Chapter 12

BRODIE

(_He closes_, _locks_, _and double-bolts both doors_)

BRODIE. Now for one of the Deacon’s headaches! Rogues all, rogues all! (_Goes to clothes-press_, _and proceeds to change his coat_.) On with the new coat and into the new life! Down with the Deacon and up with the robber! (_Changing neck-band and ruffles_.) Eh God! how still the house is! There’s something in hypocrisy after all. If we were as good as we seem, what would the world be? [The city has its vizard on, and we—at night we are our naked selves. Trysts are keeping, bottles cracking, knives are stripping; and here is Deacon Brodie flaming forth the man of men he is!]—How still it is! . . . My father and Mary—Well! the day for them, the night for me; the grimy cynical night that makes all cats grey, and all honesties of one complexion. Shall a man not have _half_ a life of his own?—not eight hours out of twenty-four? [Eight shall he have should he dare the pit of Tophet.] (_Takes out money_.) Where’s the blunt? I must be cool to-night, or . . . steady, Deacon, you must win; damn you, you must! You must win back the dowry that you’ve stolen, and marry your sister, and pay your debts, and gull the world a little longer! (_As he blows out the lights_.) The Deacon’s going to bed—the poor sick Deacon! _Allons_! (_Throws up the window_, _and looks out_.) Only the stars to see me! (_Addressing the bed_.) Lie there, Deacon! sleep and be well to-morrow. As for me, I’m a man once more till morning. (_Gets out of the window_.)

TABLEAU II. HUNT THE RUNNER

_The Scene represents the Procurator’s Office_.