University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

—Oxford. An arch, through which is seen a country road, reaching to the extreme baek of the Stage.
Edith discovered at the back, looking out anxiously on the road. Enter Wabble, L. H.
Wab.

Has anybody seen Mistress Wabble? I have lost
her again! (Clock chimes.)
Oh, dear, dear—a quarter to nine.
Look at that poor thing there, with her swollen eyes and her
poor pale face. I'm afraid it's all up with the Colonel. I'm
very sorry, but I've done all I could for him. I wish I could
put the clock back. I wonder if it would be any consolation to
him if I were to offer to take care of his wife when he's dead?
But, lord, it's more than I can do to look after my own. Besides,
what would the scandalizing world say? And it really
would be throwing temptation in her way, poor thing; for it's
my nature to be kind and sympathizing with beauty in distress,
and she might—there's no knowing! Ah, 'tis best
not. Where the deuce is Mistress Wabble?
(Retires up.)

Edith.
No—no one comes. I strain my eyes in vain.
A deathly sickness casts a mist before them,
And mocks anxiety. Oh, brother, brother,
Have you again betrayed me? If you have,
Two deaths this day lie for your answering;
But still I could not wish your retribution
To equal this, my present agony.
No—no one comes!

Enter Mrs. Wabble, U. E. L. H.
Mrs. W.
Oh, lady, lady—hither
The Prince approaches. Let us kneel and sue—
It is the last resource.

Wab.
(Approaches.)
Oh, there's my wife!

Edith.
Grant me, Omnipotent, an eloquence
To touch his pity.

Enter Officers and Prince Rupert, U. E. L. H.
Rup.
(To Officers.)
What reports have you?
Say, is that cut-throat, Horner, yet secured?
What woman have we here?

Edith.
(Throwing herself before Prince Rupert.)
'Tis one, my lord,
Whose misery is past endurance. You,
And you alone, can bid me rise in hope.
My husband—save him—save him, my good lord!
He merits not his death, which you will learn
With keen remorse, I'm sure, when he is dead.
But you will stay his doom—I'm sure you will.
You are a wise and valiant soldier, Prince,
And will not dim your fame with cruelty.

Rup.
Madam, I am not cruel; but a cause
For which I daily, hourly stake my life,
Demands a strict, unflinching discipline,
Or else that cause is lost. I gave one hour—
The utmost lenity I dare to shew—
And now the martial law must take its course.
Rise—rise; you plead in vain, I will not hear you.
Already has the scorn of rule run riot
In those who call themselves your husband's friends,
And stern example only will restrain them.
Who instigated th' assassination
Of that unfortunate, whose evidence
Prov'd Colonel Wyndebanke a criminal?
That deed alone, if naught else weigh'd with me,
Would make all prayer like this most impotent.
(Crosses R. H.
Nay, woman, hence: I will not hear you more.

(Exit with Officers, R. H. Edith remains prostrate. Wabble and his Wife raise her.)
Edith.
All is despair—despair!
For me the angel voice of mercy's dumb,
And fate yells out its cruelest decree.
(Drum heard.
Ah, look—already soldiers are drawn out
To lead him to his fate; and there—oh, heaven!
There is my husband—bound—prepared for death!
(The feelings of Edith overcome her. Wabble and Mrs. Wabble draw her aside. A solemn march is played, and a Band of Soldiers enter, U. E. L. H. crossing the stage. Colonel Wyndebanke is in C bound, his vest and collar thrown open. A crowd of Men and Women fill the stage. Edith rushes to Wyndebanke.)
Oh, Edward, Edward—I who murder'd you,
In death will soon rejoin you

Wyn.
Oh, farewell!
Be comforted—be calm, and I die happy.

(Soldiers remove Edith in a fainting state, and place her in the arms of Mrs. Wabble. The procession crosses and exeunt R. H.)
Wab.
(Wiping his eyes)
There—there they go! they take their places—now
The chaplain talks with him—a few more minutes
And he'll be—

(A portion of the crowd who have remained, and are at the back of the stage, begin to exclaim “A messenger—a messenger!” then loudly and simultaneously “A messenger— a pardon!” This recalls Edith to her senses, and she rushes to the back, shrieking:
Edith.
Oh, stay the execution! Yes, it is—
It is my brother—yes, he brings a pardon!

(Some of the Citizens rush out, exclaiming “A pardon— a pardon!” While the people are shouting, George Fenwicke rushes in through the arch at back, holding up the pardon: bleeding, exhausted, his clothes torn and soiled, he reaches the front and falls.)
Fen.
The—the—pardon—is't in time?

(Edith wildly snatches the paper and rushes out R. H. while Citizens partially raise George Fenwicke, who is dying.)
Fen.
(Faintly.)
I cannot see—
Tell me—for mercy's sake—is it too late?

[A shout is heard without.
Wab.
No, no, he's sav'd—huzza—huzza!

Fen.
Thank heaven!
Where's my sister?

Mrs. W.
Here she comes—the Colonel with her!

Enter Colonel Wyndebanke and Edith, she flies to George, who is fast sinking from exhaustion
Edith.
George—alas, you bleed.

Fen.
I'm dying, Edith.
Do you forgive me—do you? Ah, I know
My name is dark for ever. I have sham'd you,
But, sister, you'll forgive my youthful folly?

Edith.
Oh, brother, yes. Look on me—

Fen.
Now I see you—
But where is Wyndebanke? [Wyndebanke approaches and takes his hand.]
I've wrong'd you deeply;
You will not curse me—no—farewell—farewell!
[He dies.]

[Solemn Music. Curtain descends slowly.]
DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS
AT THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN.          

Soldiers.
Wabble	Mrs. Wabble.
Citizens.
Colonel Wyndebanke.	George Fenwicke.	Edith.
L. H.	C.	R. H.