SCENE I.—_Outside GIL PEREZ’S House.

_Enter PEDRO running; GIL PEREZ after him with a drawn dagger; and ISABEL and CASILDA interceding._

_Isab._ Fly, Pedro, fly!

_Gil._ And what the use his flying If I be after him?

_Ped._ Hold him! hold him back, Both of you!

_Gil._ By the Lord, I’ll do for him.

_Isab._ But why so savage with him?

_Gil._ He must pay The long arrear of mischief you’ve run up.

_Isab._ I understand you not.

_Gil._ I’ll kill him first, And then explain.

_Isab._ I, who dread not bodily violence, Dread your injurious words. What have I done That you should use me thus?—my enemy, And not my brother.

_Gil._ You say well your enemy, Who, if you do as you have done so long, Will one day bathe his sword in your heart’s blood, And after in his own, and so wipe out One scandal from the world.

_Ped._ As the good soul Who meddles to make peace between two brawlers Oft gets the bloody nose, I’ll take the hint. Farewell, fair Spain! for evermore farewell!

_Gil._ Here! hark you, sir; Before you go; you have escaped this time By luck, not by desert. I give you warning, Keep from my sight: for if I see your face Fifty years hence, among the antipodes, I’ll pay you off.

_Ped._ Pray don’t disturb yourself; I’ll take you at your word, and straight be off To some old friends of mine—indeed relations— In central Africa—the Ourang Outangs: A colony so distant as I trust Will satisfy us both. And so, good bye.

[_Exit; CASILDA after him._

_Isab._ He’s gone, poor fellow. And now perhaps, sir, as we are alone, You’ll tell me why you do affront me thus.

_Gil._ Sister—oh, would to God that I had none To call by such a name at such expense! And can you think that I have been so blind, As well as dumb, not to be ware the tricks Of the sly gentleman who follows you So constantly, and who, if this goes on, Will one day filch away, not your own only, But the long garner’d honour of our house? Why, I have seen it all from first to last, But would not show my teeth till I could bite; Because, in points like this, a man of honour Speaks once, and once for all. This once is now. I’ll speak my mind to you; Which, if you cannot understand, to-morrow I must repeat in quite another language. I know your man—Juan Baptista—one Not man enough for me, and so, I tell you, Not for my sister. This should be enough, Without his being, as he is, a Jew. To get you from his reach I brought you here To Salvatierra, deep amid the mountains, And safe enough I thought; but even here His cursèd letters reach you through the hands Of that fine rascal I have just pack’d off. There; I have told my story; take ’t to heart; Dismiss your man at once, or, by the Lord, If you and he persist, I’ll fire his house, And save the Inquisition that much trouble.

_Isab._ Your anger makes you blind—accusing me Of things I never did.

_Gil._ You never did!

_Isab._ But so it is, poor women must submit To such insinuations.

_Gil._ Pray, was ’t I Insinuated that letter then?

_Isab._ Peace, peace! I can explain it all, and shall, when fit. What would you have of me? You are my brother, And not my husband, sir; consider that: And therefore, in fraternal kindness bound, Should even take my word without ado. You talk of honour: is not honour then Slow to suspect—would rather be deceived Itself than prematurely to accuse? I am your sister, Perez, and I know My duty towards you and myself. Enough— Which, if you cannot understand, to-morrow I must repeat in quite another language.

[_Exit._

_Gil._ She says not ill; it better were indeed Had I kept on the mask a little longer, Till they had dropt theirs beyond all denial. She’s right, and I was wrong; but from this time I’ll steer another course.

_Enter CASILDA._

_Cas._ A gentleman (Of Portugal, he says,) is at the door, And asks for you.

_Gil._ Bid him come in. Away, My troubles, for a while!

[_Exit CASILDA._

_Enter MANUEL MENDEZ._

_Man._ ’Twas well, Gil Perez, You sent so quickly, or my impetuosity Had overrun your leave.

_Gil._ What, Manuel Mendez! Come to my arms. What! you in Salvatierra?

_Man._ And, I assure you, at no small expense Of risk and heart-ache.

_Gil._ That’s unwelcome news.

_Man._ Not when ’tis all forgotten in the joy Of seeing you again.

_Gil._ I shall not rest Till I have heard; ill-manner’d though it be To tax a man scarce winded from a journey With such expense of breath.

_Man._ Then listen, Gil. You, I am sure, remember (time and absence Cannot have washt so much from memory) The pleasant time when you were last at Lisbon, And graced my house by making it your home. I need not tell of all we did and talk’d, Save what concerns me now; of the fair lady You knew me then enamour’d of, (how deeply I need not say—being a Portuguese, Which saying, all is said)—Donna Juana, At whose mere name I tremble, as some seer Smit with the sudden presence of his God. Two years we lived in the security Of mutual love, with so much jealousy (Without which love is scarcely love at all) As served to freshen up its sleeping surface, But not to stir its depths. Ah, dangerous To warm the viper, or, for idle sport, Trust to the treacherous sea—sooner or later They turn upon us; so these jealousies I liked to toy with first turn’d upon me; When suddenly a rich young cavalier, Well graced with all that does and ought to please, (For I would not revenge me with my tongue Upon his name, but with my sword in’s blood,) Demanded her in marriage of her father; Who being poor, and bargains quickly made ’Twixt avarice and wealth, quickly agreed. The wedding day drew nigh that was to be The day of funeral too—mixt dance and dirge, And grave and bridal chamber both in one. The guests were met; already night began Loose the full tide of noisy merriment, When I strode in; straight through the wedding throng Up to the bride and bridegroom where they were, And, seizing her with one hand, with the other Struck him a corpse; and daring all, to die Fighting, or fighting carry off my prize, Carried her off; lifted her on a horse I had outside; struck spur; and lightning-like Away, until we reach’d the boundary Of Portugal, and, safe on Spanish ground, At last drew breath and bridle. Then on hither, Where I was sure of refuge in the arms Of my old friend Gil Perez; whom I pray Not so much on the score of an old friendship, So long and warm, but as a fugitive Asking protection at his generous hands— A plea the noble never hear in vain. Nor for myself alone, but for my lady Who comes with me, and whom I just have left Under the poplars by the river-side, Till I had told my news, and heard your answer. A servant whom we met with on the way, Pointed your house out—whither, travel-tired, Press’d for my life, and deep in love with her I bring, as curst by those I left behind, And trusting him I come to—

_Gil._ Tut, tut, tut! Go on so, I’ll not answer you at all; All this fine talk to me! from Manuel Mendez! As if ’twere not enough to say ‘Friend Gil, I’ve left a gentleman I slew behind, And got a living lady with me, so Am come to visit you.’ Why go about With phrases and fine speeches? I shall answer Quite unpolitely thus, ‘Friend Manuel, This house of mine is yours—for months, for years, For all your life, with all the service in ’t That I or mine can do for you.’ So back, And bring your lady, telling her from me I stay behind because I am unapt At such fine speeches as her lover makes.

_Man._ Oh, let me thank you,—

_Gil._ Nay, ’twere better far Go to your lady; who may be ill at ease Alone in a strange place.

[_Exit MANUEL._

What, Isabel! (_She enters._) Isabel, if my former love and care Deserve of you at all, forget awhile All difference, (for there’s a time for all,) And help me now to honour an old friend To whom I owe great hospitalities; Manuel Mendez, who with his bride is come To be my guest.

_Isab._ I’ll do my best for you. But hark! what noise?

(_Shouts and fighting within._)

_Gil._ A quarrel’s up somewhere.

_Voice within._ Take him alive or dead.

_Another voice._ He’ll slip us yet!

_Isab._ Some one on horseback flying at full speed From his pursuers.

_Voices within._ Fire upon him! fire!

(_Shots within._)

_Isab._ Mercy, he’s dead!

_Gil._ Not he; only his horse; And see he’s up again, and gallantly Flashing his sword around on his pursuers Keeps them at bay, and fighting, fighting, still Retreats—

_Isab._ And to our house too—

_Enter DON ALONSO._

_Alon._ Shelter! shelter! In pity to a wretched man at last Fordone!

_Gil._ What, Don Alonso!

_Alon._ But a moment, To ask you cover my retreat, Gil Perez; My life depends on reaching Portugal.

_Gil._ Away then to the bridge you see below there. God speed you.

_Alon._ And keep you!

[_Exit._

_Voices without._ This way! this way!

_Gil._ But just in time!

_Enter SHERIFF with Officers._

_Officer._ I’m sure he pass’d by here.

_Gil._ Well, gentlemen, your business?

_Sher._ Don Alonso— Came he this way?

_Gil._ He did, and he went that, And must almost, unless I much mistake, Be got to Portugal. For, by the Lord, sir, His feet seem’d feather’d with the wind?

_Sher._ Away then! After him!

_Gil._ Stop a moment!

_Sher._ Stop! what mean you?

_Gil._ Just what I say. Come, Mr. Sheriff, come, You’ve done your duty; be content with that; And don’t hunt gentlemen like wolves to death; Justice is one thing, and fair play’s another, All the world over.

_Sher._ When I’ve got my man I’ll answer you.

_Gil._ Perhaps before.

_Sher._ Why, sir, Would you detain me?

_Gil._ Why, if logic fails, I must try other argument.

_Sher._ As what, sir?

_Gil._ Why, mathematical. As how? Look here. You see me draw this line. Well then, ’fore God, The man who passes it—dies. Q. E. D.

_Sher._ Down with him!

_Gil._ Back, I advise you.

_Voices._ Down with him!

_Gil._ Chicken-hearts! Curs! Oh, you will down with me, Will you indeed? and this the way you do it?

(_He fights with them._)

_One._ Oh, I am slain.

_Sher._ I’m wounded.

_Gil._ Back with you!

[_Exit, driving them in._