To bring perdition on the universe.
Idon. Already I've been punished to the
height
Of my offence.

[Smiling affectionately. I see you love me still,

The labours of my hand are still your joy;
Bethink you of the hour when on your shoulder
I hung this belt.

[Pointing to the belt on which was sus-
pended HERBERT's scrip.
Mercy of Heaven.

Mar.
[Sinks.
Idon.
What ails you! [Distractedly.
Mar. The scrip that held his food, and I
forgot

To give it back again!
Idon.
What mean your words?
Mar. I know not what I said--all may be
well.

Idon. That smile hath life in it!
Mar.

This road is perilous;
I will attend you to a Hut that stands
Near the wood's edge-rest there to-night, I
pray you:

For me, I have business, as you hear

Oswald,

But will return to you by break of day.

ACT IV.

ith

[Exeunt.

Eld.

Enter ELDRED.

Better this bare rock, Though it were tottering over a man's head, Than a tight case of dungeon walls for shelter From such rough dealing.

[A moaning voice is heard. Ha! what sound is that? Trees creaking in the wind (but none are here) Send forth such noises-and that weary bell! Surely some evil Spirit abroad to-night Is ringing it 'twould stop a Saint in prayer, And that-what is it? never was sound so like A human groan, Ha! what is here? Poor Man

Murdered! alas! speak-speak, I am your friend:

No answer-hush--lost wretch, he lifts his

hand

That I embarked for Syria. On our voyage
Was hatched among the crew a foul Conspiracy
Against my honour, in the which our Captain
Was, I believed, prime Agent. The wind fell;
We lay becalmed week after week, until
The water of the vessel was exhausted;
I felt a double fever in my veins,
Yet rage suppressed itself:-to a deep stillness
Did my pride tame my pride;-for many days,
On a dead sea under a burning sky,
I brooded o'er my injuries, deserted
By man and nature;—if a breeze had blown,
It might have found its way into my heart,
And I had been-no matter-do you mark me?
Mar. Quick-to the point-if any untold
crime

Doth hannt your memory.

Osw.

Patience, hear me further!One day in silence did we drift at noon By a bare rock, narrow, and white, and bare ;, No food was there, no drink, no grass, no

shade,

No tree, nor jutting eminence, nor form Inanimate large as the body of man,

Nor any living thing whose lot of life
Might stretch beyond the measure of one

moon.

To dig for water on the spot, the Captain Landed with a small troop, myself being one: There I reproached him with his treachery. Imperious at all times, his temper rose;

He struck me; and that instant had I killed him,

And put an end to his insoience, but my Comrades

Rushed in between us: then did I insist (All hated him, and I was stung to madness) That we should leave him there, alive!-we did so.

Mar. And he was famished? Osw. Naked was the spot; Methinks I see it now-how in the sun Its stony surface glittered like a shield; And in that miserable place we left him, Alone but for a swarm of minute creatures Not one of which could help him while alive, Or mourn him dead.

Mar. A man by men cast off, Left without burial! nay, not dead nor dying, But standing, walking, stretching forth his

The plot to rid themselves, at any cost,
Of a tyrannic Master whom they loathe
So we pursued our voyage: when we landed,
The tale was spread abroad: my power at once
Shrunk from me; plans and schemes, and lofty
hopes-

All vanished. I gave way-do you attend?
Mar. The Crew deceived you?
Osw.
Nay, command yourself.
Mar. It is a dismal night-how the wind
howls!

Osw. I hid my head within a Convent, there
Lay passive as a dormouse in mid winter.
That was no life for me--I was o'erthrown
But not destroyed.

Mar. The proofs-you ought to have seen The guilt-have touched it-felt it at your heartAs I have done.

Osw.
A fresh tide of Crusaders
Drove by the place of my retreat: three nights
Did constant meditation dry my blood;
Three sleepless nights I passed in sounding on,
Through words and things, a dim and perilous
way:

And, wheresoe'er I turned me, I beheld
A slavery compared to which the dungeon
And clanking chains are perfect liberty.
You understand me-I was comforted;
I saw that every possible shape of action
Might lead to good-I saw it and burst forth
Thirsting for some of those exploits that fill
The earth for sure redemption of lost peace.

[Marking MARMADUKE'S countenance.
Nay, you have had the worst. Ferocity
Subsided in a moment, like a wind
That drops down dead out of a sky it vexed.
And yet I had within me evermore
A salient spring of energy; I mounted
From action up to action with a mind
That never rested-without meat or drink
Have I lived many days-my sleep was bound
To purposes of reason-not a dream
But had a continuity and substance
That waking life had never power to give.

Mar. O wretched Human-kind!-Until the mystery

Of all this world is solved, well may we envy The worm, that, underneath a stone whose weight

Would crush the lion's paw with mortal anguish, Doth lodge, and feed, and coil, and sleep, in safety.

Fell not the wrath of Heaven upon those traitors?

Osw. Give not to them a thought.

Palestine

From

We marched to Syria: oft I left,the Camp,
When all that multitude of hearts was still,
And followed on, through woods of gloomy
cedar,

Into deep chasms troubled by roaring streams:
Or from the top of Lebanon surveyed
The moonlight desert, and the moonlight sea:
In these my lonely wanderings I perceived
What mighty objects do impress their forms
To elevate our intellectual being;

And felt, if aught on earth deserves a curse,
'Tis that worst principle of ill which dooms
A thing so great to perish self-consumed.
-So much for my remorse!

I had been nourished by the sickly food
Of popular applause. I now perceived
That we are praised, only as men in us
Do recognise some image of themselves, §
An abject counterpart of what they are,
Or the empty thing that they would wish to be.
I felt that merit has no surer test
Than obloquy; that, if we wish to serve
The world in substance, not deceive by show,
We must become obnoxious to its hate,
Or fear disguised in simulated scorn.

Mar. I pity, can forgive, you; but those
wretches-

That monstrous perfidy!

Osw.

Keep down your wrath.

False Shame discarded, spurious Fame despised,

Twin sisters both of Ignorance, I found

Life stretched before me smooth as some broad way

Cleared for a monarch's progress. Priests might spin

Their veil, but not for me-'twas in fit place
Among its kindred cobwebs. I had been,
And in that dream had left my native land,
One of Love's simple bondsmen-the soft chain
Was off for ever; and the men, from whom
This liberation came, you would destroy:
Join me in thanks for their blind services.

Mar. 'Tis a strange aching that, when we would curse

And cannot. You have betrayed me-I have

done

1 am content-I know that he is guiltlessThat both are guiltless, without spot or stain, Mutually consecrated. Poor old Man! And I had heart for this, because thou lovedst Her who from very infancy had been Light to thy path, warmth to thy blood!-Together [Turning to OSWALD. We propped his steps, he leaned upon us both. Osw. Ay, we are coupled by a chain of ada

mant;

Let us be fellow-labourers, then, to enlarge
Man's intellectual empire. We subsist
In slavery; all is slavery: we receive
Laws, but we ask not whence those laws have

come;

We need an inward sting to goad us on.
Mar. Have you betrayed me? Speak to that.
Osw.
The mask,
Which for a season I have stooped to wear,
Must be cast off. Know then that I was urged,
(For other impulse let it pass) was driven,
To seek for sympathy, because I saw
In you a mirror of my youthful self;
I would have made us equal once again,

But that was a vain hope. You have struck home,

With a few drops of blood eut short the busi

ness;

A noise at midnight does so frighten me. Idon. Hush!

Elea.

[Listening. They are gone. On such a night, my husband, Dragged from his bed, was cast into a dungeon, Where, hid from me, he counted many years, A criminal in no one's eyes but theirsNot even in theirs-whose brutal violence So dealt with him. Idon.

I have a noble Friend First among youths of knightly breeding, One Who lives but to protect the weak or injured. There again! [Listening

Elea. 'Tis my husband's foot. Good Eldred
Has a kind heart; but his imprisonment
Has made him fearful, and he'll never be
The man he was.
Idon.

I will retire-good night!
[She goes within.

Enter ELDRED, (hides a bundle).
Eld. Not yet in bed, Eleanor !-there are
stains in that frock which must be washed out.
Elea. What has befallen you?

Eld. I am belated, and you must know the cause—(speaking low) that is the blood of an unhappy Man.

Elea. Oh! we are undone for ever.

Eld. Heaven forbid that I should lift my hand against any man. Eleanor, I have shed tears to-night, and it comforts me to think of it. Elca. Where, where is he?

Eld. I have done him no harm, but-it will be forgiven me; it would not have been so once.

[A short pause; she falls upon his neck. Eld. To-night I met with an old Man lying stretched upon the ground-a sad spectacle: raised him up with a hope that we might shelter and restore him.

Elea. (as if ready to run). Where is he? You were not able to bring him all the way with you; let us return, I can help you.

[ELDRED shakes his head. Eld. He did not seem to wish for life: as I was struggling on, by the light of the moon I saw the stains of blood upon my clothes-he waved his hand, as if it were all useless; and I let him sink again to the ground,

Elea, Oh that I had been by your side!

Eld. I tell you his hands and his body were cold-how could I disturb his last moments? he strove to turn from me as if he wished to settle into sleep.

Elea. But, for the stains of blood

Eld. He must have fallen, I fancy, for his head was cut; but I think his malady was cold and hunger.

Elea. Oh, Eldred, I shall never be able to look up at this roof in storm or fair but I shall tremble.

Eld. Is it not enough that my ill stars have kept me abroad to-night till this hour? I come home, and this is my comfort!

Elea. But did he say nothing which might have set you at ease?

Eld. I thought hè grasped my hand while he was muttering something about his Child-his Daughter (starting as if he heard a noise). What is that?

Elea. Eldred, you are a father.

Eld. God knows what was in my heart, and will not curse my son for my sake.

Elea. But you prayed by him? you waited the hour of his release?

Eld. The night was wasting fast; I have no friend; I am spited by the world-his wound terrified me-if I had brought him along with me, and he had died in my arms!I am sure I heard something breathing-and this chair!

Elea. Oh, Eldred, you will die alone. You will have nobody to close your eyes-no hand to grasp your dying hand-I shall be in my grave. A curse will attend us all.

Eld. Have you forgot your own troubles when I was in the dungeon?

Elea. And you left him alive?

Eld. Alive!-the damps of death were upon him he could not have survived an hour.

Elea. In the cold, cold night,

Eld. (in a savage tone), Ay, and his head was bare; I suppose you would have had me lend my bonnet to cover it.-You will never rest till I am brought to a felon's end.

Elea. Is there nothing to be done? cannot we go to the Convent?

Eld. Ay, and say at once that I murdered him!

Elea. Eldred, I know that ours is the only house upon the Waste; let us take heart: this Man may be rich; and could he be saved by our means, his gratitude may reward us.

Eld. 'Tis all in vain.

Elea. But let us make the attempt. This old Man may have a wife, and he may have children-let us return to the spot, we may restore him, and his eyes may yet open upon those that love him,

Eld. He will never open them more; even when he spoke to me, he kept them firmly sealed as if he had been blind.

Idon. (rushing out). It is. it is, my FatherEld. We are betrayed (looking at IDONEA). Elea. His Daughter!-God have mercy! (turning to IDONEA).

Idon. (sinking down). Oh! lift me up and carry me to the place.

You are safe; the whole world shall not harm you.

Elea, This Lady is his Daughter.
Eld. (moved). I'll lead you to the spot.
Idon. (springing up). Alive!-you heard him
breathe? quick, quick- [Exeunt.

I will assist you to lay hands upon him. Osw. No, no, my Friend, you may pursue your business

'Tis a poor wretch of an unsettled mind, Who has a trick of straying from his keepers; We must be gentle.., Leave him to my care. [Exit Forester.

If his own eyes play false with him, these freaks

Of fancy shall be quickly tamed by mine;
The goal is reached. My Master shall become
A shadow of myself-made by myself.

SCENE, the edge of the Moor. MARMADUKE and ELDRED enter from opposite sides.

Mar. (raising his eyes and perceiving ELDRED.) In any corner of this savage Waste,

That I may see him.

On a ridge of rocks

Eld. A lonesome Chapel stands, deserted now: The bell is left, which no one dares remove; And, when the stormy wind blows o'er the peak,

It rings, as if a human hand were there

To pull the cord. I guess he must have heard it;

And it had led him towards the precipice,
To climb up to the spot whence the sound came;
But he had failed through weakness. From
his hand
His staff had dropped, and close upon the brink
Of a small pool of water he was laid,
As if he had stooped to drink, and so remained
Without the strength to rise.

Mar.
Well, well, he lives,
And all is safe: what said he?
Eld.
But few words:
He only spake to me of a dear Daughter,
Who, so he feared, would never see him more ;
And of a Stranger to him, One by whom
He had been sore misused; but he forgave
The wrong and the wrong-doer.
troubled-

Perhaps you are his son?

Mar.

You are

The All-seeing knows, I did not think he had a living Child.— But whither did you carry him?

Eld.
He was torn,
His head was bruised, and there was blood
about him-

Mar. That was no work of mine.
Eld.

Nor was it mine. Mar. But had he strength to walk? I could have borne him

And seems the like for you; if 'tis your wish, I'll lead you to his Daughter; but 'twere best That she should be prepared; I'll go before. Mar. There will be need of preparation.

[ELDRED goes off. Elea. (enters). Master! Your limbs sink under you, shall I support you? Mar. (taking her arm). Woman, I've lent

my body to the service Which now thou tak'st upon thee. God forbid That thou shouldst ever meet a like occasion With such a purpose in thine heart as mine was. Elea. Oh, why have I to do with things like these? [Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the door of ELDRED's cottageIDONEA seated-enter ELDRED.

Eld. Your Father, Lady, from a wilful hand Has met unkindness; so indeed he told me, And you remember such was my report: From what has just befallen me I have cause To fear the very worst.

Idon.

My Father is dead;

Why dost thou come to me with words like these?

Eld. A wicked Man should answer for his crimes.

Idon. Thou seest me what I am.
Eld.

It was most heinous,

And doth call out for vengeance. Idon.

Do not add,

I prithee, to the harm thou'st done already. Eld. Hereafter you will thank me for this

service.

Hard by, a Man I met, who, from plain proofs