Osw. (to her companions.) Begone, ye Slaves,

or I will raise a whirlwind

And send ye dancing to the clouds, like leaves. [They retire affrighted.

Beg. Indeed we meant no harm; we lodge some

Osw. Woman, thou hast a helpless infant, keep

Thy secret for its sake, or verily

That wretched life of thine shall be the forfeit.

Beg. I do repent me, Sir; I fear the curse Of that blind man. 'T was not your money, SirOsw. Begone!

Beg. (going). There is some wicked deed in

hand:

[Aside. Would I could find the old man and his daughter.

Are hushed to sleep, by your own act and deed,

Made quiet as he is.

Mar.

Why came you down? And when I felt your hand upon my arm

And spake to you, why did you give no answer? Feared you to waken him? He must have been In a deep sleep. I whispered to him thrice.

There are the stangest echoes in that place!
Osw. Tut! let them gabble till the day of doom.
Mar. Scarcely, by groping, had I reached the

spot,

When round my wrist I felt a cord drawn tight, As if the blind man's dog were pulling at it.

Will retribution show itself again

With aspect so inviting. Why forbid me

To share your triumph?

Mar.

Smiling in sleep

Osw.

Yes, her very look,

A pretty feat of Fancy!

Mar. Though but a glimpse, it sent me to my

prayers.

Osw. Is he alive?

Mar.

What mean you? who alive?

Osw. Herbert! since you will have it, Baron

Herbert;

He who will gain his Seignory when Idonea
Hath become Clifford's harlot, is he living?

Mur. The old man in that dungeon is alive. Osw. Henceforth, then, will I never in camp or

field

Obey you more.

Your weakness to the Band Shall be proclaimed: brave men, they all shall

hear it.

You a protector of humanity!

Avenger you of outraged innocence !

Mar. "Twas dark,-dark as the grave; yet did

I see,

Saw him, his face turned toward me; and I tell

thee

Idonea's filial countenance was there

To baffle me,

it put me to my prayers.

Upwards I cast my eyes, and, through a crev

ice,

Beheld a star twinkling above my head,

And, by the living God, I could not do it.

[Sinks exhausted.

Osw. (to himself.) Now may I perish if this

turn do more

Than make me change my course.

(To MARMADUuke.)

Dear Marmaduke,

My words were rashly spoken; I recall them :

I feel my error; shedding human blood

Is a most serious thing.

Mar.

Thou too art deep in guilt.

Osw.

Not I alone,

We have indeed

Been most presumptuous. There is guilt in this,
Else could so strong a mind have ever known
These trepidations? Plain it is that Heaven
Has marked out this foul wretch as one whose

crimes

Must never come before a mortal judgment-seat, Or be chastised by mortal instruments.

Mar. A thought that's worth a thousand worlds! [Goes towards the dungeon.

Osw.

I grieve

That, in my zeal, I have caused you so much pain.

Mar. Think not of that! 't is over,

Osu. (as if to himself, yet speaking aloud.) The truth is hideous, but how stifle it?

[Turning to MARMADUKE.

Give me your sword;

fragments,

nay, here are stones and

The least of which would beat out a man's brains;
Or you might drive your head against that wall.
No! this is not the place to hear the tale:

It should be told you pinioned in your bed,
Or on some vast and solitary plain

Blown to you from a trumpet.

Mar.

Why talk thus?

Whate'er the monster brooding in your breast,
I care not: fear I have none, and cannot fear

[The sound of a horn is heard.

'Tis some one of our Troop;

That horn again.

What do they here?

Listen!

Osw.

What! dogged like thieves!

Enter WALLACE and LACY, &c.

Lacy. You are found at last, thanks to the

vagrant troop

For not misleading us.

Osw. (looking at WALLACE.) That subtle gray

beard,

I'd rather see my father's ghost.

Lacy. (to MARMADUKE.)

My Captain, Belike

We come by order of the Band.

You have not heard that Henry has at last
Dissolved the Barons' League, and sent abroad
His Sheriffs with fit force to reinstate

The genuine owners of such Lands and Baronies
As, in these long commotions, have been seized.
His power is this way tending. It befits us
To stand upon our guard, and with our swords
Defend the innocent.

Mar.

Lacy! we look

But at the surfaces of things; we hear

Of towns in flames, fields ravaged, young and old
Driven out in troops to want and nakedness;
Then grasp our swords and rush upon a cure
That flatters us, because it asks not thought:
The deeper malady is better hid;

The world is poisoned at the heart.

Lacy.

What mean you?

Wal. (whose eye has been fixed suspiciously upon
OSWALD.) Ay, what is it you mean?

Mar.

Harkee, my Friends;[Appearing gay.

Were there a man who, being weak and helpless
And most forlorn, should bribe a mother, pressed
By penury, to yield him up her daughter,
A little infant, and instruct the babe,

Prattling upon his knee, to call him Father

Lacy. Why, if his heart be tender, that offence I could forgive him.