crossing the stage, with covered dishes in their hands.
Vas.
I'll wait until the Earl shall be at leisure;
My business presses not. Where do they carry
Those cover'd meats? Have ye within the castle
Some noble prisoner?

Dugald.
Would so it were! but these are days of peace.
They bear them to the stranger dame's apartment,
Whom they have told thee of. There, at her door,
An ancient faithful handmaid of the house,
Whate'er they bring receives; for none beside
Of all the household is admitted.

Vas.
Now, by my fay! my purse and dirk I'd give
To know who this may be.—Some chieftain's lady
Whom John of Lorne—

Dugald.
Nay, there, I must believe,
Thou guessest erringly.—I grant, indeed,
He doffs his bonnet to each tacks-man's wife,
And is with every coif amongst them all,
Both young and old, in such high favour held,
Nor maiden, wife, nor beldame of the clan
But to the Earl doth her petition bring
Through intercession of the Lord of Lorne;
But never yet did husband, sire, or brother,
Of wrong from him complain.

Vas.
I know it well.

Dugald.
But be she who she may,
This stranger here; I doubt not, friend, ere long,
We shall have bickering for her in the field
With some fierce foe or other.

Vas.
So I trust:
And by my honest faith! this peace of ours
Right long and tiresome is—I thought, ere now,
Some of our restless neighbours would have trespass'd
And inroads made: but no; Argyll and Lorne
Have grown a terror to them: all is quiet;
And we ourselves must the aggressors be,
Or still this dull and slothful life endure,
Which makes our men of three-score years and ten
To fret and murmur.

Enter Rosa, with a servant conducting her.
Serv.
(to Dugald).
A lady here, would see my Lord of Lorne.

Dugald.
Yes, still to him they come.
[Looking at Rosa.
Ha! see I rightly?
Rosa from Mull?

Rosa.
Yes, Dugald; here thou seest
A woeful bearer of unwelcome tidings.

Dugald.
What, hath thy lady sent thee?

Rosa.
Alas, alas! I have no lady now.

Dugald.
Ha! is she dead? not many days ago
She was alive and well.—Hast thou so soon
The castle quitted—left thy lady's corse?

Rosa.
Thinkst thou I would have left her?—On the night
When, as they say, she died, I from the castle
By force was ta'en, and to mainland convey'd;
Where in confinement I remain'd, till chance
Gave me the means of breaking from my prison;
And hither am I come, in woeful plight,
The dismal tale to tell.

Dugald.
A tale, indeed,
Most dismal, strange, and sudden.

Rosa.
How she died
God knows; but much I fear foul play she had.
Where is the Lord of Lorne? for first to him
I wish to speak.

Dugald.
Come, I will lead thee to him.—Had foul play!

Vassal.
Fell fiends they are could shed her blood! If this
Indeed hath been, 'twill make good cause, I wot;
The warlike pipe will sound our summons soon.

[Exeunt Dugald and Rosa, &c., as Argyll and Sir Hubert enter by the opposite side.
Arg.
And wilt thou leave us then, my noble friend?
May we not still for some few days retain thee?

De Grey.
Where'er I go, I carry in my heart
A warm remembrance of the friendly home
That still within these hospitable walls
I've found; but longer urge me not to stay.
In Helen's presence now, constrain'd and strange,
With painful caution, chasing from my lips
The ready thought, half-quiver'd into utterance,
For cold corrected words, expressive only
Of culprit consciousness,—I sit; nor e'en
May look upon her face but as a thing
On which I may not look; so painful now
The mingled feeling is, since dark despair
With one faint ray of hope hath temper'd been.
I can no more endure it. She herself
Perceives it, and it pains her.—Let me then
Bid you farewell, my lord. When evening comes,
I'll, under favour of the rising moon,
Set forth.

Arg.
Indeed! so soon? and must it be?

De Grey.
Yes; to Northumberland without delay
I fain would take my road. My aged father
Looks now impatiently for my return.

Arg.
Then I'll no longer urge thee. To thy father,
The noble baron, once, in better days,
My camp-mate and my friend, I must resign thee.
Bear to him every kind and cordial wish
An ancient friend can send, and—
[A horn heard without.
Hark! that horn!
Some messenger of moment is arrived.—
We'll speak of this again.—The moon to-night
Is near the full, and at an early hour—
Enter a Messenger, bearing a letter.
Whose messenger art thou, who in thy hand
That letter bearst with broad and sable seal,
Which seems to bring to me some dismal tidings?

Mess.
From Mull, my lord, I come; and the Maclean,
Our chief, commission'd me to give you this,
Which is indeed with dismal tidings fraught.

[Argyll opens the letter, and reads it with affected surprise and sorrow.
Arg.
Heavy, indeed, and sudden is the loss—
The sad calamity that hath befallen.
The will of heaven be done!
[Putting a handkerchief to his eyes, and leaning, as if for support, upon Sir Hubert; then, after a pause, turning to the messenger.
How didst thou leave the chieftain? He, I hope,
Permits not too much sorrow to o'er come
His manhood. Doth he bear his grief composedly?

Mess.
O no, it is most violent! At the funeral,
Had not the good Lochtarish, by his side,
Supported him, he had with very grief
Sunk to the earth.—And good Lochtarish too
Was in right great affliction.

Arg.
Ay, good man;
I doubt it not.—Ye've had a splendid funeral?

Mess.
O yes, my lord! that have we had. Good truth!
A grand and stately burial has it been.
Three busy days and nights through all the isle
Have bagpipes play'd, and sparkling beakers flow'd;
And never corse, I trow, i' th' earth was laid
With louder lamentations.

Arg.
Ay, I doubt not,
Their grief was loud enough.—Pray pass ye in. (To attendants at a distance.)

Conduct him there; and see that he be treated,
After his tedious journey, as befits
A way-tired stranger.
[Exeunt all but Argyll and Sir Hubert.
This doth all hope and all belief exceed.
Maclean will shortly follow this his notice,
[Giving Sir Hubert the letter.
To make me here a visit of condolence;
And thus within our power they put themselves
With most assured blindness.

De Grey
(after reading it).
'Tis Lochtarish,
In all the arts of dark hypocrisy
So deeply skill'd, who doth o'ershoot his mark,
As such full often do.

Arg.
And let him come!
At his own arts we trust to match him well.—
Their force, I guess, is not in readiness;
Therefore, meantime, to stifle all suspicion,
This specious mummery he hath devised;
And his most wretched chief, led by his will,
Most wretchedly submits.—Well, let us go
And tell to Lorne the news, lest too unguardedly
He should receive it.

[Exeunt.