SCENE I.—_Outside view of the Sessions’ House_.

_Enter_ GILBERT _and_ JENNY. L.

_Gil_. Come along, Jenny, come along; it will be all over in a few minutes.

_Jenny_. Oh what a shocking thing! Master Gwinett tried for murder—I’d lay my life he’s innocent.

_Gil_. Why I don’t know what to think: matters stand very strong against him—but then he looks as freshly, and speaks as calmly—no he can’t be guilty—and yet the knife—and my master’s bed filled with blood—and then where is my poor master—every search has been made for the body, and all in vain—if Gwinett be guilty—

_Enter_ GRAYLING _from Sessions’ House_. L.

_Gray_. If he be guilty—who can doubt his guilt?

_Gil_. Those, master Grayling, who do not let their hate stand in the light of their clear judgment. This is, I warrant me, a rare day of triumph for you.

_Gray_. Aye, and ought to be to every honest man! ’tis for rogues to be sad, when rogues are caught.

_Gil_. I dare say now you think this will serve your turn with Miss Lucy.

_Gray_. Perhaps I do, and what then?

_Gil_. What then! why then you overcount your profits: take my simple word for it, she hates you! hates you as much as she loves—

_Gray_. Her uncle’s murderer, eh? are not those the words? with all my heart, I would rather have the deadly hate of Lucy Fairlove, than the softest pity of Lucy Gwinett. Oh! I thought there was a world of mischief under the smooth face of the assassin—had he struck for a deep revenge I could have pardoned him, for it might have been my own fate—but to murder a man for gold! for a few pieces of shining dross—’tis a crime to feel one touch of pity for so base a miscreant.

_Gil_. Bless me—’tis all like a dream—’twas but yesterday, and we were all as happy as the best.

_Gray_. Aye, it was but yesterday when the gay trim master Ambrose scorned and contemned me! but yesterday, and Lucy hung upon his arm! and to-day—ha! ha! ha!—I stood against him at the fatal bar; as I passed, his brow blackened, and his lips worked—his eyes shot the lightnings of hate upon me—at that moment my heart beat with a wild delight, and I smiled to see how the criminal shrunk as I told the tale that damn’d him—to see him recoil as though every word I uttered fell like a withering fire upon his guilty heart. (_A scream is heard from the Sessions’ House_.) Ah! the trial is ended. (_A neighbour comes from Sessions’ House_, _Grayling runs to him_.) say—the prisoner—

_Neigh_. Guilty.

_Gray_. And no hopes of mercy?

_Neigh_. None.

_Gray_. Ha! ha! ha!

_Music_.—_Enter Neighbours from the Court with Officers guarding_ GWINETT. L.

_Gwin_. Good people, there are I see many among you whose tears bespeak that you think me guiltless—may my soul never reach yon happy sphere, if by the remotest thought it ever yearned for blood:—circumstances—damning circumstances have betrayed me:—I condemn not my judges—farewell, for the few hours I dwell among men, let me have your prayers; and when no more, let me, I pray, live in your charitable thoughts. When time (for I feel it one day will) shall reveal my innocence—should ought remain of this poor frame, let it I beseech you, lie next my mother’s grave, and in my epitaph cleanse my memory from the festering stain of blood-farewell,—Lucy!

_Lucy_. (_rushing on & falling into his arms_.) Ambrose—

_Offi_. (_aside to Grayling_.) Grayling, you, as smith for the prison, must measure the culprit for his fetters.

_Gray_. Measure?

_Offi_. Aye! it is the sentence of the court that the prisoner be hung in chains.

_Gray_. Indeed!

_Offi_. The office is doubtless an ungrateful one; being a fellow townsman you needs must feel for him.

_Gray_. No—no—yes—yes—but duty you know, Sir, (_seeing Lucy still in Gwinett’s arms_.) but if they stand leave-taking all day, I shall have no time to finish the work. (_Officer motions Gwinett_.)

_Gwin_. I attend you, Sir, farewell Lucy—heaven bless and protect you. (_Rushes off followed by officers_, _&c._ P. S.)

_Lucy_. Gone, to prison—death—no they cannot, dare not fulfil the dreadful sentence—he is innocent! innocent as the speechless babe—the whole town believes him guiltless—they will petition for him, and if there be mercy upon earth he must yet be saved—(_seeing Grayling_.)—Grayling! oh Grayling—your evidence has betrayed him—but for you he had escaped—whilst you spoke—whilst at every word you uttered my blood ran cold as ice, I prayed (heaven pardon me) prayed that you might be stricken dumb; but he, even he who stood pale and withered at the bar must have felt far above you as man above a worm.

_Gray_. I spoke the truth, the truth of facts.

_Lucy_. Yes, but urged with malice, wholly devilish—but oh Grayling—all shall be forgiven—all forgotten—strive but with me to awaken mercy in the hearts of his judges—strive but—ah no—I see in that stone-like eye and sullen lip, that the corse of Ambrose (his corse! my heart will burst) that to you his death knell would be music, for then you would no longer fear his marriage chimes.

_Gray_. I meddle not with the course of law, Lucy Fairlove.

_Lucy_. Hard-hearted man—but you carry with you your own torment, a blighted conscience—alas, why do I stand raving to this heartless being—the time wears on—to-morrow—oh! what a world of agony is in that word, let me still pronounce it, that I may ceaselessly labour in the cause of misery—but if relentless law demands its victim, the grave! the grave! be then my place of rest.

[_Exit_. R.

_Gray_. Oh Lucy!—what a wretch am I, to stand like a heartless monster unmoved by every touch of pity—it was not once so—once—but my nature’s changed, all feelings, save one, are withered; love has turned to hate, a deep and settled hate, I feel it craving for its prey! now to let it feed and triumph on my rival’s pains!

[_Exit_. R.