University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Ante-room in Lorn Castle, opening on terrace.
Brycefield and Roland discovered.
Bryce.
I' faith, rare wine.

Rol.
You're merry, sir.

Bryce.
Such juice,
Drunk in Elysium, would make nectar cheap
And all the gods forswear it.

Rol.
Ah! you laugh;
You could not if you thought that brave Sir Rupert
Would die to-morrow.

Bryce.
Humph!

Rol.
[Significantly.]
You head the watch.

Bryce.
How, sirrah?

Rol.
For his children, for the sake
Of Lady Isabel, whose grateful smiles
Hail you as her deliverer, you will save him?

Bryce.
Humph! Is that sure?

Rol.
Why did you bid her hope?

Bryce.
Concerns that you? For my own ends.

Rol.
A brave man,
Who sees a woman's grief, can have no ends—
None of his own, I mean—he acts for her.

Bryce.
Away, sir!

Rol.
[Aside.]
No; he cannot be a man,
And deaf to grief like hers.

[He goes out.
Bryce.
So for her sake,
I shall corrupt the watch. By my connivance,
Nay, special aid, Sir Rupert shall escape—
That's if none scent the plot, while for my thanks
There's gratitude, a curtsey, and good morrow!
Not so. Her spells have charmed me—the proud carriage
And quick eye battling with reverse, the smile
That breeze-like ripples her still face, and flits
'Twixt love and scorn, her hand, whose lingering touch
Can make its farewell kinder than its clasp!
She must be mine! Yet if she spurn me—me,
Though kindly born a thriftless outcast now?—
No, no, her father's life at stake, she dares not.

Enter Isabel, looking cautiously round.
Isa.
My friend, preserver!

Bryce.
'Tis a title, lady,
As yet unearned.

Isa.
But gratitude and faith
Forestall thy deed, and pay it in intent.

Bryce.
[Aside.]
There, gratitude! You're liberal, but not prudent.
Intents are known by acts; intents may change—
Mere vanes to winds of humour!

Isa.
Good intents
Are fixed like goodness: you did give me hope
That by your means Sir Rupert should be free—
A bless'd intent!

Bryce.
Still, a mere vane!

Isa.
Where points it?

Bryce.
To summer, if the wind be southerly.

Isa.
Southerly?

Bryce.
Ay; what brings the South Wind, lady?

Isa.
Pray tell me!

Bryce.
Warmth and odour! Her soft arms
Twine round the vigorous Spring, a perfume steals
Upon him from her locks, her glowing breath
Fires his cold cheek with blushes, while she weaves
A chain of garlands round him, and he sinks
Before her feet—a slave!

Isa.
'Tis a deep riddle.
I pray you solve it.

Bryce.
Be thy love this wind
To my bleak life, which then shall teem with acts
Obedient to thy will. Bright Isabel,
I love thee, and would wed thee!

Isa.
Wed me, sirrah!—
[Restraining herself.
How if my hand were pledged?

Bryce.
Had it been given,
Ay, to a husband, he should lose his clasp.
Consent—your father's free.

Isa.
If I refuse?

Bryce.
Why, then, the wind sets northerly; I'm ice!
I've solved the meaning of your words to-day,
You'd play a game at chess! 'Tis my move now.

Isa.
[With indignation, immediately repressed.]
Oh, thou—

Bryce.
Nay, speak it, madam!

Isa.
Oh, thou soldier!
[With assumed laughter.
Which fit thee best, thy tactics or thy valour?

Bryce.
Make me thy soldier, and with those ripe lips
Seal my commission. Even now I've dared
Much peril for you, tampering with the guard.
Come, we rough soldiers capture hearts like forts—
By storm!

Isa.
Sir, for the credit of the fort,
I'd make a show of conflict. Grant me time!

Bryce.
Have you so much to spare. But be it so;
In an hour I will return. I do but deal
By the world's commerce, lady. All men fix
Their price on service. For my own, I ask
Yourself, your hand. If you deny me, say
Why I should venture aught for her that scorns me.

[He goes out.
Isa.
Ay! scorns thee, wretch, the more that terror choked
Scorn's utterance! But that I did control
My struggling heart, he had betrayed our hope—
Our hope on such conditions? There's no hope.
Stay—Katharine! She must at once to Strathmore!
Heaven aid the wrestling of a child's despair.

[Goes out.
Enter Roland and Janet.
Rol.
Poor lady, in what haste she went!

Janet.
What grief!
Thy master bears himself unkindly to her.

Rol.
[Musing.]
It may be so.

Janet.
It may be so! Where is thy wit to help?
You say you love me; where's the proof of love?

Rol.
What can I do? Sir Rupert's too well guarded.

Janet.
Entice the guard away.

Rol.
Impossible!
'Twere death to quit their post.

Janet.
I'll drug their drink.

Rol.
They dare not drink on duty.

Janet.
Be valiant, then. Provide my master's men
With swords, and use thine own.

Rol.
My master's men
Would use their carbines, then. I should be shot.

Janet.
Well, I should weep for thee.

Rol.
I should not see thee.

Janet.
Jest on; I was mistaken; you've no heart.

Rol.
Exactly so.

Janet.
The brave knight will be murdered,
My ladies—orphans! What is that to thee?
Thou'lt sleep as soundly.

Rol.
Mistress, you have ta'en
My very measure.

Janet.
Thou'lt be rid of me.
What matters that? There'll still be ale and beef,
And thou'lt be merry with the cup and trencher.
Why talk to thee of courage, love, or glory?

Rol.
Thou hast it; yes, thou hast it; I am just
The thing thou say'st I am. Oh, shame on me,
To let the light lash of thy tongue draw tears!

[Wiping his eyes.
Janet.
Forgive me, Roland!

Rol.
Set me some plain task.
Talk not to me of glory. Say but this—
An old man's life in danger; two young hearts,
Just breaking for his sake, implore your help;
Show me the way to save them—any way
That's likely, possible—and though the odds
Be such as risk my neck, I'll take that way,
Vile trencherman as I am!

Janet.
I see too well,
However brave, thou canst do little here.
Yet grant the boon I asked before. Conduct
My mistress, in disguise, to Strathmore's followers,
Sir Rupert's guard.

Rol.
And what will that avail?

Janet.
Nothing, I fear; but still, 'tis her desire.

Rol.
I'll manage it, this hour.

Janet.
You have a heart.
Forgive me!

Rol.
And have you a heart?

Janet.
[Archly.]
Ah, Roland!

[They go out hand in hand.

SCENE II.

Spacious room as before.
An armed Soldier waits with despatches. Enter Hamilton and Craigburn.
Craig.
Comes Strathmore hither?

Ham.
Yes, you see despatches
Await him from the camp.

Craig.
Has he yet eyes
To spell the text of war with, or does grief
For yon malignant, who to-morrow dies,
Blind his friend's sight?

Ham.
Shame, shame, thou ruthless man!
No vain laments express his mighty woe;
But a calm reigns, like the immovable heavens
When they look down on earthquake. Peace, he comes!
Enter Strathmore.
Despatches wait you, sir, from Burley.

Sol.
[Presenting despatches to Strathmore.]
Ay,
From godly Burley.

Strath.
[In a low level tone, and with passionless dignity.]
Hold you ready then
For prompt return. No, stay, you're worn with travel.
Bid young Moncrieff with some six more to horse,
Then ask my orders here.

[Soldier goes out, Strathmore sits and reads despatches.
Craig.
What's Burley's news?

Strath.
He wishes reinforcements.

Craig.
And should have them straightway.

Ham.
Can you grant them?

Strath.
No;
Our slender force would weigh but as a grain
In the great balance, and would nothing stead him,
While foes would seize on these deserted walls,
And our retreat spread panic through our friends.

Ham.
'Tis well resolved.

Strath.
[Writing.]
Are yet those stores arrived
Of corn and cattle?

Ham.
Not yet.

Strath.
Hasten them.

Ham.
I will betimes to-morrow, sir.

Strath.
[Dropping the pen, and sitting motionless.]
Tomorrow!

Ham.
I know what that dread morrow brings; yet think
Even had you wavered, you could not have saved him;
The attempt had roused rebellion through our band.
Your truth as man, your oath as judge, your duty
As chief enforced, and Heaven ordained his death.

Strath.
[Rising.]
Then leave it, friend, to Heaven to grant the strength
For that which Heaven ordains.
[He again writes; beckons to Soldier who has re-entered; seals and gives him despatch.
Straight to the camp!

[Soldier goes out.
Enter Roland.
Rol.
[To Strathmore.]
Your pardon, noble sir! [Sees Hamilton—he hesitates.]
I bear a message.

Ham.
Speak it!

Rol.
'Tis only for your captain's ear.

Craig.
A mystery!

Strath.
Friend, your business?

Rol.
Nay, sir;
'Tis with yourself in private.

Craig.
[To Hamilton.]
Marked you that?

Strath.
Declare your errand to these gentlemen.

Rol.
[Reluctantly.]
The Lady Katharine would see your honour.

Strath.
See me!

Craig.
It cannot be: go.

Rol.
Friend, I'll take
Your answers when I ask them. [To Strathmore.]
Sir, she pleads
Most weighty reasons.

Craig.
Are you gone?

Rol.
Such reasons
As touch her father's life!

Strath.
Say you, his life?

Rol.
[Doggedly.]
'Twas thus she charged me—say, by Strathmore's oath,
As upright judge, as he would 'scape the curse
Of needless blood, I claim to speak with him
Alone, and instantly.

Strath.
[To Craigburn.]
You hear!

Craig.
Again
I do deny her suit. What afterproof
Can clear the self-condemned?

Strath.
We know not that
Until we know the proof. What if her father
Vaunted in rage an uncommitted deed,
Or hid its provocation?

Craig.
Do you hope it?

Strath.
I dare not; but as little dare refuse
The right to prove it. We must meet alone.

Ham.
Alone?

Strath.
It is her will.

Craig.
Her will!

Strath.
Then mine.
[To Roland.]
Say that I wait the Lady Katharine.

[Roland goes out.
Ham.
[Aside.]
Is he true?
The waves of Ashdod poison those of Canaan
Whene'er they mingle. [To Craigburn.]
Fear not, we'll observe him;
Ere night I will compel him change the watch.

[Hamilton and Craigburn go out.
Strath.
[Alone, dropping into a chair.]
See her! . . . See Katharine! . . . Katharine! . . . That name
Comes to my ear as though I long had passed
Into the realm of souls, and caught, perplexed,
A sound once dear on earth. . . . Katharine! . . . A face
Gleams on me as through mist—brows wide and white
'Neath rippling auburn; eyes like springs, that hint
Love's soundless depths! . . . Speak, speak! . . . do I not hear
That voice which was thy heart made audible
Answering to mine—to mine, as when we stood
Last by the scutcheon'd gate while tremulous love
Broke through the hush as through the dusk—the star!
Again, good night! we clasp, part, linger still.
Now she glides homeward; but her low farewell
Sums all the unseen sweetness of her face,
And follows me in blessing. Ay, 'tis she,
My joy incarnate, self of self, love, life.
Katharine, my Katharine! [He pauses, overwhelmed with emotion, then suddenly restrains himself.]
What if she should come,
And find me thus swept down by this wild flood
Of bursting grief, and from that sight draw hope,
When hope there's none, and I should so delude her!
[Starting up.]
Freeze, freeze, ye naked heavens, and keep me stone—
For her sake, freeze!

Re-enter Roland, followed by Katharine.
Kath.
Retire!
[Roland goes out.
'Tis he—he moves not, speaks not! [Advancing to him]
Strathmore!

Strath.
What would you with me, lady?

Kath.
Is it thus
That Halbert speaks to Katharine?

Strath.
Hush! those names
Belong to a past world.

Kath.
False! there's no past
To fates so knit as ours. Thou may'st stab love,
But not love's ever-haunting ghost, remembrance.

Strath.
Your errand?

Kath.
I'm a child: my father's life
Hangs on your breath. My errand!

Strath.
Hark! yon sea;
You hear it break?

Kath.
Ay, on a rock.

Strath.
A rock
That shivers it and dashes it to spray.
Still the tide flows; 'tis ocean's law. So man
Obeys his law—the conscience. Though it drive
On ruin, he obeys.

Kath.
On ruin! Ay,
You feel it such. You'd save my father; but
Your comrades hem you round and force your hand—
Your shrinking hand—to strike. It is not Strathmore
Who with a double murder stabs the sire,
And, through the sire, the child!

Strath.
No, 'tis not Strathmore.
You look on Justice.

Kath.
[Softening.]
Halbert, no; thou still
Art human. Human woe has ploughed thy cheek;
Thine eyes crave human tears. Before them glides
A dream of our past love—perchance that sunset
When on thy breast I leaned and took thy ring—
The ring which pledged us! [Showing a ring which she wears.]
Ah! thou know'st it—start,
And feel thou art a man!

Strath.
[Involuntarily.]
I am, I am!

Kath.
Then save my father.

Strath.
Can I?

Kath.
Yes!

Strath.
Oh, cruel to ask that question of thee.

Kath.
Yes!

Strath.
Mistake not—
His innocence must save him. Dared I dream
That thou couldst prove it—that his pride belied him
When he avowed the crime; or that, withstood,
He smote but in defence—aught that disproves
Or can excuse the deed—how would I clasp
Thy feet in transport! Not the cry, “A sail!”
To gasping swimmers; not the shout, “Reprieve!”
When gleams the axe; not the wife's sudden face,
From far-off home, beside the dying exile—
Oh, I but mock my joy, comparing it!
Give earth a new bliss, give my dead hope life,
By one word—“Innocent!” Speak, if thou canst.

Kath.
Why you have spoken. Since you will his life,
Effect your will.

Strath.
Your evidence?

Kath.
'Tis here.
You were almost his son.

Strath.
Your evidence?

Kath.
[Desperately.]
I have none! Wilt thou save him? There are means
Which yet you guess not—we can balk the hounds
Even at their spring. Defer Sir Rupert's fate
A week—nay, grant three days; ere then my brother—

Strath.
Ah!

Kath.
Now you guess. My brother may return
Head of a force with which your scanty band
Must cope in vain. As you would spare their blood,
Preserve this secret.

Strath.
That the enemy
May find us unprepared?

Kath.
Your followers few—ill-armed, undisciplined—
Must perish in the conflict. But submit,
No hair of theirs shall suffer! 'tis my oath.

Strath.
[Aside.]
Another moment, and I'm lost! Right, conscience,
Like lapsing earth, slip from me! Ere three days
The foe may be upon us! even to-night!
The storm may gather while we dream of safety,
And wake us with its bolt! Scouts, scouts, forthwith
On every road, bid others watch the coast,
And each man sleep in arms! Ho, Hamilton!
Craigburn!

[He rushes towards the door.
Kath.
[Intercepting him.]
You shall not pass!

Strath.
I must!

Kath.
My arms are frail;
They cannot bar thee! Canst thou pass these eyes
Once lit by thine?

Strath.
I pass!

Kath.
[Still confronting him.]
Thou canst not; Nature
Revolts against the deed! Thy feet are fixed
To the detaining earth; thy face is stone;
A cry peals from these shuddering walls to pierce
The vault of Time; and, lo, the shrouded years
Leap from their graves! [Grasping his arm.]
Here, by the old man's side,
Thy boyish steps have pattered; by yon hearth
He held thee at his knee—his playful hand
Entangled in thy hair—and stooped his ear
To catch thy prattle! Dost thou still advance?
Then over me! Look, by that chair we knelt
To plight our troth before him, while his voice—
A soldier's voice, weak with the weight of love—
Faltered his blessing! Come, be bold! Fulfil
Thy work! Stand on my father's hearth, and there,
There where he blessed us, speak his doom!

[Dragging him to the hearth.
Strath.
[Breaking from her.]
Craigburn!

[He extends his hands towards the door, and falls senseless.