University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The interior of a hut, in which Brycefield is discovered in his horseman's cloak, asleep. The open door admits a view of the field of battle. A solemn strain of voices in the distance, and occasional acclamations.
Enter Roland, Brycefield's servant.
Rol.
Ho! my good master, Master Brycefield! Faith,
He's sound asleep, and well has earned the rest
Our sour-faced captains grudge!—It irks my will
To rouse him; but then orders! What, your honour!

[Waking him.
Bryce.
[Who springs up and snatches his sword.]
Who's there?

Rol.
A friend!

Bryce.
You, Roland!

Rol.
Even myself!
Here's Hamilton and Craigburn, sorely pricked—
That's pricked in conscience—that you were not seen
At the thanksgiving.

Bryce.
For their victory!
What, if I called it mine? But for my brain
They could not wag their envious tongues—these churls!
Who forced them, who, but I, a soldier bred,
To keep their vantage-ground? They else had rushed
Into the marsh, and, overwhelmed by Claverhouse,
Have choked it with their bodies? By my aid
They won their triumph, drove the foremost troops
In Scotland from the field, and thus they thank me!

Rol.
To hear them talk this morning! One would guess
They'd king and country under lock. Cried some—
“We'll treat with Charles!” Then others—“No, the Kirk
Alone shall rule in Britain!” Some were hot
To march on Babylon; some to pull down
The carved work and the idols; but all swore
That Claverhouse should be hung;—that's when they caught him!

Bryce.
Silence! Was't thou not snatched from the Philistines
To be a chosen vessel?

Rol.
Maybe so.
I know I've often been an empty vessel,
For our new masters, whew! their diet's thin,
And their she vessels—by which I intend
The covenanting damsels—are not comely.
No, sir; give me the days, the good old days
When your brave father rode in arms for Stewart
In merry England, when the cup and song
Filled up the pause of cannon, and bright eyes
Rained blessings on our march!

Bryce.
Ah! fix my belt.
Those times are over.

Rol.
Not forgotten, sir.
A can to those old times! It's ill going forth
Without your draught; good wine's the soldier's porridge,
And here's your meal-cask.

[He produces a flask, fills two drinking-cans, and presents one to Brycefield.
Bryce.
Varlet! Well the years
That chill the blood mature the grape.

[Both drink.
Rol.
And that
Thaws the chill blood, and makes us young again,
As young as when we sang—how runs it?—so!
[Sings.
Fall in, sir!
[Both sing.

Rol.
Hist! here come no friends to mirth.

Bryce.
Hamilton, Craigburn, and that recreant, Strathmore!
Why do I prate of recreants? Little guessed
Our fathers we should wear this livery. Yet,
In one point, Strathmore justifies his stock,
No coward he! He fought as if the fray
Hung on his single arm.

Enter Hamilton, Craigburn, and Strathmore.
Ham.
[To Brycefield.]
We've waited for you,
Whence rose those sounds of revel? Ill befit
Such strains our sober camp.

Rol.
Just a wee crow,
My masters, over Moab!

Craig.
Hence! begone!

Rol.
[Goes out, muttering the chorus,

Ham.
It is the hour for council. For you, Strathmore,
Who helped this great deliverance, and whose post
In our victorious ranks we might have known
Best by its peril—in acknowledgment
Burley has named you captain in our host,
Next to himself in power.

Strath.
Methinks to-day
Our Scotland hails her children, that their praise
Breaks from her torrent tongues and to the plain
Leaps down exulting, that this morning's sun,
Rending the mist, pressed on her mountain brow
His warmest kiss, for he found Freedom's there—
Heaven send with Freedom—Peace!

Craig.
See, here comes Burley!

Enter Burley.
Ham.
With so dark a brow,
When Ammon flies our arm!

Bur.
It is a race
Must be chastised with scorpions. Our main force
I lead towards Glasgow; but some choicer few
A nearer duty summons. Covenant blood
Again hath flowed, and asks a separate vengeance.

Craig.
Speak! what new horror?

Bur.
Cruel in their flight,
As in their strength, the foe who 'scaped the sword
Came on a handful of our people, met
By a burnside for worship. Mark, our friends
Were met in peace, unarmed; all, all were slaughtered,
Save two who bore the tidings, and amongst them
Fell Keith, the Pastor!

Strath.
Andrew Keith!—The good,
The venerable man! He was my friend,
Preceptor, almost father! In my breast
There springs no grain for good, but he did sow it.

Bur.
What doom pronounce you on his murderer?

Strath.
A stern one. We are bound to warn these tigers
From further havoc. For a deed so foul,
Earth's law and heaven's have but one sentence—death.

Bur.
Thou sayest well; and now, be firm! Whose, think you,
Was the fell hate to which that gentle mein,
Those silver hairs, appealed in vain for life?
Who murdered Andrew Keith?

Strath.
Why ask of me?
Am I the mate of wretches?

Bur.
No, thy feet
Now shun their path of blood; yet, didst thou walk
Consenting for a season even with him
Who wrought this deed accursed.

Strath.
His name?

Bur.
Again,
I say, be firm! The hand that slaughter'd Keith
Was Rupert Lorn's.

Strath.
Sir Rupert Lorn's?

Bur.
I said it.

Strath.
Man, you profane that name if but in thought
You slur it with such charge. You know him not.
Sir Rupert is a soldier—no assassin!

Bur.
He was your friend; you therefore may be blind.

Strath.
He is my foe; I therefore would be just.

Bur.
As we would. Though I little doubt his guilt,
Strict proof alone shall harm him. Public weal
Requires, meanwhile, we seize upon his hold—
The hilly towers of Lorn, by nature girt
With rare defences; thus, if beaten back,
We gain a strong retreat and time for succour.

Craig.
An enterprise of peril.

Bur.
No; the castle
Is slightly guarded. Its chief strength has marched
Under young Lorn to Claverhouse. Sir Rupert
Lies, aidless, in his fortress. Ere remanned
We must surprise and take it.

Craig.
Such a post
Some few determined men might hold from thousands.

Bur.
A secret path winds rearward to the heights,
And one who knew the route might thereby gain
An unsuspected entrance.

[All turn their eyes on Strathmore.
Ham.
[After a pause.]
Strathmore!

Strath.
Speak.

Ham.
Familiar from your boyhood with this pass,
'Tis you must lead us.

Strath.
I!

Bur.
Do we demand
More than a leader's duty?

Strath.
You have said
Sir Rupert was my friend!

Ham.
Have you not sworn
To be your country's?

Strath.
'Twas my oath—I'll keep it!
Give me the van of some most desperate hope,
Some breach to force even in the cannon's mouth;
Or bid me singly breast the tide of war,
With honour beckoning on the further shore,
And I will plunge! But do not arm my conscience
Against my will, and make my truth to duty
A treason to my heart!

Craig.
[To Burley.]
You see his bent.
To choose such guidance were to risk our end.

Bur.
[Apart to him.]
Peace! None but he, who knows each separate step,
So well can thread the passage. Hamilton,
With Brycefield and yourself, shall share his march;
So, if he falter, justice rests with you.
[To Strathmore.]
I grieve to find thee in the snare emeshed
Of creature yearnings. Howbeit, we yoke
No doubting spirit to this work. You, Craigburn
And Hamilton, must undertake the task!
If Lorn be guilty of this crime, he dies.

Strath.
He dies!

Bur.
Decreed you not his death?

Strath.
But how,
If he prove innocent?

Craig.
A slender hope.

Strath.
Why, see! You do prejudge him. In your face
I read his doom already.

Bur.
You have shunned
A leader's office; else your hand had borne
The scales of judgment here.

Craig.
A partial hand
Should never hold the balance.

Strath.
[Apart.]
It is fixed—
The old man's fate! To their impatient eyes
Film'd with a brother's blood, all evidence
Will take that sanguine colour. He will perish!

Bur.
Time speeds; I part for Glasgow! You—

Strath.
Stay, Burley!
[Aside.]
My presence would ensure him justice; this
At least, he claims; for this his child appeals,
His Katharine—once my own!

Ham.
See, he is racked
By a sore conflict.

Bur.
Note him not; he'll yield!

Strath.
[Still apart.]
But say what yet I hold incredible
Were true, that Lorn were guilty, and had dyed
His soul in stains more crimson than his sword's,
Shedding the pastor's life! say this were proved,
And I the judge, Heaven's eye upon me, men
Exacting righteous sentence, while old love,
Plucking my heart-strings, cried for mercy!

Bur.
[To Craigburn and Hamilton.]
Forth
With faces set like flints against the slayer;
Blood only expiates blood!

Craig.
We will not fail.

Strath.
Mad with the thirst of vengeance, faintest hints
Will read like damning proof! no arm but mine
Can save him innocent; if guilty, why
Even that risk of horror for his sake
Must be encountered.—Burley, Hamilton,
I take my office—I will head this charge.

Bur.
You'll march on Lorn?

Strath.
I will.

Craig.
Ere you resolve—
Dare you fulfil this task?

Strath.
Dare I assume it?
See, Brycefield, that our force be straight equipped!
We march at noon.

Craig.
We need the mask of night
And will not stir till sunset.

Strath.
Heed my orders,
Brycefield! we march at noon. Your captain wills it.

[Strathmore and Brycefield go out.
Bur.
He's right; delay might give them time for aid.
Come, friends. You know your duty should he fail.

[They go out.

SCENE II.

Before Lorn Castle. A terrace with ramparts overlooking an extensive prospect bounded by the hills.
Enter Katharine and Isabel meeting. Katharine is passing on without perceiving Isabel, who intercepts her.
Isa.
No, no, sweet Kate, you are my lawful prize,
Won dearly, not to be relinquished soon!
These lonely walks and indoor solitudes
Fit meditative age; but you are young.

Kath.
Ay, by the kalendar!

Isa.
Ill suit such moods
With loyal maiden's pride—this grief for him
Who in one breath disowned his double oath
To you and to his king. For shame—abjure him!

Kath.
Idolatry abjures not! It despairs.

Isa.
Tut, tut! despair's a word, a good broad phrase
To signify the heartache or weak nerves.
All women have it ere they wed. It means
That epidemic of young blood called love,
And only asks time's lancet for its cure;
It takes a thousand shapes! The schoolboy has it
At close of holidays; the maiden feels it
When her pet pigeon dies! Sometimes it comes
As a November fog! Count Grammont had it—
And sharply, when his valet brought not home
His suit for the Court ball; but—he recovered!
[Aside.]
Poor Katharine! I know she thinks me heartless,
And yet, to humour were to feed her grief.
Here comes your father!
Enter Sir Rupert.
Dear Sir Rupert—smile!

Sir R.
In times like these, when the king's flag retires
Before a horde of rebels!

Isa.
Your defeat,
If such it may be termed, chanced, as you said,
From inconsiderate zeal. So strong a post
The foe secured. You fought at desperate odds.

Sir R.
'Tis a disaster we shall soon retrieve.
What can a wild, ungoverned mob effect
'Gainst the trained force of kingdoms?

Isa.
Well then, smile!

Sir R.
[Taking her hand.]
There, there!

Isa.
Your lips smiled, not your eyes.

Sir R.
I know it.
A foolish thought distracts me! Long inured
To the stern trade of war, I've seen armed men
Fall in a heap before me, and then slept
Unvexed by conscience; but that aged face
I spake of—haunts my sight. I never drew
Before on the defenceless!

Isa.
Not a heart
But mourns the old man's fate; but still reflect
'Twas in an act denounced by law—

[Hesitates.
Sir R.
The law
Required, at least, that we should warn ere strike.
I struck and warned not, and my sword became
A knife for shambles. Keith had been my friend,
Sat at my board, clasped hand with me. Girl, girl,
As I rode thence, I felt as feels a murderer!

Isa.
[Aside.]
How hard to strive with self-reproach when just.

Sir R.
Stung by defeat, we found them in our path,
And ere reflection cooled our boiling rage,
It overflowed in fury.

Isa.
It is done,
Repented, and must be forgotten.

Sir R.
Come;
Some other them then!

[They walk up the terrace.
Kath.
Does my father stand
Thus self-condemned of cruelty? My kind,
My generous father! Who shall vouch for pity.
In sterner hearts, or that the cause is just
Which casts it out? O Halbert! Were you right?
Have those whom—tutored in a loyal faith
My heart denounced as traitors, been indeed
Ground down by injury? O, were you right?
So noble, so discerning, could you arm
In a base quarrel? No; it is a thought
To soothe my anguish. If thou wert deceived,
'Twas by misconstrued duty. So thy worth
Shines through my gloom, and, though for ever gone,
Thou art not lost while I can still adore!

[She goes out.
Sir Rupert and Isabel return to front.
Isa.
Brave Henry! Worthy of his name and sire
My gallant husband!

Sir R.
Should the royal troops
Be duly reinforced, we may expect him
The traitors who infest us to dislodge.
Our garrison is scanty, and we need
Some score stout fellows yet.

Isa.
These girding hills
Are a sure rampart.

Sir R.
True; we may defy
The knaves for weeks, and mock them till they starve.
[Shouts are heard, and the bell of the Castle sounds an alarm.
What mean those shouts? They ring the alarm!
Enter several Retainers.
How now!

Simon.
The castle is surprised.

Sir R.
Who kept the watch?

Robert.
Each man was at his post; the enemy
Assailed us under cover of the woods.

Sir R.
The bell is silenced; 'sdeath, they've forced the gates!
Ring round me, lads, for honour and your king!

Isa.
I'll with you.

Sir R.
No, to Katharine! If I fall
Bear her a father's blessing. On, brave hearts!
Stone bulwarks yield;—brave hearts are adamant.
On, cheerily, Lorn, for the king!

[He rushes out, followed by Retainers. Discharge of musketry, and shouts of conflict without.
Isa.
Heaven speed you!
Would I were of them! Yet our Katharine's safety?
The clamour's at its height. [A pause.]
Now conflict's thunder
Mutters itself away; the bolt has fallen.
On whom? Dear Katharine! What, beset!

As she is going, enter Soldiers, headed by Brycefield.
Bryce.
[Advancing to her.]
Fear not!
Sir Rupert, lady, is our prisoner;
But his fair daughter—such I deem you are—
Needs dread no violence.

Isa.
We do not dread, sir,
The thing we scorn.

Bryce.
Harsh payment for harsh duty.

Isa.
Fulfil it without words.

Bryce.
That you are safe.
Accept this proof—our band is led by Strathmore.

Isa.
By Strathmore!

Bryce.
Once your father's friend.

Isa.
Is't true?
[He signifies assent.
Why then forgive my scorn. Your treason's white
Beside his foulness.

Bryce.
[Aside.]
She is wondrous fair!

Isa.
A something in your mien
Denotes you foreign to these boors: you learned not
This courtly grace from them.

Bryce.
[Aside.]
By heaven, a wench
Of rare discernment! Beauty's presence, lady,
Can civilise the savage.

Isa.
Speech so bland
I fain would couple with a name, and yours is—

Bryce.
One that was honourable till I bore it;
My name is Brycefield.

Isa.
You were ill baptized;
That name is writ in loyal annals.

Bryce.
Ay!
And by my father's sword.

Isa.
If this be so,
You bear within more keen reproach than mine.
Is't possible? Your escort to the castle!

Bryce.
Way, there; fall back! I am your beauty's debtor.

[She gives him her hand; martial music heard behind; he conducts her out.

SCENE III.

Corridor in Lorn Castle. A small table, with writing materials, and lighted taper, chair, &c.
Enter Hamilton and Craigburn.
Ham.
Thus far no signs of flinching. By his guidance
We've gained the fortress, seized the man of blood,
And straight proceed to trial.

Craig.
Yet I fear,
Lest creature pity should in Strathmore's heart
O'ermaster duty. It devolves on him,
As chief in rank, to be the prisoner's judge.

Ham.
Let's to him.

Craig.
And remember, if he fail,
We must assume his office. Lorn must die.

[Hamilton and Craigburn go out.
Enter Roland, followed hastily by Janet.
Janet.
Not that way, Master, Master—what's your name?

Rol.
[Clasping his hands with a Puritanical air.]
In the flesh, Roland: and thy name, young damsel?

Janet.
[Imitating him.]
In the flesh, Janet. If a saint like you
Can e'er feel hunger, there's good beef and ale
Waiting your pleasure.

Rol.
I've no creature wants.

Janet.
[Aside.]
Now must I ply him as my mistress bade.
[Aloud.]
I prythee come; I find such benefit
In devout company; and grant one favour.
There are, 'midst Strathmore's followers, some brave hearts
My mistress knew of old, and fain would speak with.

Rol.
She'll bring me into trouble. Hence, avoid thee!
See'st thou not I'm a vessel? [Aside.]
Of a surety
The damsel's comely.

Janet.
Nay, thou'lt not refuse?

Rol.
[Aside.]
I fear the carnal man is strong within me.
Lo, I will testify! Thou shalt no more
Entice me with thine eyes, which are a snare.

Janet.
I will not.

Rol.
Nor entice me with thy lips,
Which are a net.

Janet.
I say I will not.

Rol.
Neither
Shalt thou gaze in my face unlawfully;
Nor take my hand thus.

[Taking her hand.
Janet.
You surprise me.

Rol.
No;
Nor, worst of all—

Janet.
[Struggling.]
I will not, sir—

Rol.
Do this.

[Kisses her.
Janet.
[Breaking away.]
Shame! shame! you have forgot you are a vessel.

[Janet goes out.
Rol.
Faith, I half like the jade; and little like
The work that brings me here. I saw the old man
Torn from his children's arms. I fear the worst.

Enter Brycefield.
Bryce.
This is a sorry business.

Rol.
Sorry, sir;
It takes away all relish for my food.
'Twill break my sleep. Think of the old knight's daughters.

Bryce.
[Musing.]
So fair, 'tis strange that neither yet are wed.

Rol.
There's Lady Isabel. What eyes! Their flash
Half blinds you, till a hazy sorrow comes
To let one see their brightness. Then her voice!
'Tis the proud sad smile speaking. Time has been
You would have risked your life for her least whisper.

Bryce.
What say you, rogue?

Rol.
That she's a helpless woman,
And you a soldier.

Bryce.
[Aside.]
Does he read my thought?
I have drunk in her beauty till it floods
Each vein and pulse. To call her mine—to grasp
At once both love and fortune—'twere a prize
Indeed for the spurned beggared cavalier!
She comes! Withdraw, sir.

Rol.
Hey, they're winsome dears!

[Roland goes out.
Enter Isabel and Katharine; the latter sits apart absorbed.
Isa.
How, Master Brycefield! We entreat a boon.

Bryce.
You grant one if you grant the right to serve you.

Isa.
[Aside.]
I like not those smooth tones. My sister, too.

Bryce.
[Bowing low.]
Lady, she is your sister.

Isa.
[Aside.]
There again!
I took him for a friend; but ours, I fear,
Must be a game of wits; we'll say, a game
At chess.

Bryce.
[Aside, catching her last words.]
A game at chess! What does she mean?

Isa.
You have the ordering of Sir Rupert's guard.
Our prayer is this—that you set over him
Strathmore's own followers. They're of better nurture
Than their rude comrades, and at least will show
Sorrow, respect.

Bryce.
'Tis done.

Isa.
[Aside.]
So the game opens.
That's move the first.

Bryce.
Your next command?

Isa.
Request—
That privately you send for and admit
Sir Rupert's chaplain. The good man dwells near.

[Shows a letter.
Bryce.
That letter's for him?

Isa.
Read it.

Bryce.
If you insist. [Reads, then aside.]
No danger. This concealment
Is against my captain's orders; but—

Isa.
Well, friend?

Bryce.
[Significantly.]
I obey yours.

Isa.
I thank you. Shall I seal
The letter? [She takes it to the lighted taper, and, watching him narrowly, drops the seal—a ring.]
The seal's fallen.

Bryce.
Madam!

[He stoops for the seal.
Isa.
[Aside.]
Now,
To drop these lines in. [She takes from her bosom a note, and places it in the letter, which she quickly folds. Brycefield rises and gives her the seal.]
Sir, I trouble you.
[Aside.]
He has not seen it. Move the second!

Bryce.
Trouble!
And to your friend!

Isa.
[Sealing the letter, and giving it to him.]
Who saved my father's life
Were more than friend—a brother!

Bryce.
That's a joy
Beyond my hope. And yet, I would outwear
My brain in plots, my knee in prayers to Strathmore,
If that might save Sir Rupert. Meanwhile, duties—
In which I rank your interest chief—demand me.

[Offers his hand.
Isa.
[After a pause, giving him her hand.]
Farewell! I will not thank your zeal with words.

Bryce.
[Who bows and retires, aside.]
No! not with words, bright siren, save they pledge
A richer payment; not thy gifts, but thee.

[He goes out.
Isa.
[To Katharine.]
He deems your father mine, and, as I think,
Suspects not I am married; these thick gems
Have hid so well the slender marriage pledge.
It might be well to fix him in his error,
I see his selfish game. Had he been worthy,
I'd trusted all with him; being false, I'll use him.
I stoop but for your father.

Kath.
Ah, my father!

Isa.
Laments are vain. When danger threats, they hinder;
Should the worst chance, yourself must plead with Strath-
And when it bursts, avail not. Katharine, more!

Kath.
Nay, not that name!

Isa.
Remember, though you loathe him,
He holds your father's life.

Kath.
My father! Strathmore!
My sense drifts helpless on this tide of horror!
Loathe him! loathe Strathmore! Why? He's here, you say;
Why came he?

Isa.
Well you know—with bloody men
In league against your father.

Kath.
To destroy him?

Isa.
Why ask?

Kath.
And Strathmore was his friend?

Isa.
His friend!

Kath.
And knew their purpose, yet he came!

Isa.
To aid it.

Kath.
Wait—wait! Ha, ha! The blackness bursts, 'tis day!

Isa.
What mean you?

Kath.
That he came, a friend with foes,
Knowing their hate to curb it. He is here
To save my father! Loathe thee, loathe thee, Halbert!
I trust and bless thee.

Isa.
This is madness!

Kath.
No,
Tis reason's safeguard, the last hold it grasps;
Uproot it, and I perish. In, dear sister,
Wait but this hour's event!

Isa.
Alas!

Kath.
Remonstrance
But kills where it would save. Come, come, let's in.

[They go out.

SCENE IV.

A room in Lorn Castle, as in Act I. The apartment arranged for the trial of Sir Rupert. An antique elbow-chair is placed near the front.
Strathmore alone, and seated.
Strath.
There was no way but this. My comrades bent
To find him guilty, thirsting for revenge,
His fate was certain. Either I must judge,
If guilty doom him; or, to 'scape that pang,
A dastard, yield him to their blind tribunal
And murder by my silence. Could he slay
The meek and pious Keith? O friend beloved,
First fosterer of my thought! as thou didst stand
On Time's far brink, and Death forbore to snatch thee,
Was he than Death less pitying? This foul charge
He can refute—he will! If—that if wrongs him.

Enter Hamilton and Craigburn.
Ham.
Already here! you're prompt in your commission.

Strath.
Justice delayed is half denied.

Ham.
Most true.
The guilt that's late avenged is almost sanctioned.

Craig.
Strathmore, be warned and hear me! If you hope
Disproof of crime will free the prisoner
And make your office light, your hope is vain.
Most clear and certain evidence convicts him.

Strath.
Am I judge here?

Craig.
You know it.

Strath.
Then, if judge,
I take no counsel with the accuser while
The accused is absent.

Ham.
Mark, our people cry
For vengeance on the murderer; if withheld,
Thou wilt provoke revolt, and stab the cause
Which thou hast sworn to guard.

Craig.
If I but thought
He dared to tamper with his trust, I'd—

[Approaches Strathmore menacingly.
Strath.
[Stamping twice.]
Ho, there!
The door opens. Enter Brycefield; Soldiers are discovered in waiting.
[To Brycefield.]
Your guard's in waiting? I may need you, sir.
Craigburn, you stand too near—fall back. [To Brycefield as Craigburn obeys.]
Not now.

Bryce.
The prisoner, Sir Rupert, waits without.

Strath.
[After a pause.]
Conduct him hither. [Brycefield goes out. Apart.]
Oh, the time is sudden;
Sustain me, Heaven; let proof like thine own beams
Shine on his innocence; for sake of him
I thought to call a father, for her sake
I dare not name, scarce think of, hear me, hear me!

Ham.
They come; prepare!

[Strathmore motions them to the table, and sits.
Enter Sir Rupert, preceded by Guards; Brycefield walking by his side; a number of the Covenanting Soldiers follow, uttering menacing exclamations, and line either side of the apartment.
Sol.
Justice! we will have justice!
Death to the murderer!

Ham.
Peace!

Strath.
Sir Rupert Lorn!

Sir R.
[Aside.]
It is the face in which I once read honour.
Still frank, no covert glance, no craven bend.
Thou forgery on nature!

Strath.
Pray you, sit!

Sir R.
In your illustrious presence and your colleagues'?
My modesty forbids! What would you with me?

Strath.
The chance of these stern times, when savage power
Tramples on life and freedom, makes us foes,
Not to yourself, but wrong which you abet.
That wrong to curb, we have possessed your castle,
And held you in restraint. No penalty
Harsher than this impends, if you confute,
As I must hope you will, a crime so black
Your name denies it credence! You are charged
That, not in heat of war or private feud,
By you and yours, unarmed and simple men,
In exercise devout, were foully slain.
No warning given, no order to disperse—
A right which even your cruel laws demand—
And, chief, that by your hand fell Andrew Keith,
The gracious shepherd of this ravaged fold!
What answer make you?

[Sir Rupert regards him in stern silence.
Craig.
He is dumb.

Strath.
Produce
Your evidence.

Sir R.
Hold there. [To Hamilton and Craigburn.]
I speak
Not to this man—perjured to king, name, friend,
Whose baseness Heaven permits that men may know,
And loathe a traitor;—but to your more human
And moderate infamies. Hear this! I mourned,—
A sickly fool!—because his locks were white,
The death of Andrew Keith; but now, beholding
The pestilent harvest of his seed, rejoice,
Both that I mowed the ear and slew the sower.
The deed was mine,—I slew him!

Ham.
He avows it!

Craig.
Justice!

Sol.
Ay, justice! we'll have justice!

Strath.
Who
Calls upon justice, and with clamour wakes
Her sacred halls, that should be hushed as heaven,
Ere doom's dread book be opened? Peace!—Sir Rupert,
If, guiltless of this crime, it be avowed
In hasty scorn, or from security,
Since I have been your friend—reflect, recant!
My heart is frozen—and it cannot beat;
My memory stifled—and it cannot plead;
I am a pen in the great hand of Conscience,
To write its bidding merely!

Sir R.
[To Hamilton and Craigburn.]
Pray interpret
Me to your master. Tell him that we rate
Gifts by the givers; that could he give me life,
I would not own it, branded by his pity!

Bryce.
Pshaw, pshaw, you rave!

Sir R.
Place me upon the heath,
My good sword in my gripe! The deed I've done
I'll do again, and grind beneath my heel
This brood of canting priests and armed revolt!

Sol.
His sentence! Quick, his sentence!

Ham.
By his own lips
Is he condemned. For further proof we hold
This letter, written by the prisoner,
And found upon his servant. 'Tis addressed
Unto that man of wrath, Ralph Malcolm! Listen!
[Reads.]

“These, good friends, shall bring you to know
that I have been entrapped by a gang of Puritan traitors.
If you can give the alarm, and send help, well. Once free,
on the faith of a loyal man, I will show the knaves no
mercy. I will hunt them down, whether they bear sword
or psalter, by the hearth or in the field, in conventicle or
by the hill-side.—Yours in the king's cause—Rupert
Lorn.”

[Gives letter to Strathmore.
Sol.
Vengeance! Tear him to pieces! Judgment! Sentence!

Bryce.
Sheer lunacy! You would not heed a maniac;
Try fasting and the dungeon.

Ham.
Ay! and wait
Until some rescue, mightier than our stop,
Loose him to carnage. We are weak; our foes
Are strong, and may redeem him. Strathmore, think;
'Tis not alone the life that he has quenched,
But those his cruel purpose yearns to strike,
That claim his death? If they through him expire,
Thy voice that frees him—murders them! Then, stand
Between this black soul and thy brethren's lives,
And tell us which shall perish!

Sol.
Justice! Death!

Strath.
That shout again! [To Sir Rupert.]
List to that shout, old man!
I hear it and I live; but do not check it!
Who dares? Who stays the planets or arrests
The wheels of destiny? They roll, they roll!

[He rises and comes forward.
Ham.
[To Craigburn.]
He's rapt as in a trance. [To Strathmore.]
What hear'st thou, brother?

Strath.
[To Sir R.]
The cry of thy great sin, performed and purposed,
Has entered heaven, and space reverberates
Thy doom in thunder! Murder's doom is death!

Craig.
[To Sir Rupert.]
Thy sentence! [To Strathmore.]
And it's hour?

Ham.
He does not heed thee.
Remove the prisoner. Thy farewell take
Of earth to-day! Thou diest on the morrow!

[Sir Rupert goes out guarded, followed by Brycefield and Soldiers. Strathmore remains standing in abstraction.
Ham.
[To Strathmore.]
My friend! my brother!

Craig.
Pray you, speak not to him.
Leave him to silence.

Ham.
Oh, this sacrifice
Outweighed a thousand lives; my friend! my friend!

[Hamilton and Craigburn go out.
Strath.
Where am I? Is this earth, or has the world
Swerved from its path in terror, and recoiled
To the first chaos? Is yon light the sun?
Are those green hills? And is yon roar that swells,
And sinks and swells, the sea? That's the oak roof;
A slanting sunbeam strikes it. I stand here,
Alone; yet do not turn, lest fearful shapes
Should give the lie to sense. Alone! ah, see,
That old man stalks before me! Speak? I'll answer.
He's dumb. And now from the quick-breeding air
There looms another form—dark, stern—my father's!
He points to him, and asks me for his friend!
And 'twixt the two there glides a cold face, blanched
With a child's agony! Katharine, away!
I cannot bear those eyes! [Rallying himself.]
Nay, gaze! I'll front them.—
Dim spectres of the living and the dead
Cite me, impeach me! As I then shall answer,
When Heaven waits breathless, and its shining ranks
Fix me at once with their demanding eyes,
I answer now. Truth has no choice: it must
Be true or not be! Duty claimed my heart;
I plucked it forth and gave! . . . . Ah, now ye fade—
I am alone—alone with fate and heaven!

[He stands motionless. The curtain slowly descends.