University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

An apartment in the castle.
Enter Sir Hubert de Grey, beckoning to Ross, who appears on the opposite side.
De Grey.
Rosa; I pray thee, spare me of thy leisure
Some precious moments: something would I say:
Wilt thou now favour me?

Rosa.
Most willingly.

De Grey.
As yet thy mistress knows not of the letter
Sent by Maclean, announcing his design
Of paying to the earl this sudden visit—
This mockery of condolence?

Rosa.
No; the earl
Forbade me to inform her.

De Grey.
This is well;
Her mind must be prepared. Meantime I go,
And thou art here to comfort and attend her:
O do it gently, Rosa! do it wisely!

Rosa.
You need not doubt my will.—Go ye so soon;
And to Northumberland?

De Grey.
So I intended.
And so Argyll and John of Lorne believe:
But since this messenger from Mull arrived,
Another thought has struck me.—Saidst thou not
The child—thy lady's child, ta'en from the castle,
Is to the keeping of Lochtarish' mother
Committed, whose lone house is on the shore?

Rosa.
Yes, whilst in prison pent, so did I hear
My keeper say, and much it troubled me.

De Grey.
Canst thou to some good islander commend me,
Within whose house I might upon the watch
Conceal'd remain?—It is to Mull I go,
And not to England. While Maclean is here,
Attended by his vassals, the occasion
I'll seize to save the infant.

Rosa.
Bless thee for it!
Heaven bless thee for the thought!—I know a man—
An aged fisherman, who will receive you;
Uncle to Morton: and if he himself
Still in the island be, there will you find him,
Most willing to assist you.

De Grey.
Hush, I pray
I hear thy lady's steps.

Rosa.
Near to the castle gate, ere you depart,
I'll be in waiting to inform you farther
Of what may aid your purpose.

De Grey.
Do, good Rosa,
And make me much thy debtor. But be secret.

Rosa.
You need not doubt me.

Enter Helen, and De Grey goes up to her as if he would speak, but the words falter on his lips, and he is silent.
Helen.
Alas! I see it is thy parting visit;
Thou com'st to say “farewell!”

De Grey.
Yes, Helen: I am come to leave with thee
A friend's dear benison—a parting wish—
A last—rest ev'ry blessing on thy head!
Be this permitted to me:
[Kissing her hand with profound respect.
Fare thee well!
Heaven aid and comfort thee! Farewell! farewell!

[Is about to retire hastily, whilst Helen follows to prevent him.
Helen.
O go not from me with that mournful look!
Alas! thy gen'rous heart, depress'd and sunk,
Looks on my state too sadly.—
I am not, as thou thinkst, a thing so lost
In woe and wretchedness.—Believe not so!
All whom misfortune with her rudest blasts
Hath buffeted, to gloomy wretchedness
Are not therefore abandon'd. Many souls
From cloister'd cells, from hermits' caves, from holds
Of lonely banishment, and from the dark
And dreary prison-house, do raise their thoughts
With humble cheerfulness to heaven, and feel
A hallow'd quiet, almost akin to joy;
And may not I, by heaven's kind mercy aided,
Weak as I am, with some good courage bear
What is appointed for me?—O be cheer'd!
And let not sad and mournful thoughts of me
Depress thee thus.—When thou art far away,
Thou'lt hear, the while, that in my father's house
I spend my peaceful days, and let it cheer thee.
I too shall ev'ry southern stranger question,
Whom chance may to these regions bring, and learn
Thy fame and prosperous state.

De Grey.
My fame and prosperous state, while thou art thus!
If thou in calm retirement liv'st contented,
Lifting thy soul to heaven, what lack I more?
My sword and spear, changed to a pilgrim's staff,
Will be a prosperous state; and for my fame,—
A feeble sound that after death remains,
The echo of an unrepeated stroke
That fades away to silence,—surely this
Thou dost not covet for me.

Helen.
Ah, I do!
Yet, granting here I err, didst thou not promise
To seek in wedded love and active duties
Thy share of cheerful weal?—and dost thou now
Shrink from thy gen'rous promise?—No, thou shalt not.
I hold thee bound—I claim it of thee boldly.
It is my right. If thou, in sad seclusion,
A lonely wanderer art, thou dost extinguish
The ray that should have cheer'd my gloom: thou makest
What else had been a calm and temper'd sorrow,
A state of wretchedness.—O no! thou wilt not!
Take to thy gen'rous heart some virtuous maid,
And doubt not thou a kindred heart wilt find.
The cheerful tenderness of woman's nature
To thine is suited, and when join'd to thee,
Will grow in virtue:—Take thou then this ring,
If thou wilt honour so my humble gift,
And put it on her hand; and be assured
She who shall wear it,—she whose happy fate
Is link'd with thine, will prove a noble mate.

De Grey.
O there I am assured! she whose fate
Is link'd with mine, if fix'd be such decree,
Most rich in every soft and noble trait
Of female virtue is: in this full well
Assured I am.—I would—I thought—forgive—
I speak but raving words:—a hasty spark,
Blown and extinguish'd, makes me waver thus.
Permit me then again.
[Kissing her hand.
High heaven protect thee!
Farewell!

Helen.
Farewell! and heaven's good charge be thou!

[They part, and both turn away to opposite sides of the stage, when Sir Hubert, looking round just as he is about to go off, and seeing Helen also looking after him sorrowfully, eagerly returns.
De Grey.
Ah! are those looks—
[Going to kneel at her feet, but immediately checking himself with much embarrassment.
Alas! why come I back?
Something there was—thou gavest me a ring;
I have not dropp'd it?

Rosa
(coming forward).
No, 'tis on your finger.

De Grey.
Ay, true, good Rosa; but my wits are wilder'd;
I knew not what I sought.—
Farewell! farewell!

[Exit De Grey hastily, while Helen and Rosa go off by the opposite side.