University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

A fisherman's house on the mainland.
Enter John of Lorne and Sir Hubert de Grey.
Lorne.
Then wait thou for thy boat; I and my men
Will onward to the town, where, as I hope,
My trusty vassals and our steeds are station'd.
But lose not time.

De Grey.
Fear not; I'll follow quickly.

Lorne.
I must unto the castle of Argyll
Without delay proceed; therefore, whate'er
Of living kind, bird, beast, or creeping thing,
This boat of thine produces, bring it with thee;
And, were it eaglet fierce, or wolf, or fox,
On with us shall it travel, mounted bravely,
Our homeward cavalcade to grace. Farewell!

De Grey.
Farewell, my friend! I shall not long delay
Thy homeward journey.

Lorne
(calling off the stage).
But ho! good host and hostess! (To De Grey.)
Ere I go
I must take leave of honest Duncan here,
And of his rosy wife.—Ay, here they come. Enter the host and his wife.

(To host, &c.)
Farewell, my friends, and thanks be to you both!
Good cheer, and kindly given, of you we've had.
Thy hand, good host. May all the fish o' th' ocean
Come crowding to thy nets!—And healthy brats,
Fair dame, have thou! with such round rosy cheeks
As brats of thine befit: and, by your leave,
[Kissing her.
So be they kiss'd by all kind comers too!
Good luck betide you both!

Host.
And, sir, to you the same. Whoe'er you be,
A brave man art thou, that I will be sworn.

Wife.
Come you this way again, I hope, good sir,
You will not pass our door.

Lorne.
Fear not, good hostess;
It is a pleasant, sunny, open door,
And bids me enter of its own accord;
I cannot pass it by.—Good luck betide you!

[Exit, followed to the door by Sir Hubert.
Host.
I will be sworn it is some noble chieftain,
Though homely be his garb.

Wife.
Ay, so will I: the Lord of Lorne himself
Could not more courteous be.

Host.
Hush! hush! be quiet!
We live not now amongst the Campbells, wife.
Should some Maclean o'erhear thee—hush, I say.
[Eyeing De Grey, who returns from the door.
And this man, too; right noble is his mien;
He is no common rambler.
(To De Grey.)
By your leave,
If I may be so bold without offending,
Your speech, methinks, smacks of a southern race;
I guess at least of Lowland kin ye be.
But think no shame of this; we'll ne'ertheless
Regard thee: thieves and cowards be not all
Who from the Lowlands come.

Wife.
No; no, in sooth! I knew a Lowlander,
Some years gone by, who was as true and honest—
Ay, and I do believe well nigh as brave,
As though, with brogued feet, he never else
Had all his days than muir or mountain trodd'n.

De Grey.
Thanks for your gentle thoughts!—It has indeed
Been my misluck to draw my earliest breath
Where meadows flower, and corn fields wave i' th' sun.
But let us still be friends! Heaven gives us not
To choose our birth-place, else these wilds, no doubt,
Would be more thickly peopled.

Host.
Ay, true it is, indeed.

Wife.
And hard it were
To quarrel with him too for his misfortune.

[Noise heard without.
De Grey.
Ha! 'tis my boat return'd.

Enter 1st Fisherman.
1st fish.
Ay, here we are.

De Grey.
And aught saved from the rock?

1st fish.
Yes, by my faith! but neither bird nor beast.
Look there, my master.

[Pointing to the door.
Enter Helen, extremely exhausted, and almost senseless, wrapped closely up in one of their plaids, and supported by the other two Fishermen.
De Grey.
A woman! Heaven in mercy! was it then
A human creature there exposed to perish?

1st fish.
(opening the plaid to show her face).
Ay, look; and such a creature!

De Grey
(starting back).
Helen of Argyll!
O God! was this the feeble wailing voice?
[Clasping his arms about her knees, as she stands almost senseless, supported by the fishermen, and bursting into tears.
Could heart of man so leave thee? thou, of all
That lovely is, most lovely.—Woe is me!
Some aid, I pray you.
[To host and his wife.
Bear her softly in,
And wrap warm garments round her. Breathes she freely?
Her eyes half open are, but life, alas!
Is almost spent, and holds within her breast
A weak uncertain seat.
[Helen moves her hand.
She moves her hand:—
She knows my voice.—O heaven, in mercy save her!
Bear her more gently, pray you:—Softly, softly!
How weak and spent she is!

1st fish.
No marvel she is weak: we reach'd her not
Until the swelling waters laved her girdle.
And then to see her—

De Grey.
Cease, I pray thee, friend,
And tell me not—

2d fish.
Nay, faith, he tells you true:
She stood above the water, with stretched arms
Clung to the dripping rock, like the white pinions—

De Grey.
Peace, peace, I say! thy words are agony:—
Give to my mind no image of the thing!

[Exeunt, bearing Helen into an inner part of the house.