University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The Hall in an old Castle, as in Act I.
Enter Lady Drummond and Annabel.
L. Drum.
What moves thee, daughter? Thou art sad to-night,
Absent, and thoughtful; and I note the tear
Steal sometimes o'er thy cheek.—Art sick, my love?

Anna.
No, I am not sick; but—

L. Drum.
But sad.—In sober sadness, then, what is it ails thee?

Anna.
I think of my late dream.

L. Drum.
Pugh! a vagary.—Rather say, you think
Of those your dream concern'd. You are in love, child!
Your dream shall soon be read as plain to you
As Ave Maria, or meek homily.
Your father, who, for sundry years agone,
Has read the language of each little star
That nightly rings the leaden dome of heaven;
The humid moon, in all her varied moulds,
The gilded crescent, and the full-set orb,
Where frowns the giant sinner 'neath his burden,
Have each to him a converse of their own.
Now fondly would he deem himself a seer,
And to the wizard Merlin's cave is past,
To read with him the book of fate, and learn
Thy fortune, and the fortunes of thy race.

Anna.
I dread he'll stay too late.

L. Drum.
He knows the links of Tallo; and will trace
Each winding path in murkest hour of night.

Anna.
I have no heart nor power with thee to feign;
It is not in my nature.—The young lord
Kilmorack quits the chase for his own home,
And begs of me one private hour to mix
His tears with mine, and say farewell for ever.
His page waits in the hall, and pleads full sore
For gracious answer. Step I cannot move
In this that's not conclusive; and on thee,
My mother, I must lean for instant counsel.

L. Drum.
I knew thou wast in love, for I have mark'd
The languor of thy look: But tell me, child,
Is it the calm, the stately knight, Sir Ronald,
That piece of virtuous cold formality;
Or the untamed, impatient Lord Kilmorack,
Sits imaged in your brain, and thereby holds
O'er your young heart this soft and pleasing sway?
Resolve me this, and I can well advise;
But, ere you speak, my word is for Kilmorack.

Anna.
My heart is more engaged than I approve
To that young violent lord: I never yet
Held slightest dalliance with him, but I felt
As if I were in fault, and sore to blame.
I have resolved to shun him.

L. Drum.
Note me, child:—
Thou art a cold, ill-manner'd, prudish girl.
Remember thou art poor,—so is Sir Ronald,
Even by his own report,—which like is true.
When I was young like thee, O I know well
Which should have been my choice! But take this hint,—
Such wooers come not every day.—Go thou
And say, that thou wilt meet him; send him ring,
Or bracelet, as assurance. Go, I say;
Maids should not, by constrained coyness, lose
Those chances most they covet.

Anna.
Were it Sir Ronald,
Although he moves me not so much, I would
Meet him all dreadless: But I dare not trust
My inexperienced heart with that young lord;
He melts it at his will, and turns it so,
I hold not self-possession. I'll not go;—
These secret, stolen meetings, scarce become
The blush of maidhood. Were my father here,
He would not sanction it; therefore I go not.
What stays my father? it is not his wont
To tarry out so late. I will walk forth
The path to Tallo; haply I may meet him.

(Exeunt.)