University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—The Hall, as before, in Drummond Castle.
Enter Lady Drummond, and Sir John Drummond.
L. Drum.
What news, sir John? have you recovered her;
Or learned aught of her route?

Drum.
No, nothing:—she is lost; our child is lost!

L. Drum.
That is strange, sir John.

Drum.
Each pass that leads from hence is searched in vain.
No trace, no word of her!—I sorely dread,
And tremble while I think of it, that she
Is borne by spirits into fairy-land:
For well I know, that spirits were abroad
That awful night.

L. Drum.
What said old Merlin?

Drum.
Oh, name him not!—It makes my heart turn cold!
I would not witness such another scene
For all this world.

L. Drum.
What did you see?

Drum.
I saw, and felt malignant spirits' power:
A light old book grew heavier than a rock;
Low voices moaned within it; beings ran
Vengeful around me. My good steed they scared
A thousand times; drove him o'er steep, o'er crag,
In lake, in fen. They tittered in my ears;
And scattered burning sulphur in my path.
I yielded up the prize;—a prize by which
I might have moved the world; but not before
All the wild spirits round the mundane sphere,
That swim the cloud or pace the liquid air,
Were in commotion. That rash deed of mine
Hath given them power over my Annabel.
Now all my hope in this vain world is lost;
And I'll go mourning to the grave for her.

Enter Sir Ronald, wounded, leading Annabel.
Ron.
There is your daughter, knight: I've rescued her,
At peril of my life, and house's peace,
From foul and woful infamy.

Drum.
(Embracing)
My Annabel! have I recovered thee?
And do I see thee good and pure as ever?

Anna.
Thou dost; but thank this brave and generous knight:
To him I owe my all. O thou said'st truly:—
I've been deceived, betrayed!—vilely betrayed!
Hence ne'er let maiden trust to her own heart,
Or to a woman's skill.—False! false!—all false!
Man's the best judge of man.

Drum.
How happ'd all this, my daughter?

Anna.
I have been much to blame; but I have suffered:
Yes, I have suffered much, since I was borne,
Scarce half-consenting, from thy guardian tower.
Warned by a page, this valiant knight pursued
Our route, and found me in extremity.
O, virtue has an awe with it!—They shrunk
Before his blade, and yielded me to him,
With scowling eyes and many a sullen curse.
While I've been in his power, O he has used me
With such kind love, such honour and respect,
Even as thou would'st have done thyself, my father!

Drum.
O generous, good Sir Ronald! More we owe
To thee than all our worth can e'er repay.

Ron.
Thou can'st repay me well.—There is one boon,
And one alone, can save me from the scorn
And rage of those I have offended.

Drum.
Then name it, and command it.

Ron.
The hand of Annabel in holy wedlock.

Drum.
O that afflicts me! Wilt thou not reveal
Thy own true name and lineage?

Ron.
I'm bound by laws of knighthood for a time
Not to reveal it.—Trust thou to my honour:
Give me that maiden; thou shalt not repent it.

Drum.
Dost thou love him, my Annabel?

Anna.
I cannot answer you in that.

Drum.
Not love the man who saved you?

Anna.
If it was love I bore for Lord Kilmorack,
I cherish it no more. But this brave knight
I do respect as I do thee, my father;
But that respect is mellowed by a ray
Of soft esteem; 'tis sweeter far than love:—
That love I felt, yet dreaded.

Drum.
And would you like to have him, to be his?

Anna.
(Agitated)
Pray, not just now: Forbear to ask;—
I would not be another's: But I plead
A short reprieve; and if you should request me—

Drum.
Then take her, knight: I'll trust thy well-tried honour
With that which I hold dearest under heaven.

(Joining their hands.)
Ron.
This night a priest shall make us one by marriage,
Then hie we all to Lithgow. I'll prepare
My friends and sovereign to receive my fair
As my true wedded spouse, which shall preclude
All intervention or remonstrance.