University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

—A Road-side Copse.
Enter George Fenwicke, L. U. E.
Fen.
My steed is jaded, let him browse awhile,
I'm now as near the city as my safety
May well permit. Here I may chance to meet
Some wayfarer, who will inform me justly
Of Wyndebanke's position. Horner's words
Were utter'd in the flood of indignation,
And thus o'er shot, I hope, the bound of truth:
Yet should they prove correct—alas, alas!
Why could I not foresee this misery?
Why not forestate the nauseous self contempt,
Most unendurable of all shame's adjuncts,
Which this untoward consequence entails?
Some one approaches; I'll aside and judge
If it be wise to accost.

(Retires 2 E. R.
Enter Edith, R. H.
Edith.
Already faint! oh, shame—is this the bravery
That is to save my husband? on, on, on!
Alas, I cannot! my swoln veins will burst
With dread anxiety; yet if I tarry
He'll surely die—on, on!

(Attempts to proceed, and sinks exhausted.)
Re-enter Fenwicke, 2 E. R. H.
Fen.
A female—swooning! Let me aid thee. (Raising her.)
Ah!
Edith!

Edith.
George!

Fen.
Dear sister!

Edith.
No, I'm no more a sister, George, of thine;
Would I had never felt for you as one
And then— (Weeping.)
George, George, what had I done to you,
That you should load me with this misery?

Fen.
(Aside.)
Then Horner told me truly. I've heard all.
Oh, could you know the deep remorse—my—

Edith.
Hence!
Let me away—detain me not! time fleets,
And here I loiter; hold me not, I pray you!

Fen.
Even now you are exhausted with fatigue;
Where would you go?

Edith.
The king is now at Burford,
I go to plead for my poor Edward's life—
Let me proceed, Goerge, I command you!

Fen.
Hold sister! hear me. I will to the king
Myself.

Edith.
You!

Fen.
Yes, I will confess my treachery
And offer up myself to sate due vengeance.
I will so prove your husband's innocence
His loyalty and truth—so strongly prove it,
The king shall have no choice but pardon him.
When was the time appointed for—for—

Edith.
His death?
To-morrow morning at the hour of eight.

Fen.
I'll save him, doubt not: and do you return
Direct into the city and prevent
The consequence of possible delay
In the arrival of the pardon. Go,
Comfort your husband. Once more I repeat,
I'll save him, Edith.

Edith.
Do it, and again
Be my own brother, but—Oh, George, I fear—
You have deceived me once, and dare I trust you!
Will you be true?

Fen.
(Kneeling.)
I swear it, Edith!

Edith.
Mount!
Mount, then, lose not a moment! you may judge
With what impatient terror I shall wait
The coming messenger.

Fen.
He shall be saved!
Think on my words and fear not.

(Exit L. H.
Edith.
Now heaven prosper him, and save my husband!

(Exit R. H.

SCENE II.

—A Chamber.
Prince Rupert, Wilton, Horner, Wabble, and Mrs. Wabble, discovered.
Hor.
This I assure you is the truth; the culprit
Is this George Fenwicke. Colonel Wyndebanke
Is still in honour stainless.

Prince R.
As you think.
But tell me, sir, how deem you discipline
And military law have been observ'd
In your return; for have you yet to learn
The punishment awaiting such contempt
Of trust and duty.

Hor.
He who but performs
Duty at peril of omission, merits
Small honourable trust. The punishment
Due to the practice of humanity
Is without shame, and therefore harmless.
But as no mortal edict is beyond
The reach of some exception, then, methinks
The strictest law of discipline may warp
To save a brave man's life.

Wil.
If I might speak,
I'd say that naught could justify your act
But the most unexceptionable proof,
(Which, certes, you, a hearsay witness, have not)
Of what you come, regardless of all duty,
So roundly to assert.

Wab.
I beg your pardon;
We came expressly to give testimony—

Wil.
(Aside to him.)
Silence!

Mrs. W.
Nay, heed him not: speak on.

Wab.
I will.
A gift of noble eloquence is on me.
My lord, Prince Rupert, humble as I am,
I raise my voice, as every manly man
Should do in such a case. I say, my lord,
I raise my voice—

Wil.
(Sternly.)
Silence!

Mrs. W.
But we know
That Colonel Wyndebanke was true and honest.
Now, gentlemen, pray hear my husband tell
What pass'd at Blechington.

Wab.
Yes, hear me, do;
And to begin, I wish for—

Wil.
Silence!

Wab.
Yes;
And mind you keep it. You appear unwilling
That aught in favour of the Colonel's honour
Should have a hearing, but once more I say
My voice is rais'd—

Prince R.
(Loudly.)
Silence!

Wab.
(To Mrs. W.,)
Ah, 'tis useless!
That noisy “Silence!” won't admit a sound
Except its own.

Hor.
Now in few words, my lord,
I here beseech you, as you have the sense
Of mercy, justice, pity, be not rash
In execution of the recent sentence
Upon the much wrong'd Colonel.

Prince R.
Sir, indeed!
I, doubtless, should be grateful for your counsel.
Now, “in few words,” learn my determination.
The hour appointed for the traitor's death
Is eight i' the morning. Mark me, for one hour
I will defer it, but he dies at nine.
Till then, you, Captain Horner will be free—
For there's a charge 'gainst you—go forth!
Wilton, remove the Colonel to the cell
Nearest the barrack green. Provide a chaplain,
And let no other have access to him.

Wil.
Already have I ordered it; at present
His wife is with him.

Prince R.
Give them one half hour
For worldly parting. (To Horner.)
Sir, you understand;
If, before nine, you bring this Fenwicke to me,
You save the Colonel.

Hor.
But—

Prince R.
I'm resolute!
Place him alive before me; let me have
His own confession, and your friend is free;
No other thing can save him.

[Exit R. H.
Wil.
(Following, and aside.)
Soh! 'tis well!
That thing shall never be!

[Exit R. H.
Hor.
And but four hours!
Oh, harsh decree!

Wab.
Harsh! 'tis much more than harsh; 'tis barbarous, cruel!
I feel my blood rise at it. Here I stand,
And care not who o'erhears me; here I stand,
Firm and unflinching—

Mrs. W.
See, you're observ'd—an officer approaches!

Wab.
We'd better go!

[Exit L. H.
Hor.
The hope is but forlorn,
But still I'll mount and seek him. Miracles
Ere now has heaven worked for innocence,

Mrs. W.
Oh, do your best!

Wabble re-enters hastily, L. H.
Wab.
What's that? “Oh, do your best!”
Come, I meant not to leave you here together.
Why did you not, good madam, follow me?

Hor.
What, quit with such an air of cowardice?

Wab.
You've said it! Now I have a fair excuse
For wreaking on you all my vengeance! Now
My wrath breaks forth. [Turns to Mrs. W. Horner goes off, R. H. unperceived.]
You think I'm a lamb,
Nerveless and unresolved. But mark this hand;
It trembles not, although it's doomed to do
A deed of blood!

Mrs. W.
Pooh, pooh!

Wab.
Pooh, pooh, indeed!
Dost treat me with pooh, poohs? And you, fair sir—
[Turns to address Horner, who is gone.]
He's gone! Now who's the coward? [Loud.]
Who, I say?

Wilton enters, R. H.
Wil.
Ho, sirrah! if you thus disturb the quiet,
I'll place you in confinement.
[Wabble utters not a word, but beckons his wife, and sneaks out, L. H.
There is some truth, then, in't! I heard the tale
Which Edith told her husband. If her brother
Has ta'en the step she says, 'tis possible
A pardon may result. Then I must stay
The arrival of it; aye, at any hazard;
I'll take that fellow, Rip, and on the road—
Oh, here's the loving and unhappy pair;
They must be parted.
Enter Colonel Wyndebanke, guarded, with Edith, L. H. [Intercepting.]
Stay!

Wyn.
Is't you again?
Why will you fret me with your loathsome presence?

Wil.
May I not do my duty, please you?

Wyn.
What,
What is your duty? Do it, and then leave me
To be conducted anywhere you will,
So you avoid me. Do your duty, sirrah!

Wil.
My duty is to tell you, that a chaplain
Awaits you in your chamber.

Wyn.
Well?

Wil.
And he
Must be your sole companion.

Edith.
Hold! no, no!
I, Wilton—I, at least, may stay with him.

Wil.
My duty's done; my message is deliver'd,
So let your farewell word and kiss be brief.
(To Guards)
You know your duty—no delay. (To Wyn.)
Farewell.
Now at your hest, sir, I retire—more
My presence shall not blight. [Crosses L. H.]
I prophecy
You look your last on me.

[Exit L. H.
Wyn.
Remorseless fiend!
[To Edith.]
Then we must part?

Edith.
But soon to meet again,
And you in freedom.

Wyn.
[To Guards, who are advancing.]
Friends—a little grace.
[They retire
The time speeds on. Come, Edith, let us speak
Of what (should I be taken from thee, dearest,)
May best advance thy welfare.

Edith.
[Listening.]
Hark—hark, Edward,
Do you not hear a distant shout—it is—
It is the pardon—yes, my brother has it!
Hush [Disappointedly]
No, 'tis silent now; but he will come—
I tell you he will come; I'm certain, Edward.
Then why distress me with such false forebodings?

Wyn.
Look how you tell-tale cranny shews the secret
Of morn's progression. If the pardon comes
'Tis well I live to prove th' injustice done me:
But should it not (nay, be not so dismay'd,
It may—the hours are not so dwindled yet—it may!
But should it not—for there is proper wisdom
In preparation for extremity—
In happier, more peaceful times, when men
(Now party-blinded) shall dispassionate,
Look back upon the troubled scenes now acting,
Then publish thou this statement to the world:
[Taking paper from his breast.
It is a vindication of my honour;
For you must not allow your husband, Edith—
Your poor, wrong'd husband (though one of a week,)
To moulder in his grave, unepitaph'd,
Save with a coward's stigma. You, my wife,
Will find a staunch protector in my father
Who, even though my claim should not ensure
A place for thee within his pitying breast—
Thy own just merits will; and though I leave you
Still in your memory, I think—yes, yes,
I know I shall live long—

Edith.
Oh, Edward, Edward!
For mercy's sake, forbear I if you talk thus
You'll kill me! [Sobbing.]


Guard.
[Advancing.]
Colonel, pray forgive me—
We dare not longer wait.

Wyn.
I will attend you;
Edith, one kiss—farewell—be comforted!

Edith.
Oh, we shall meet again.

Wyn.
I doubt it not;
Here or hereafter.

Edith.
Here, I know we shall,
Or Edward I have murdered you—oh, Edward!
(Colonel Wyndebanke kisses her—places her in the arms of an Attendant, who removes her, and exit with Guards 2 E. R. H.)

SCENE III.

—A Road-side Copse. [Same as Act III. Scene I.] Morning.
Enter Rip, cloaked, with carbine, sword, &c. 2 E. L. H.
Rip.

I've been waiting here and amusing myself by singing
psalms for two hours, at the very least. Patience and piety
support me through much anxiety, but why the devil doesn't
Wilton come to me? This surely must be the corner of the
road at which he desired me to post myself, and a very pretty
road-side ambush it is, from which a traveller can be shot
with great comfort and convenience, both to himself and the
shooter; and, O be joyful! I am becoming an expert hand at
giving fellows a quiet quietus—I'm becoming a practiced cheat
—I call it “cheating,” for it is no more: killing a man is
nothing more than cheating a man of a portion of his weary
pilgrimage through this vale of tears—sela! Hark, some one
comes—'tis he—'tis Master Wilton!

Enter Wilton, hastily, R. H.

At length then you've joined me. By my unsullied honour, I
began to think you'd left me to do this little job by myself.
What is the hour of the day?

Wil.

Between eight and nine.

Rip.

So late, quotha? then our watch will soon be over; if
this fellow comes we'll shoot him and get home to breakfast,
for sooth to say, I am both an hunger'd and athirst.

Wil.

You say rightly—our watch will soon end; for were
a messenger here even now, with Wyndebanke's pardon in his
hand, it would be fair speed to reach Oxford by the chiming of
mine.

Rip.

O be joyful! But prithee what detained you?

Wil.

I was unable to leave the city; a man had been killed
in brawl, and I was called on to pursue and arrest his antagonist.

Rip.

Oh, these ungodly brawlers! Knew ye aught of the
parties?

Wil.

I did; the slain man is that Ticely, who gave evidence
against Wyndebanke: his slayer is no other than Captain Horner—
and though I had much trouble in apprehending him,
curses on the fellow, he has contrived to make his escape, and
is suspected to be somewhere on this road.

Rip.

Despair not. By the aid of prayers, pistols and perseverance,
please the pigs he shan't escape. But hark—do you
not hear something in the distance?

Wil.

Look yonder, down the road—a horseman at full speed!

Rip.

And lo, how he diggeth his rowels in his horse's flanks.
Oh, iniquitous and unmerciful man—hast thou no feeling for
thy beast? Look, look—the dust riseth up before and behind
him, and encompasseth him round about. Look, look—he flieth
like a winged cherubim. Master Wilton, this must be the pardon
bearer!

Wil.

It must! and as he approaches nearer—nearer, I
could swear it was—it is—it is the figure of young Fenwicke.
Rip, let us fire at his horse from behind this furze. Quick—
crouch, crouch! his horse, remember—down! (A pause, and

descriptive music. A horse is heard at first distantly, then

nearer.)
Now! (They fire simultaneously.)
Hit—no! by my—
yes, yes, the horses rears—falls—his foot is entangled in the
stirrup—'tis now free. Upon him Rip—upon him! (They

rush out L. U. E. and immediately re-enter struggling violently

with George Fenwicke, who is bleeding.]

Fen.

Villains, release me! I bear a pardon for Colonel
Wyndebanke—for mercy's sake, release me! I shall be too
late—too late—oh, heaven!

Wll.

Give me that pardon.

Fen.

Never! [Rip seizes him from behind, and drags him

to the earth, while Wilton rudely tears open his vest and snatches

the pardon.]
Too late—oh, mercy he will die—wretches!

[Desperately struggling, he rises, and shaking off Rip, rushes to Wilton, wrenches his pistol from him and fires. Wilton falls. Rip again drags George Fenwicke to the ground, and is about to stab as
Horner rushes in 2 E. R. H.
Hor.
[C. holding Rip at bay.]

Fenwicke—Fenwicke, fly to
Oxford—save the Colonel!

Fen.

The pardon is there—but, oh God! 'twill be too late.

Hor.

Fly, fly—a moment wasted is perdition—fly! (Rip

and Horner fight off, L. H.)

Fen.

The pardon! alas, I am wounded—but the pardon—
(Wrestles with Wilton, who has partially recovered,

and as George Fenwicke again secures the paper, rises and

faintly struggles with him.)
I have it—I have it—now for Oxford.
Hold—stay the execution—the pardon is here—here!

[Overcoming Wilton, as they struggle off, R. H.

SCENE IV.

—Oxford. An arch, through which is seen a country road, reaching to the extreme baek of the Stage.
Edith discovered at the back, looking out anxiously on the road. Enter Wabble, L. H.
Wab.

Has anybody seen Mistress Wabble? I have lost
her again! (Clock chimes.)
Oh, dear, dear—a quarter to nine.
Look at that poor thing there, with her swollen eyes and her
poor pale face. I'm afraid it's all up with the Colonel. I'm
very sorry, but I've done all I could for him. I wish I could
put the clock back. I wonder if it would be any consolation to
him if I were to offer to take care of his wife when he's dead?
But, lord, it's more than I can do to look after my own. Besides,
what would the scandalizing world say? And it really
would be throwing temptation in her way, poor thing; for it's
my nature to be kind and sympathizing with beauty in distress,
and she might—there's no knowing! Ah, 'tis best
not. Where the deuce is Mistress Wabble?
(Retires up.)

Edith.
No—no one comes. I strain my eyes in vain.
A deathly sickness casts a mist before them,
And mocks anxiety. Oh, brother, brother,
Have you again betrayed me? If you have,
Two deaths this day lie for your answering;
But still I could not wish your retribution
To equal this, my present agony.
No—no one comes!

Enter Mrs. Wabble, U. E. L. H.
Mrs. W.
Oh, lady, lady—hither
The Prince approaches. Let us kneel and sue—
It is the last resource.

Wab.
(Approaches.)
Oh, there's my wife!

Edith.
Grant me, Omnipotent, an eloquence
To touch his pity.

Enter Officers and Prince Rupert, U. E. L. H.
Rup.
(To Officers.)
What reports have you?
Say, is that cut-throat, Horner, yet secured?
What woman have we here?

Edith.
(Throwing herself before Prince Rupert.)
'Tis one, my lord,
Whose misery is past endurance. You,
And you alone, can bid me rise in hope.
My husband—save him—save him, my good lord!
He merits not his death, which you will learn
With keen remorse, I'm sure, when he is dead.
But you will stay his doom—I'm sure you will.
You are a wise and valiant soldier, Prince,
And will not dim your fame with cruelty.

Rup.
Madam, I am not cruel; but a cause
For which I daily, hourly stake my life,
Demands a strict, unflinching discipline,
Or else that cause is lost. I gave one hour—
The utmost lenity I dare to shew—
And now the martial law must take its course.
Rise—rise; you plead in vain, I will not hear you.
Already has the scorn of rule run riot
In those who call themselves your husband's friends,
And stern example only will restrain them.
Who instigated th' assassination
Of that unfortunate, whose evidence
Prov'd Colonel Wyndebanke a criminal?
That deed alone, if naught else weigh'd with me,
Would make all prayer like this most impotent.
(Crosses R. H.
Nay, woman, hence: I will not hear you more.

(Exit with Officers, R. H. Edith remains prostrate. Wabble and his Wife raise her.)
Edith.
All is despair—despair!
For me the angel voice of mercy's dumb,
And fate yells out its cruelest decree.
(Drum heard.
Ah, look—already soldiers are drawn out
To lead him to his fate; and there—oh, heaven!
There is my husband—bound—prepared for death!
(The feelings of Edith overcome her. Wabble and Mrs. Wabble draw her aside. A solemn march is played, and a Band of Soldiers enter, U. E. L. H. crossing the stage. Colonel Wyndebanke is in C bound, his vest and collar thrown open. A crowd of Men and Women fill the stage. Edith rushes to Wyndebanke.)
Oh, Edward, Edward—I who murder'd you,
In death will soon rejoin you

Wyn.
Oh, farewell!
Be comforted—be calm, and I die happy.

(Soldiers remove Edith in a fainting state, and place her in the arms of Mrs. Wabble. The procession crosses and exeunt R. H.)
Wab.
(Wiping his eyes)
There—there they go! they take their places—now
The chaplain talks with him—a few more minutes
And he'll be—

(A portion of the crowd who have remained, and are at the back of the stage, begin to exclaim “A messenger—a messenger!” then loudly and simultaneously “A messenger— a pardon!” This recalls Edith to her senses, and she rushes to the back, shrieking:
Edith.
Oh, stay the execution! Yes, it is—
It is my brother—yes, he brings a pardon!

(Some of the Citizens rush out, exclaiming “A pardon— a pardon!” While the people are shouting, George Fenwicke rushes in through the arch at back, holding up the pardon: bleeding, exhausted, his clothes torn and soiled, he reaches the front and falls.)
Fen.
The—the—pardon—is't in time?

(Edith wildly snatches the paper and rushes out R. H. while Citizens partially raise George Fenwicke, who is dying.)
Fen.
(Faintly.)
I cannot see—
Tell me—for mercy's sake—is it too late?

[A shout is heard without.
Wab.
No, no, he's sav'd—huzza—huzza!

Fen.
Thank heaven!
Where's my sister?

Mrs. W.
Here she comes—the Colonel with her!

Enter Colonel Wyndebanke and Edith, she flies to George, who is fast sinking from exhaustion
Edith.
George—alas, you bleed.

Fen.
I'm dying, Edith.
Do you forgive me—do you? Ah, I know
My name is dark for ever. I have sham'd you,
But, sister, you'll forgive my youthful folly?

Edith.
Oh, brother, yes. Look on me—

Fen.
Now I see you—
But where is Wyndebanke? [Wyndebanke approaches and takes his hand.]
I've wrong'd you deeply;
You will not curse me—no—farewell—farewell!
[He dies.]

[Solemn Music. Curtain descends slowly.]
DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS
AT THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN.          

Soldiers.
Wabble	Mrs. Wabble.
Citizens.
Colonel Wyndebanke.	George Fenwicke.	Edith.
L. H.	C.	R. H.