University of Virginia Library

SCENE IX.

Walpole, Lucy.
WALPOLE.
Fair girl, I would hear
From yourself, if your parents—

LUCY.
My parents; Oh say
Did you know them?—my mother?

WALPOLE.
The years roll away.
I behold a grey hall, backed by woodlands of pine;
I behold a fair face—eyes and tresses like thine—
By her side a rude boy full of turbulent life,
All impatient of rest, and all burning for strife—
They are brother and sister. Unconscious they stand—
On the spot where their paths shall divide—hand in hand.
Hush! a moment, and lo! as if lost amid night,
She is gone from his side, she is snatched from his sight.
Time has flowed on its course—that wild boy lives in me;
But the sister I lost! Does she bloom back in thee?
Speak—the name of thy mother, ere changing her own
For her lord's?—who her parents?

LUCY.
I never have known.
When she married my father, they spurned her, she said,
Bade her hold herself henceforth to them as the dead;
Slandered him in whose honour she gloried as wife,
Urged attaint on his name, plotted snares for his life;
And one day when I asked what her lineage, she sighed
“From the heart they so tortured their memory has died.”

WALPOLE.
Civil war slays all kindred—all mercy, all ruth.

LUCY.
Did you know her?—if so, was this like her in youth?

(Giving miniature.)
WALPOLE.
It is she; the lips speak! Oh, I knew it!—thou art
My lost sister restored!—to mine arms, to mine heart.
That wild brother the wrongs of his race shall atone;
He has stormed his way up to the foot of the throne.
Yes! thy mate thou shalt choose 'mid the chiefs of the land.
Dost thou shrink?—heard I right?—is it promised this hand,
And to one, too, of years so unsuited to thine?

LUCY.
Dare I tell you?

WALPOLE.
Speak, sure that thy choice shall be mine.

LUCY.
When my mother lay stricken in mind and in frame,
All our scant savings gone, to our succour there came
A rich stranger, who lodged at the inn whence they sought
To expel us as vagrants. Their mercy he bought;
Ever since I was left in the wide world alone,
I have owed to his pity this roof—

WALPOLE.
Will you own
What you gave in return?

LUCY.
Grateful reverence.

WALPOLE.
And so
He asked more!

LUCY.
Ah! that more was not mine to bestow.

WALPOLE.
What! your heart some one younger already had won.
Is he handsome?

LUCY.
Oh yes!

WALPOLE.
And a gentleman's son.

LUCY.
Sir, he looks it.

WALPOLE.
His name is—

LUCY.
Sir Sidney Bellair.

WALPOLE.
Eh! that brilliant Lothario? Dear Lucy, beware;
Men of temper so light may make love in mere sport.
Where on earth did you meet?—in what terms did he court?
Why so troubled? Why turn on the timepiece your eye?
Orphan, trust me.

LUCY.
I will. I half promised to fly—

WALPOLE.
With Bellair. (Aside.)
He shall answer for this with his life.
Fly to-night as his—what!

LUCY.
Turn your face—as his wife.

(Lucy sinks down, burying her face in her hands.)
WALPOLE
(going to the door).
Jasper—ho!
(Enter Servant as he writes on his tablets.)
Take my coach to Sir Sidney's, Whitehall.
Mr Veasey is there; give him this—that is all.
(Tearing out the leaf from the tablet and folding it up.)
Go out the back way; it is nearest my carriage.
(Opens the concealed door, through which exit Servant.)
I shall very soon know if the puppy means marriage.

LUCY.
Listen; ah! that's his signal!

WALPOLE.
A stone at the pane!
But it can't be Bellair—he is safe.

LUCY.
There, again!

WALPOLE
(peeps from the window).
Ho!—a ladder! Niece, do as I bid you; confide
In my word, and I promise Sir Sidney his bride!
Ope the window and whisper, “I'm chained to the floor;
Pray, come up and release me!”

LUCY
(out of the window).
“I'm chained to the floor;
Pray, come up and release me.”

WALPOLE.
I watch by this door.

(Enters Lucy's room and peeping out.)
(Blount enters through the window.)