SCENE II.—_A view of the country_.

_Enter_ LABEL. L.

_Label_. So far safe; egad Gilbert’s advice was not altogether unnecessary, for I’ve had to keep up a running account for these five miles—eh—what a crowd of people are coming here.

_Enter_ 1_st._ VILLAGER. R.

why my friend, you seem in haste.

1_st._ _Vil_. Haste! yes, I would’n’t lose the sight for the world.

_Label_. Sight! what sight?

1_st._ _Vil_. What, don’t you know? (_looks at him contemptuously_,) then my service to you.

[_Exit_. L.

_Label_. This is highway politeness, and to a man of my profession—eh!—thank heaven, here comes one of the other sex—it’s hard if I don’t get an answer now.

_Enter_ MARY ROSELY. R.

Well my pretty maid, are you going to see the sight?

_Mary_. The sight! oh bless you, Sir,—no, not for the world.

_Label_. What then you have no curiosity?

_Mary_. Curiosity, Sir,—do you know what sight it is?

_Label_. No, will you tell me?

_Mary_. Why, Sir; it’s—it’s—it’s (_sobbing_.) oh such a good young man.

_Label_. A good young man, is that such a sight among you?

_Mary_. Oh no Sir—not that—and yet there was nobody but loved him.

_Label_. Nobody but loved him—i’faith if they’ve all such pretty faces as you, he must have had a fine time of it—but what’s the matter with him—is he going to be married—is he dying—or dead?

_Mary_. No, Sir, not yet.

_Label_. Well, then, never take on so—he’ll get over it.

_Mary_. Oh no, Sir, he’s sure to die—the judges have said so.

_Label_. The judges—what the doctors! ah my dear, I know, by myself, that the doctors are frequently no great judges—what’s his complaint?

_Mary_. Complaint, Sir, why they say he’s murdered a man.

_Label_. Murdered a man! that’s a fatal disease with a vengeance.

_Mary_. But it’s false, Sir, a wicked falsehood—he murder—why, Sir, he was the best, the kindest young man in all these parts—there was nobody but loved poor Ambrose—

_Label_. Ambrose! why you don’t mean Ambrose Gwinett?

_Mary_. Oh yes, Sir, that’s his name.

_Label_. And who do they say he’s murdered?

_Mary_. Master Collins.

_Label_. Collins! (_aside_.) the devil; there may be some of my marks found upon him—and—and what have they done with the body?

_Mary_. That can’t be found any where: it’s supposed that Ambrose—no, no, not Ambrose, but the villains that did the horrid act, threw the body into the sea.

_Label_. Ah! very likely—I begin to feel very uncomfortable—well go home, my good girl, go home.

_Mary_. Home! no that I won’t; I’ll go and see if I can’t comfort poor Miss Lucy.

[_Exit_. L.

_Label_. I’m puzzled, the body not to be found; if I go and tell all that I know—inform the judges that I bled master Collins, perhaps they may secure me, and by some little trick of the law, make me accompany master Gwinett—again, allowing I should get clear off, the tale might occasion some doubt of my skill, and so my trade would be cut up that way—no no, better as it is, let the guilty suffer, and no more said about it—it will all blow over in a week or two. That same Gwinett, for all he used to laugh and joke so gaily, had I now begin to remember a kind of hanging look—he had a strange, suspicious—but bless me when a man falls into trouble, how soon we begin to recollect all his bad qualities. I declare the whole country seems in a bustle—in the confusion I may get off without notice—’tis the wisest course, and when wisdom comes hand-in-hand with profit, he’s a fool indeed that turns his back upon her.

[_Exit_. R.

_Enter_ BLACKTHORN _and_ WILL ASH. L.

_Black_. Tut tut—all trifling I tell you—all the fears of a foolish girl—come, come, Will Ash, be a man.

_Ash_. That’s what I would be, master Blackthorn, but you will not let me—I would be a man, and return this same bag of money.

_Black_. And get a prison for your pains.

_Ash_. But the truth—

_Black_. The truth! it is too dangerous a commodity for us to deal in at present—we know we picked it up a few paces from the Blake’s Head, doubtless dropped from Collins in his struggle with the murderers—but how are we to make that appear—our characters, Will Ash, are not altogether as clear as yonder white cloud, they are blackened a little ever since that affair with the Revenue Officers—you know we are marked men.

_Ash_. Yes, but unjustly so; I am conscious of my innocence.

_Black_. Yes, and a man may be hanged in that consciousness—be hanged as I say, and leave the consciousness of his innocence, as food and raiment for his helpless family.

_Ash_. Oh!—

_Black_. You are in no situation, Will Ash, to study niceties—when your children shriek “Bread” within your ears, is it a time for a man to be splitting hairs, and weighing grains of sand?

_Ash_. Do not, Blackthorn, do not speak thus; for in such a case it is not reason, but madness that decides.

_Black_. Even as you will, I speak for your own good.

_Ash_. I am assured of it, and could I satisfy myself—

_Black_. Satisfy! why you may be satisfied—the men who killed Collins, doubtless did it for his gold—they were disappointed, and instead of the money going to villains and blood-shedders, it has fallen into the hands of honest men.

_Ash_. Honest—aye if we return it.

_Black_. No, then it would be fools, upon whom fortune had thrown away her favours—Collins is dead! mountains of gold could not put life—no, not even into his little finger—what good then can come of returning the bag, and what harm to the dead or to the world, by our keeping it?

_Ash_. You speak rightly, a little reasoning—

_Black_. Aye, a little reasoning as you say, does much in such matters.

_Ash_. And yet the greatest rogues may commit crimes with as fair a shew of necessity—’tis not Blackthorn—’tis not in the nature of guilt to want an excuse.

_Black_. Away with all this—will you be a man?

_Ash_. (_after a moment’s struggle_.) I will—come what will, I’ll return the gold—farewell—(_Is going off_, _when child runs in_. R.)

_Child_. Oh father! father, all is lost

_Ash_. Lost?

_Child_. Yes, our cruel landlord has seized on every thing, mother and my little sisters, Jane and Ann, all driven out, must have slept in the fields, if farmer—

_Ash_. Oh, heavens! my wife and children homeless, starving outcasts—and I no help—

_Black_. No help! yes the bag—the gold!

_Ash_. Ah!—yes!—it must, it shall be done! the husband and the parent’s tugging at my heart—oh! be witness heaven! and pardon, pardon the frailties of the man in the agony of the father—come, child, your mother and your sisters, though the trial be a hard one, yet shall smile upon the oppressor.

[_Exeunt_. R.