SCENE I.--A passage in Berwick Castle. Enter Crombe as jailor, carrying

food. He opens a door, and the Countess of Buchan is discovered in a cage.

Countess of Buchan [aside]. O me! Another! I can court no more. This one I'll take by storm.--Fellow, good friend, I think you are my thousandth jailor. Soon I'll have a fresh one doubtless every day. I've here had trial of my power on men, On common vulgar men like you--for you Are like your predecessors, I suppose-- And find myself most potent. Listen, now! Yes, but you shall, you must; and look as well: For I have looks like golden lightning, swift, Gentle and perilous, that fascinate The worshipful beholder. I have words, Sweet words, soft words, and words like two-edged swords, Like singing winds that rock the sense asleep, Like waves full-breasted, filling deepest souls; And I will kill you in a thousand ways With words and looks unless you yield you now. The others all were conquered just too late; The women tell me nothing--English all; But you will tell me what I want to know, In brave submission to my witchery; Now, like a man: I hope you are a man. Crombe. What must I tell you? Countess of Buchan. You must tell me first How the king is--King Robert Bruce, I mean. Crombe. They say he's well. Countess of Buchan. Where is he then? But, sir, I see you better now; you have an eye, A brow, a mouth. Without more question, say How Scotland fares since I was prisoned here. Crombe. Because of this same eye, and brow, and mouth They made me jailor. Countess of Buchan. O, I understand! And being nobler than those stolid pikes-- Pike-handles, I should say--forerunning you, You'll not do wrong in duty's name. Escape You cannot help me to; but tell me, sir, Some news. Crombe. Ah! Pardon me. If, as you say, I have a brain to know that wrong is wrong Though soldierly obedience be its badge, Shall I not have the strength to overcome Rebellious righteousness? Think you---- Countess of Buchan. James Crombe! Crombe. Your servant ever, lady. Countess of Buchan. Pardon, friend; I did not know you. I've no memory Except for horrors. I am half a beast-- Starved, frozen, scorched, in rags. Sometimes at night I'm mad. The rotten air, the subtle dark, The clammy cold, crawl through my blood like worms: They knot themselves in aches, they gnaw my flesh, And I believe me dead. Ghosts visit me: They come in undistinguishable throngs, Sighing and moaning like a windy wood. Demons invade my grave with flaming eyes, With lolling tongues; and ugly horrors steam And whirl about me. Mountains topple down, Grazing my head; and threatening worlds approach, But never whelm me. O my friend! O me! Tell me for mercy's sake of living men! How came you here? Crombe. To be beside you, lady. Countess of Buchan. What! You are weeping! Dear friend, speak to me. What food is this? White bread, and wine, and meat! [Clapping her hands.] Thanks, thanks! O thanks! I'll eat, while you recount All, all, about my friends! Crombe. My time is brief. And first I'll tell you of an enemy. Edward the First is dead. Countess of Buchan. Say you! Aha! That was a mighty villain. Crombe. Nigel is dead: They killed him when they took Kildrummie tower. Countess of Buchan. Ah, what a wanton waste of noble blood! Remorseless tigers! Ah, the wolves, the rats!-- The queen, and Lady Douglas? Crombe. Prisoners both. Countess of Buchan. The man, my husband? Crombe. Beaten, decayed, forgot. When we were scattered in the wood of Drome, The king sought refuge in an Irish isle, Which in the spring he left, and dared his fate. So after perils, and trials, and mighty acts, And deeds of marvellous device--well poised By those achievements, rare and manifold, Heroically wrought by Edward Bruce, Douglas, Boyd, Fraser, Gilbert de la Haye, Randolf, and many another famous knight, Whose deeds already ring in lands afar-- At Inverury he and your husband met: And there the earl suffered such dread defeat, That ignominy has become the grave Where all his hopes lie buried. Countess of Buchan. Wretched soul! Crombe. Now in the length and breadth of this free land, One castle only is in England's power. Would I had time to tell you how 'twas done! Countess of Buchan. What castle? Crombe. Stirling. Edward found the siege For his hot blood too long, and made a pact, That if the governor, Sir Philip Mowbray, Were not relieved within a year and day, He should surrender. In the interval Sir Philip went to London to the king-- Edward the Second, an unstable man-- And couched his eyes of that security That curtained Scotland's state. He levied soon The mightiest army ever England raised; And in the sight of Stirling, Bruce and he Are met to fight. Countess of Buchan. Now? Crombe. Now. And news is come That Bruce to-day o'erthrew a champion Between the armies; and that Randolf fought And conquered Clifford, who had dreadful odds. Countess of Buchan. And are they fighting now? Crombe. No; but to-morrow The battle is. Countess of Buchan. Then, gallant friend, away! Take horse and ride! You must not miss to-morrow. Spur through the night!--Nay, think no more of me! Or think me sitting lightsome on the croup, And smiling at the moon. I go with you: My soul is in your arm!--You must not stay. One stout heart more!--Ride, ride!--I thank you, friend: To know your dear and steadfast constancy, As now I do, is worth these lonely years.-- Away to victory!--I can weep at last!-- Here, take this withered rag! It is the scarf The queen gave me that far-off night in Drome. My parched and desert eyes that sorrow shrunk Are wet with happiness! See! Am I red? My pale and stagnant blood wakes up again, I would that we were flying together, Crombe, As once we did, rebels, so free and glad! Now go! Now go!--Yes, kiss me through the bars: My kiss shall help to win the battle. Go! [He kisses her, and goes out. The scene closes.