University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—A Room in the Green Dragon.—Colonel Green discovered with papers.
Col. Green.
Why, this is granting favours like a king!
My case was all I stated; and the suit
I might, with doubt, have founded thereupon,
His clemency has of itself inferr'd,
And to his bounty pleaded royally!
One deed of grace has swept all acts away—
All penalties; and, in their place, supplied
Freedom and honour; nor to me alone,
But those I cherish closer than myself.
One only boon I ask'd—that granted too;
Enlargement of the Duke, assoil'd by me.
Thus, Wilton, from the net wherein the Earl
Thinks he has mesh'd him, is, at once, set free!
Why comes he not? Sherbrooke would see him straight—
That goodly sample of the choice and few
Who love so heartily another's weal,
In following it, they overlook their own.
Steps! it is he.
Enter Wilton.
I have expected you.

Wilt.
So was I told; and I am here.

Col. Green.
At last.
I gave you invitation long before,
Which, in the way of common courtesy,
You might have honour'd; gave you hint, beside,
Of knowledge which concern'd you—which, to gain,
A visit might suffice.

Wilt.
I know too much!

Col. Green.
Not so. You must know more.

Wilt.
Time flies!

Col. Green.
It does!
But trust and fortune match its utmost speed!

Wilt.
The first I have, the second have to find.

Col. Green.
It may be nearer than you count.

Wilt.
How, sir?

Col. Green.
It may be close at hand. Heaven will send help
When man believes to look for it is vain.
You trust in Heaven?

Wilt.
I have no other trust!

Col. Green.
[Giving a paper.]
There!

Wilt.
How!—The liberation of the Duke!
Can I believe it?

Col. Green.
Can you doubt it? Fresh!—
And from the king's own hand.

Wilt.
God save the king!

Col. Green.
Now, have you leisure for a word or two?

Wilt.
Twenty, if spoken quickly—for my soul
Is on the wing to thwart iniquity,
And do a righteous deed.

Col. Green.
The instrument
That paper?—How will you employ it?

Wilt.
Set
The Duke at liberty; and, then, the spot
That blurs me laying open to the day,
Release him from his promise to the Earl,
Forego his daughter's hand, and, as I may,
Buffet the world with shamed, but manly front!

Col. Green.
Fathers, young man, are hardly in their graves
When, from their children, thus, their spirits breathe!

Wilt.
Knew you my father?

Col. Green.
Yes; of him I'd speak—
Not much—of one he loved, a little more.
I chanced to be the nearest friend of both—
I mean, the heart-friend. Have you patience?

Wilt.
Ask
When you observe me fail!

Col. Green.
[Having placed chairs for himself and Wilton.]
Your father died
In battle, fighting for the banish'd king!
His brother—

Wilt.
What! the Earl?

Col. Green.
No; he had two,
Of whom the Earl was but the younger one.
I speak of the elder. Death, that struck your father,
Miss'd him; and, as in spite at his escape,
Left him almost a broken heart—for much
He loved your father! Well; the fight was o'er;
The second brother bann'd—flight was his chance;
But you, an infant, must be left behind
Without a friend.—He linger'd still for you;
For well he knew his younger brother's ward—
For reasons, now to tell were waste of time—
Had more of danger than of safety in't.
Still had he motives for soliciting
That brother's aid—a purse without a doit!—
He sought it. It was granted readily;
For in succession, failing you, he stood
Next to his elder brother.

Wilt.
He was next.
I was, alas! no bar—I say “alas!”
But for the cause.—It had rejoiced my soul
That elder brother had been heir to all!

Col. Green.
Again your father speaks.—Let me go on!
Time flies.

Wilt.
I heed not time!—I list to you!

Col. Green.
Means were supplied. Upon the western coast,
One lowering night, both brothers stood with you;
Your hand in his who loved you as his son!
A barque was in the offing, heavily
Riding at anchor, bound that night to sail;
A boat was waiting—

Wilt.
Ah!—I recollect
That father-uncle!—He leap'd into it
With me in his arms!

Col. Green.
Yes; while his brother stood
And utter'd no dissuasion, though the waves,
Warning the shore with louder waxing swell,
Gave token that the sea was rousing up;
Though the rough wind advised him of its mood,
Bawling against you, as to turn you back;
Though from your eyes the sun, just setting, hid,
As if averse to tempt you with a look;
Though on the land sat gloom and doubt and dread,
As though it cried “God help you!”—not “God speed!”
There stood that brother, like a barren rock,
Above the shingles, that were following you
With clamour, like rough friends, but kind, that wail
“Good bye” to those they doubt to see again!

Wilt.
We did not reach the ship!

Col. Green.
'Twas well!—She sank
With every soul on board.—It was not meant
That you should reach her, though 'twas thought you did,
By those who wish'd you partners of her fate.
Your course was changed advisedly; the land
Was made again, though many miles away;
Distance was safety to you!—Ask no more.
Hands for your fosterage, on which you held
Some claims of blood upon your mother's side,
Your uncle sought; but, reaching found them cold,
Not in defection towards you, but in death.
They were proud ones!—The proudest must shake hands
With Death at last!

Wilt.
Then was my mother of
A noble stock?

Col. Green.
She was. Inquire as yet
No more. Thy uncle was no guardian for thee—
Unsafe the ward of plots and enterprises—
Heaven sent a friend at last!—he gave you to him.
The nobleman who train'd you, Wilton, till
You grew the man you are—who placed you with
The Earl, who never half-redeem'd his pledge
To see your fortunes better'd—but, beholding
Your father's face in yours, gave credit to
The elements for ruth he grudged them have,
And through inquiries, back'd by power and gold,
Proved his surmises true.

Wilt.
Speak not of him!
But tell me of that uncle—how fared he?

Col. Green.
Remain'd an outlaw still.

Wilt.
Is he alive?

Col. Green.
Better, perhaps, of him we speak no more.

Wilt.
Is he alive?

Col. Green.
Alive?—You well may ask,
When every hour the gibbet look'd for him.

Wilt.
The gibbet!—Heaven!

Col. Green.
Ay, sir. It had been well
For you, your uncle in his bed had died!

Wilt.
I heed not how
My uncle died—I only heed his death.
The manner of it, but for him, I wish
Other than what it was, if such it was!
I heed the shame? Were he alive, and now
In jeopardy of such extremity,
With all the dismal stages yet to pass,
I'd stand beside him in the felon's dock;
I'd lie beside him in the convict's cell;
I'd walk beside him to the fatal tree—
Which, if I could, with marble I'd supplant—
A monument, whereon I would record
His honour'd name, and all he did for me,
And under-grave my own in love and gratitude!
[Col. Green rushes up to the table, throws himself into a chair, and hides his face in his hands.
What ails you, sir? You are convulsed. Sir!—sir!
What ails you?—Speak to me!—Or can't you speak,
Or don't you hear?—You shake from head to foot.
What shall be brought you?—Whom shall I call for?

Col. Green.
[Starting up.]
Call
For Henry Sherbrooke!—If you know not him,
Then find me Wilton Brown.—'Tis all the same—
Child—stripling—man—my eldest brother's son—
The boy that stood upon the beach with me
Twelve years and more ago!

Wilt.
My uncle!

Col. Green.
Ay!
Unscathed! Alive! as ne'er he was before.
The uncle in whose arms you lay, the night
We took the boat upon that stormy beach

Wilt.
Take me again to them, or else I drop!

Col. Green.
Rouse thee, boy, rouse thee! Something is to do!
Collect thyself—The Duke!—'Tis near the time!

Wilt.
From what a trance have you awaken'd me
Of happiness, to what reality!

Col. Green.
Reality! Why, Wilton, look on me;
Aged in my prime, the work of years outdone
By watchings, strugglings, strainings, spent in vain!
Of glory deeply smit, as you, with love,
Yet baffled in my wooing worse than you!
Reality! There's none, boy, but the thought
Of doing right! He grasps who holds to that!
You'll do your duty?

Wilt.
Will I not?

Col. Green.
You will!

Wilt.
Uncle, 'tis death!—but I'll go through with't still!

[They go out.