University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A narrow arched room or closet, adjoining to a gallery.
Enter Lochtarish and Glenfadden.
Loch.
How likest thou this, Glenfadden? Doth the face
Argyll assumes, of studied courtesy,
Raise no suspicion?

Glen.
Faith, I know not well!—
The speech, indeed, with which he welcomed us,
Too wordy, and too artificial seem'd
To be the native growth of what he felt.

Loch.
It so to me appear'd: and John of Lorne,
First shrinking from Maclean, with sudden pain,
As he pretended, struck; then stern and silent;
Till presently assuming, like his father,
A courtesy minute and over-studied,
He glozed us with his thanks:—
Didst thou not mark his keenly flashing eye,
When spoke Argyll of recompensing us
Before we part?

Glen.
I did indeed observe it.

Loch.
This hath a meaning.

Glen.
Faith, I do suspect
Some rumour must have reach'd their ear; and yet
Our agents faithful are; it cannot be.

Loch.
Or can, or can it not, beneath this roof
A night I will not sleep. When evening comes
Meet we again. If at this banquet, aught
Shall happen to confirm our fears, forthwith
Let us our safety seek in speedy flight.

Glen.
And leave Maclean behind us?

Loch.
Ay, and Benlora too. Affairs the better
At Mull will thrive, when we have rid our hands
Of both these hind'rances, who in our way
Much longer may not be.
[Listening.
We're interrupted.
Let us into the gallery return,
And join the company with careless face,
Like those who have from curiosity
But stepp'd aside to view the house.—Make haste!
It is Argyll and Lorne.

[Exeunt, looking at the opposite side, alarmed, at which enter Argyll and Lorne.
Lorne.
Are you not now convinced? his conscious guilt
Is in his downcast and embarrass'd looks,
And careful shunning of all private converse
Whene'er aside you've drawn him from his train,
Too plainly seen: you cannot now, my lord,
Doubt of his share in this atrocious deed.

Arg.
Yet, Lorne, I would, ere further we proceed,
Prove it more fully still. The dinner hour
Is now at hand.
[Listening.
What steps are those,
That in the gallery, close to this door,
Like some lone straggler from the company
Withdrawn, sound quickly pacing to and fro?
Look out and see.

Lorne
(going to the door, and calling back to Argyll in a low voice).
It is Maclean himself.

Arg.
Beckon him hither then.—Thank heaven for this!
Now opportunity is fairly given,
If that constrainedly he cloaks their guilt,
To free him from their toils.

Enter Maclean, conducted by Lorne.
Arg.
(to Maclean).
My son, still in restraint before our vassals
Have we conversed; but now in privacy—
Start not, I pray thee:—sit thee down, Maclean:
I would have close and private words of thee:
Sit down, I pray; my aged limbs are tired.
[Argyll and Maclean sit down, whilst Lorne stands behind them, with his ear bent eagerly to listen, and his eyes fixed with a side-glance on Maclean.
Chieftain, I need not say to thee, who deeply
Lament'st with us our sad untimely loss,
How keenly I have felt it.—
And now indulge a father in his sorrow,
And say how died my child.—Was her disease
Painful as it was sudden?

Mac.
It was—alas! I know not how it was.
A fell disease!—Her end was so appointed.

Lorne
(behind).
Ay, that I doubt not.

Mac.
A fearful malady! though it received
All good assistance.

Lorne
(behind).
That I doubt not either.

Mac.
A cruel ill!—but how it dealt with her,
My grief o'erwhelm'd me so, I could not tell.

Arg.
Say—wast thou present? didst thou see her die?

Mac.
Oh, oh! the woeful sight, that I should see it!

Arg.
Thou didst not see it then?

Mac.
Alack! alack!
O would that I had seen—O woe is me!
Her pain—her agony was short to mine!

Lorne
(behind, impatiently).
Is this an answer, chieftain, to the question
Argyll hath plainly ask'd thee—wast thou present
When Helen died? didst thou behold her death?

Mac.
O yes; indeed I caught your meaning lamely;
I meant—I thought—I know not certainly
The very time and moment of her death,
Although within my arms she breathed her last.

Lorne
(rushing forward eagerly).
Now are we answered.

[Argyll, covering his face with his hands, throws himself back in his chair for some time without speaking.
Mac.
(to Argyll).
I fear, my lord, too much I have distress'd you.

Arg.
Somewhat you have indeed.—And further now
I will not press your keen and recent sorrow
With questions that so much renew its anguish.

Mac.
You did, belike, doubt of my tenderness.

Arg.
O no! I have no doubts. Within your arms
She breathed her last?

Mac.
Within my arms she died.

Arg.
(looking hard at Maclean, and then turning away).
His father was a brave and honest chief!

Mac.
What says my lord?

Arg.
A foolish exclamation,
Of no determined meaning.
[Bell sounds without.
Dry our tears:
The hall-bell warns us to the ready feast;
And through the gallery I hear the sound
Of many footsteps hastening to the call.
Chieftain, I follow thee.

[Exeunt Argyll and Maclean.
Lorne
(alone, stopping to listen).
The castle, throng'd throughout with moving life,
From every winding stair, and arched aisle,
A mingled echo sends.
Ay; light of foot, I hear their sounding steps
A-trooping to the feast, who never more
At feast shall sit, or social meal partake.
O wretch! O fiend of vile hypocrisy!
How fiercely burns my blood within my veins
Till I am match'd with thee!

[Exit.