SCENE III.—_A room in Zalamea.

_Enter the Captain wounded, and Sergeant._

_Capt._ It was but a scratch after all. Why on earth bring me back to this confounded place?

_Serg._ Who could have known it was but a scratch till ’twas cured? Would you have liked to be left to bleed to death in the wood?

_Capt._ Well, it is cured however: and now to get clear away before the affair gets wind. Are the others here?

_Serg._ Yes, sir.

_Capt._ Let us be off then before these fellows know; else we shall have to fight for it.

_Enter REBOLLEDO._

_Reb._ Oh, sir, the magistrates are coming!

_Capt._ Well, what’s that to me?

_Reb._ I only say they are at the door.

_Capt._ All the better. It will be their duty to prevent any riot the people might make if they knew of our being here.

_Reb._ They know, and are humming about it through the town.

_Capt._ I thought so. The magistrates must interfere, and then refer the cause to a court martial, where, though the affair is awkward, I shall manage to come off.

_Cres._ (_within_). Shut the doors; any soldier trying to pass, cut him down!

_Enter CRESPO, with the wand of office in his hand, Constables, Notary, etc._

_Capt._ Who is it dares give such an order?

_Cres._ And why not?

_Capt._ Crespo! Well, sir. The stick you are so proud of has no jurisdiction over a soldier.

_Cres._ For the love of Heaven don’t discompose yourself, captain; I am only come to have a few words with you, and, if you please, alone.

_Capt._ Well then, (_to soldiers, etc._) retire awhile.

_Cres._ (_to his people._) And you—but hark ye; remember my orders.

[_Exeunt Notary, Constables, etc._

_Cres._ And now, sir, that I have used my authority to make you listen, I will lay it by, and talk to you as man to man. (_He lays down the wand._) We are alone, Don Alvaro, and can each of us vent what is swelling in his bosom; in mine at least, till it is like to burst!

_Capt._ Well, sir?

_Cres._ Till last night (let me say it without offence) I knew not, except perhaps my humble birth, a single thing fortune had left me to desire. Of such estate as no other farmer in the district; honoured and esteemed (as now appears) by my fellow-townsmen, who neither envied me my wealth, nor taunted me as an upstart; and this even in a little community, whose usual, if not worst, fault it is to canvass each other’s weaknesses. I had a daughter too—virtuously and modestly brought up, thanks to her whom heaven now holds! Whether fair, let what has passed—But I will leave what I may to silence—would to God I could leave all, and I should not now be coming on this errand to you! But it may not be:—you must help time to redress a wound so great, as, in spite of myself, makes cry a heart not used to overflow. I must have redress. And how? The injury is done—by you: I might easily revenge myself for so public and shameful an outrage, but I would have retribution, not revenge. And so, looking about, and considering the matter on all sides, I see but one way which perhaps will not be amiss for either of us. It is this. You shall forthwith take all my substance, without reserve of a single farthing for myself or my son, only what you choose to allow us; you shall even brand us on back or forehead, and sell us like slaves or mules by way of adding to the fortune I offer you—all this, and what you will beside, if only you will with it take my daughter to wife, and restore the honour you have robbed. You will not surely eclipse your own in so doing; your children will still be your children if my grandchildren; and ’tis an old saying in Castile, you know, that, “’Tis the horse redeems the saddle.” This is what I have to propose. Behold, (_he kneels_,) upon my knees I ask it—upon my knees, and weeping such tears as only a father’s anguish melts from his frozen locks! And what is my demand? But that you should restore what you have robbed; so fatal for us to lose, so easy for you to restore; which I could myself now wrest from you by the hand of the law, but which I rather implore of you as a mercy on my knees!

_Capt._ You have done at last? Tiresome old man! You may think yourself lucky I do not add your death, and that of your son, to what you call your dishonour. ’Tis your daughter saves you both; let that be enough for all. As to the wrong you talk of, if you would avenge it by force, I have little to fear. As to your magistrate’s stick there, it does not reach my profession at all.

_Cres._ Once more I implore you—

_Capt._ Have done—have done!

_Cres._ Will not these tears—

_Capt._ Who cares for the tears of a woman, a child, or an old man?

_Cres._ No pity?

_Capt._ I tell you I spare your life, and your son’s: pity enough.

_Cres._ Upon my knees, asking back my own at your hands that robbed me?

_Capt._ Nonsense!

_Cres._ Who could extort it if I chose.

_Capt._ I tell you you could not.

_Cres._ There is no remedy then?

_Capt._ Except silence, which I recommend you as the best.

_Cres._ You are resolved?

_Capt._ I am.

_Cres._ (_rising and resuming his wand_). Then, by God, you shall pay for it! Ho there!

_Enter Constables, etc._

_Capt._ What are these fellows about?

_Cres._ Take this captain to prison.

_Capt._ To prison! you can’t do it.

_Cres._ We’ll see.

_Capt._ Am I a bonâ fide officer or not?

_Cres._ And am I a straw magistrate or not? Away with him!

_Capt._ The king shall hear of this.

_Cres._ He shall—doubt it not—perhaps to-day; and shall judge between us. By the by, you had best deliver up your sword before you go.

_Capt._ My sword!

_Cres._ Under arrest, you know.

_Capt._ Well—take it with due respect then.

_Cres._ Oh yes, and you too. Hark ye, (_to Constable, etc._) carry the captain with due respect to Bridewell; and there with due respect clap on him a chain and hand-cuffs; and not only him, but all that were with him, (all with due respect,) respectfully taking care they communicate not together. For I mean with all due respect to examine them on the business, and if I get sufficient evidence, with the most infinite respect of all, I’ll wring you by the neck till you’re dead, by God!

_Capt._ Set a beggar on horseback!

[_They carry him off._

_Enter Notary and others with REBOLLEDO, and CHISPA in boy’s dress._

_Not._ This fellow and the page are all we could get hold of. The other got off.

_Cres._ Ah, this is the rascal who sung. I’ll make him sing on t’other side of his mouth.

_Reb._ Why, is singing a crime, sir?

_Cres._ So little that I’ve an instrument shall make you do it as you never did before. Will you confess?

_Reb._ What am I to confess?

_Cres._ What passed last night.

_Reb._ Your daughter can tell you that better than I.

_Cres._ Villain, you shall die for it!

[_Exit._

_Chis._ Deny all, Rebolledo, and you shall be the hero of a ballad I’ll sing.

_Not._ And you too were of the singing party?

_Chis._ Ah, ah, and if I was, you can’t put me to the question.

_Not._ And why not, pray?

_Chis._ The law forbids you.

_Not._ Oh, indeed, the law? How so pray?

_Chis._ Because I’m in the way ladies like to be who love Rebolledo.

[_Exeunt, carried off, etc._