University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Wood. Henry is discovered leaning against a tree in a musing posture. To him enter D'Eston.
D'ESTON.
I ask not how you've sped.

HENRY.
No need to ask,
If you can read th'inscription on my brow,
Traced there like Cain's.

D'ESTON.
St Mary! can it be
That the bold Outlaw droops?

HENRY.
O damn that word!
Deeply I suffer for that folly now.
An old man murdered, and his daughter mad;
His daughter, beauteous once as forest flower,
And innocent, and happy—but for me!
My father's grief for his degraded name,
Should these things reach him.—Now, what think you, D'Eston,
Of this brief catalogue? Bears it not proof
That Retribution tracks the foot of Vice
With more than blood-hound certainty?

D'ESTON.
You paint it
With colours far too dark. I grieve for Cuthbert,
And for his woodland blossom; but reflect,
You slew him not—if he indeed is slain;
And Fanny's fate is but one sad result
Of ill-matched love. Your father's name will suffer
Slight degradation from the venial frolics—

HENRY.
Now by the gods! you do offend me, D'Eston.
Frolics with such effects, are aught but venial.
My curse on Norton! He shall answer yet
For confidence abused.—Heavens! I am now
The Puppet, not the Arbiter, of fortune,
Forced, by invisible springs, to move and look
As what I am not!—List to me. Last night
I saw the lady of my soul! O D'Eston,
She stood in moonlight, as a seraph stands
In th'love of Heaven!—Ere I should urge my suit,
I wished to reconnoitre the defences,
To see if there were any point whereat
Assault might be effective. 'Mid the conflict
Of our sharp wits, I chanced, half jestingly,
To hint at my wild fame; when—could you think it?
She, though her sojourn here hath been so brief,
Had learnt the history, and shrieked aloud—
“Thou art the Outlaw!”—At the sound rushed out
Lord Fenwick—so they style him—who, 'tis said,
Aspires to win her love. Gods! but for her,
I would, that hour, have taught him humbler views!
But a bright time is coming.

D'ESTON.
Am I then
To understand you meditate revenge?

HENRY.
Revenge? Thou givest it so foul a name.
But we encumber each the other's path,
And one had better vanish. Therefore goes
My message to him, which his gallantry
Dares not neglect. We meet to-day by Gordale—

D'ESTON.
To gore each other, like irrational brutes!
Harry, forgive the pun and simile.
But I will see this Fenwick.

HENRY.
Not for worlds!
No—not for Heaven! One syllable disclosed,
And thou and I are foes for ever!—Come;
The sun is bright on Malhamdale. Away!

[Exeunt.