Chapter 4

SCENE--Road in a Wood

WALLACE and LACY

LACY The Troop will be impatient; let us hie Back to our post, and strip the Scottish Foray Of their rich Spoil, ere they recross the Border. ---Pity that our young Chief will have no part In this good service.

WALLACE Rather let us grieve That, in the undertaking which has caused His absence, he hath sought, whate'er his aim, Companionship with One of crooked ways, From whose perverted soul can come no good To our confiding, open-hearted, Leader.

LACY True; and, remembering how the Band have proved That Oswald finds small favour in our sight, Well may we wonder he has gained such power Over our much-loved Captain.

WALLACE I have heard Of some dark deed to which in early life His passion drove him--then a Voyager Upon the midland Sea. You knew his bearing In Palestine?

LACY Where he despised alike Mohammedan and Christian. But enough; Let us begone--the Band may else be foiled.

[Exeunt.]

[Enter MARMADUKE and WILFRED]

WILFRED Be cautious, my dear Master!

MARMADUKE I perceive That fear is like a cloak which old men huddle About their love, as if to keep it warm.

WILFRED Nay, but I grieve that we should part. This Stranger, For such he is--

MARMADUKE Your busy fancies, Wilfred, Might tempt me to a smile; but what of him?

WILFRED You know that you have saved his life.

MARMADUKE I know it.

WILFRED And that he hates you!--Pardon me, perhaps That word was hasty.

MARMADUKE Fy! no more of it.

WILFRED Dear Master! gratitude's a heavy burden To a proud Soul.--Nobody loves this Oswald-- Yourself, you do not love him.

MARMADUKE I do more, I honour him. Strong feelings to his heart Are natural; and from no one can be learnt More of man's thoughts and ways than his experience Has given him power to teach: and then for courage And enterprise--what perils hath he shunned? What obstacles hath he failed to overcome? Answer these questions, from our common knowledge, And be at rest.

WILFRED Oh, Sir!

MARMADUKE Peace, my good Wilfred; Repair to Liddesdale, and tell the Band I shall be with them in two days, at farthest.

WILFRED May He whose eye is over all protect you!

[Exit.]

[Enter OSWALD (a bunch of plants in his hand)]

OSWALD This wood is rich in plants and curious simples.

MARMADUKE (looking at them) The wild rose, and the poppy, and the nightshade: Which is your favorite, Oswald?

OSWALD That which, while it is Strong to destroy, is also strong to heal-- [Looking forward.] Not yet in sight!--We'll saunter here awhile; They cannot mount the hill, by us unseen.

MARMADUKE (a letter in his hand) It is no common thing when one like you Performs these delicate services, and therefore I feel myself much bounden to you, Oswald; 'Tis a strange letter this!--You saw her write it?

OSWALD And saw the tears with which she blotted it.

MARMADUKE And nothing less would satisfy him?

OSWALD No less; For that another in his Child's affection Should hold a place, as if 'twere robbery, He seemed to quarrel with the very thought. Besides, I know not what strange prejudice Is rooted in his mind; this Band of ours, Which you've collected for the noblest ends, Along the confines of the Esk and Tweed To guard the Innocent--he calls us "Outlaws"; And, for yourself, in plain terms he asserts This garb was taken up that indolence Might want no cover, and rapacity Be better fed.

MARMADUKE Ne'er may I own the heart That cannot feel for one, helpless as he is.

OSWALD Thou know'st me for a Man not easily moved, Yet was I grievously provoked to think Of what I witnessed.

MARMADUKE This day will suffice To end her wrongs.

OSWALD But if the blind Man's tale Should _yet_ be true?

MARMADUKE Would it were possible! Did not the Soldier tell thee that himself, And others who survived the wreck, beheld The Baron Herbert perish in the waves Upon the coast of Cyprus?

OSWALD Yes, even so, And I had heard the like before: in sooth The tale of this his quondam Barony Is cunningly devised; and, on the back Of his forlorn appearance, could not fail To make the proud and vain his tributaries, And stir the pulse of lazy charity. The seignories of Herbert are in Devon; We, neighbours of the Esk and Tweed; 'tis much The Arch-Impostor--

MARMADUKE Treat him gently, Oswald: Though I have never seen his face, methinks, There cannot come a day when I shall cease To love him. I remember, when a Boy Of scarcely seven years' growth, beneath the Elm That casts its shade over our village school, 'Twas my delight to sit and hear Idonea Repeat her Father's terrible adventures, Till all the band of play-mates wept together; And that was the beginning of my love. And, through all converse of our later years, An image of this old Man still was present, When I had been most happy. Pardon me If this be idly spoken.

OSWALD See, they come, Two Travellers!

MARMADUKE (points) The woman [1] is Idonea.

OSWALD And leading Herbert.

MARMADUKE We must let them pass-- This thicket will conceal us.

[They step aside.]

[Enter IDONEA, leading HERBERT blind.]

IDONEA Dear Father, you sigh deeply; ever since We left the willow shade by the brook-side, Your natural breathing has been troubled.

HERBERT Nay, You are too fearful; yet must I confess, Our march of yesterday had better suited A firmer step than mine.

IDONEA That dismal Moor-- In spite of all the larks that cheered our path, I never can forgive it: but how steadily _You_ paced along, when the bewildering moonlight Mocked me with many a strange fantastic shape!-- I thought the Convent never would appear; It seemed to move away from us: and yet, That you are thus the fault is mine; for the air Was soft and warm, no dew lay on the grass, And midway on the waste ere night had fallen I spied a Covert walled and roofed with sods-- A miniature; belike some Shepherd-boy, Who might have found a nothing-doing hour Heavier than work, raised it: within that hut We might have made a kindly bed of heath, And thankfully there rested side by side Wrapped in our cloaks, and, with recruited strength, Have hailed the morning sun. But cheerily, Father,-- That staff of yours, I could almost have heart To fling't away from you: you make no use Of me, or of my strength;--come, let me feel That you do press upon me. There--indeed You are quite exhausted. Let us rest awhile On this green bank.

[He sits down.]

HERBERT (after some time) Idonea, you are silent, And I divine the cause.

IDONEA Do not reproach me: I pondered patiently your wish and will When I gave way to your request; and now, When I behold the ruins of that face, Those eyeballs dark--dark beyond hope of light, And think that they were blasted for my sake, The name of Marmaduke is blown away: Father, I would not change that sacred feeling For all this world can give.

HERBERT Nay, be composed: Few minutes gone a faintness overspread My frame, and I bethought me of two things I ne'er had heart to separate--my grave, And thee, my Child!

IDONEA Believe me, honoured Sire! 'Tis weariness that breeds these gloomy fancies, And you mistake the cause: you hear the woods Resound with music, could you see the sun, And look upon the pleasant face of Nature--

HERBERT I comprehend thee--I should be as cheerful As if we two were twins; two songsters bred In the same nest, my spring-time one with thine. My fancies, fancies if they be, are such As come, dear Child! from a far deeper source Than bodily weariness. While here we sit I feel my strength returning.--The bequest Of thy kind Patroness, which to receive We have thus far adventured, will suffice To save thee from the extreme of penury; But when thy Father must lie down and die, How wilt thou stand alone?

IDONEA Is he not strong? Is he not valiant?

HERBERT Am I then so soon Forgotten? have my warnings passed so quickly Out of thy mind? My dear, my only, Child; Thou wouldst be leaning on a broken reed-- This Marmaduke--

IDONEA O could you hear his voice: Alas! you do not know him. He is one (I wot not what ill tongue has wronged him with you) All gentleness and love. His face bespeaks A deep and simple meekness: and that Soul, Which with the motion of a virtuous act Flashes a look of terror upon guilt, Is, after conflict, quiet as the ocean, By a miraculous finger, stilled at once.

HERBERT Unhappy Woman!

IDONEA Nay, it was my duty Thus much to speak; but think not I forget-- Dear Father! how _could_ I forget and live-- You and the story of that doleful night When, Antioch blazing to her topmost towers, You rushed into the murderous flames, returned Blind as the grave, but, as you oft have told me, Clasping your infant Daughter to your heart.

HERBERT Thy Mother too!--scarce had I gained the door, I caught her voice; she threw herself upon me, I felt thy infant brother in her arms; She saw my blasted face--a tide of soldiers That instant rushed between us, and I heard Her last death-shriek, distinct among a thousand.

IDONEA Nay, Father, stop not; let me hear it all.

HERBERT Dear Daughter! precious relic of that time-- For my old age, it doth remain with thee To make it what thou wilt. Thou hast been told, That when, on our return from Palestine, I found how my domains had been usurped, I took thee in my arms, and we began Our wanderings together. Providence At length conducted us to Rossland,--there, Our melancholy story moved a Stranger To take thee to her home--and for myself, Soon after, the good Abbot of St. Cuthbert's Supplied my helplessness with food and raiment, And, as thou know'st, gave me that humble Cot Where now we dwell.--For many years I bore Thy absence, till old age and fresh infirmities Exacted thy return, and our reunion. I did not think that, during that long absence, My Child, forgetful of the name of Herbert, Had given her love to a wild Freebooter, Who here, upon the borders of the Tweed, Doth prey alike on two distracted Countries, Traitor to both.

IDONEA Oh, could you hear his voice! I will not call on Heaven to vouch for me, But let this kiss speak what is in my heart.

[Enter a Peasant]

PEASANT Good morrow, Strangers! If you want a Guide, Let me have leave to serve you!

IDONEA My Companion Hath need of rest; the sight of Hut or Hostel Would be most welcome.

PEASANT Yon white hawthorn gained, You will look down into a dell, and there Will see an ash from which a sign-board hangs; The house is hidden by the shade. Old Man, You seem worn out with travel--shall I support you?

HERBERT I thank you; but, a resting-place so near, 'Twere wrong to trouble you.

PEASANT God speed you both.

[Exit Peasant.]

HERBERT Idonea, we must part. Be not alarmed-- 'Tis but for a few days--a thought has struck me.

IDONEA That I should leave you at this house, and thence Proceed alone. It shall be so; for strength Would fail you ere our journey's end be reached.

[Exit HERBERT supported by IDONEA.]

[Re-enter MARMADUKE and OSWALD]

MARMADUKE This instant will we stop him--

OSWALD Be not hasty, For, sometimes, in despite of my conviction, He tempted me to think the Story true; 'Tis plain he loves the Maid, and what he said That savoured of aversion to thy name Appeared the genuine colour of his soul-- Anxiety lest mischief should befal her After his death.

MARMADUKE I have been much deceived.

OSWALD But sure he loves the Maiden, and never love Could find delight to nurse itself so strangely, Thus to torment her with _inventions!_--death-- There must be truth in this.

MARMADUKE Truth in his story! He must have felt it then, known what it was, And in such wise to rack her gentle heart Had been a tenfold cruelty.

OSWALD Strange pleasures Do we poor mortals cater for ourselves! To see him thus provoke her tenderness With tales of weakness and infirmity! I'd wager on his life for twenty years.

MARMADUKE We will not waste an hour in such a cause.

OSWALD Why, this is noble! shake her off at once.

MARMADUKE Her virtues are his instruments.--A Man Who has so practised on the world's cold sense, May well deceive his Child--what! leave her thus, A prey to a deceiver?--no--no--no-- 'Tis but a word and then--

OSWALD Something is here More than we see, or whence this strong aversion? Marmaduke! I suspect unworthy tales Have reached his ear--you have had enemies.

MARMADUKE Enemies!--of his own coinage.

OSWALD That may be, But wherefore slight protection such as you Have power to yield? perhaps he looks elsewhere.-- I am perplexed.

MARMADUKE What hast thou heard or seen?

OSWALD No--no--the thing stands clear of mystery; (As you have said) he coins himself the slander With which he taints her ear;--for a plain reason; He dreads the presence of a virtuous man Like you; he knows your eye would search his heart, Your justice stamp upon his evil deeds The punishment they merit. All is plain: It cannot be--

MARMADUKE What cannot be?

OSWALD Yet that a Father Should in his love admit no rivalship, And torture thus the heart of his own Child--

MARMADUKE Nay, you abuse my friendship!

OSWALD Heaven forbid!-- There was a circumstance, trifling indeed-- It struck me at the time--yet I believe I never should have thought of it again But for the scene which we by chance have witnessed.

MARMADUKE What is your meaning?

OSWALD Two days gone I saw, Though at a distance and he was disguised, Hovering round Herbert's door, a man whose figure Resembled much that cold voluptuary, The villain, Clifford. He hates you, and he knows Where he can stab you deepest.

MARMADUKE Clifford never Would stoop to skulk about a Cottage door-- It could not be.

OSWALD And yet I now remember, That, when your praise was warm upon my tongue, And the blind Man was told how you had rescued A maiden from the ruffian violence Of this same Clifford, he became impatient And would not hear me.

MARMADUKE No--it cannot be-- I dare not trust myself with such a thought-- Yet whence this strange aversion? You are a man Not used to rash conjectures--

OSWALD If you deem it A thing worth further notice, we must act With caution, sift the matter artfully.

[Exeunt MARMADUKE and OSWALD.]

SCENE--The door of the Hostel

HERBERT, IDONEA, and Host

HERBERT (seated) As I am dear to you, remember, Child! This last request.

IDONEA You know me, Sire; farewell!

HERBERT And are you going then? Come, come, Idonea, We must not part,--I have measured many a league When these old limbs had need of rest,--and now I will not play the sluggard.

IDONEA Nay, sit down. [Turning to Host. Good Host, such tendance as you would expect From your own Children, if yourself were sick, Let this old Man find at your hands; poor Leader, [_Looking at the dog_. We soon shall meet again. If thou neglect This charge of thine, then ill befall thee!--Look, The little fool is loth to stay behind. Sir Host! by all the love you bear to courtesy, Take care of him, and feed the truant well.

HOST Fear not, I will obey you;--but One so young, And One so fair, it goes against my heart That you should travel unattended, Lady!-- I have a palfrey and a groom: the lad Shall squire you, (would it not be better, Sir?) And for less fee than I would let him run For any lady I have seen this twelvemonth.

IDONEA You know, Sir, I have been too long your guard Not to have learnt to laugh at little fears. Why, if a wolf should leap from out a thicket, A look of mine would send him scouring back, Unless I differ from the thing I am When you are by my side.

HERBERT Idonea, wolves Are not the enemies that move my fears.

IDONEA No more, I pray, of this. Three days at farthest Will bring me back--protect him, Saints--farewell!

[Exit IDONEA.]

HOST 'Tis never drought with us--St. Cuthbert and his Pilgrims, Thanks to them, are to us a stream of comfort: Pity the Maiden did not wait awhile; She could not, Sir, have failed of company.

HERBERT Now she is gone, I fain would call her back.

HOST (calling) Holla!

HERBERT No, no, the business must be done.-- What means this riotous noise?

HOST The villagers Are flocking in--a wedding festival-- That's all--God save you, Sir.

[Enter OSWALD]

OSWALD Ha! as I live, The Baron Herbert.

HOST Mercy, the Baron Herbert!

OSWALD So far into your journey! on my life, You are a lusty Traveller. But how fare you?

HERBERT Well as the wreck I am permits. And you, Sir?

OSWALD I do not see Idonea.

HERBERT Dutiful Girl, She is gone before, to spare my weariness. But what has brought you hither?

OSWALD A slight affair, That will be soon despatched.

HERBERT Did Marmaduke Receive that letter?

OSWALD Be at peace.--The tie Is broken, you will hear no more of _him_.

HERBERT This is true comfort, thanks a thousand times!-- That noise!--would I had gone with her as far As the Lord Clifford's Castle: I have heard That, in his milder moods, he has expressed Compassion for me. His influence is great With Henry, our good King;--the Baron might Have heard my suit, and urged my plea at Court. No matter--he's a dangerous Man.--That noise!-- 'Tis too disorderly for sleep or rest. Idonea would have fears for me,--the Convent Will give me quiet lodging. You have a boy, good Host, And he must lead me back.

OSWALD You are most lucky; I have been waiting in the wood hard by For a companion--here he comes; our journey [Enter MARMADUKE] Lies on your way; accept us as your Guides.

HERBERT Alas! I creep so slowly.

OSWALD Never fear; We'll not complain of that.

HERBERT My limbs are stiff And need repose. Could you but wait an hour?

OSWALD Most willingly!--Come, let me lead you in, And, while you take your rest, think not of us; We'll stroll into the wood; lean on my arm.

[Conducts HERBERT into the house. Exit MARMADUKE.]

[Enter Villagers]

OSWALD (to himself, coming out of the Hostel) I have prepared a most apt Instrument-- The Vagrant must, no doubt, be loitering somewhere About this ground; she hath a tongue well skilled, By mingling natural matter of her own With all the daring fictions I have taught her, To win belief, such as my plot requires.

[Exit OSWALD.]

[Enter more Villagers, a Musician among them]

HOST (to them) Into the court, my Friend, and perch yourself Aloft upon the elm-tree. Pretty Maids, Garlands and flowers, and cakes and merry thoughts, Are here, to send the sun into the west More speedily than you belike would wish.

SCENE changes to the Wood adjoining the Hostel--

[MARMADUKE and OSWALD entering]

MARMADUKE I would fain hope that we deceive ourselves: When first I saw him sitting there, alone, It struck upon my heart I know not how.

OSWALD To-day will clear up all.--You marked a Cottage, That ragged Dwelling, close beneath a rock By the brook-side: it is the abode of One, A Maiden innocent till ensnared by Clifford, Who soon grew weary of her; but, alas! What she had seen and suffered turned her brain. Cast off by her Betrayer, she dwells alone, Nor moves her hands to any needful work: She eats her food which every day the peasants Bring to her hut; and so the Wretch has lived Ten years; and no one ever heard her voice; But every night at the first stroke of twelve She quits her house, and, in the neighbouring Churchyard Upon the self-same spot, in rain or storm, She paces out the hour 'twixt twelve and one-- She paces round and round an Infant's grave, And in the Churchyard sod her feet have worn A hollow ring; they say it is knee-deep-- Ah! [1] what is here?

[A female Beggar rises up, rubbing her eyes as if in sleep--a Child in her arms.]

BEGGAR O Gentlemen, I thank you; I've had the saddest dream that ever troubled The heart of living creature.--My poor Babe Was crying, as I thought, crying for bread When I had none to give him; whereupon, I put a slip of foxglove in his hand, Which pleased him so, that he was hushed at once: When, into one of those same spotted bells A bee came darting, which the Child with joy Imprisoned there, and held it to his ear, And suddenly grew black, as he would die.

MARMADUKE We have no time for this, my babbling Gossip; Here's what will comfort you. [Gives her money.]

BEGGAR The Saints reward you For this good deed!--Well, Sirs, this passed away; And afterwards I fancied, a strange dog, Trotting alone along the beaten road, Came to my child as by my side he slept And, fondling, licked his face, then on a sudden Snapped fierce to make a morsel of his head: But here he is, [kissing the Child] it must have been a dream.

OSWALD When next inclined to sleep, take my advice, And put your head, good Woman, under cover.

BEGGAR Oh, Sir, you would not talk thus, if you knew What life is this of ours, how sleep will master The weary-worn.--You gentlefolk have got Warm chambers to your wish. I'd rather be A stone than what I am.--But two nights gone, The darkness overtook me--wind and rain Beat hard upon my head--and yet I saw A glow-worm, through the covert of the furze, Shine calmly as if nothing ailed the sky: At which I half accused the God in Heaven.-- You must forgive me.

OSWALD Ay, and if you think The Fairies are to blame, and you should chide Your favourite saint--no matter--this good day Has made amends.

BEGGAR Thanks to you both; but, Oh Sir! How would you like to travel on whole hours As I have done, my eyes upon the ground, Expecting still, I knew not how, to find A piece of money glittering through the dust.

MARMADUKE This woman is a prater. Pray, good Lady! Do you tell fortunes?

BEGGAR Oh Sir, you are like the rest. This Little-one--it cuts me to the heart-- Well! they might turn a beggar from their doors, But there are Mothers who can see the Babe Here at my breast, and ask me where I bought it: This they can do, and look upon my face-- But you, Sir, should be kinder.

MARMADUKE Come hither, Fathers, And learn what nature is from this poor Wretch!

BEGGAR Ay, Sir, there's nobody that feels for us. Why now--but yesterday I overtook A blind old Greybeard and accosted him, I' th' name of all the Saints, and by the Mass He should have used me better!--Charity! If you can melt a rock, he is your man; But I'll be even with him--here again Have I been waiting for him.

OSWALD Well, but softly, Who is it that hath wronged you?

BEGGAR Mark you me; I'll point him out;--a Maiden is his guide, Lovely as Spring's first rose; a little dog, Tied by a woollen cord, moves on before With look as sad as he were dumb; the cur, I owe him no ill will, but in good sooth He does his Master credit.

MARMADUKE As I live, 'Tis Herbert and no other!

BEGGAR 'Tis a feast to see him, Lank as a ghost and tall, his shoulders bent, And long beard white with age--yet evermore, As if he were the only Saint on earth, He turns his face to heaven.

OSWALD But why so violent Against this venerable Man?

BEGGAR I'll tell you: He has the very hardest heart on earth; I had as lief turn to the Friar's school And knock for entrance, in mid holiday.

MARMADUKE But to your story.

BEGGAR I was saying, Sir-- Well!--he has often spurned me like a toad, But yesterday was worse than all;--at last I overtook him, Sirs, my Babe and I, And begged a little aid for charity: But he was snappish as a cottage cur. Well then, says I--I'll out with it; at which I cast a look upon the Girl, and felt As if my heart would burst; and so I left him.

OSWALD I think, good Woman, you are the very person Whom, but some few days past, I saw in Eskdale, At Herbert's door.

BEGGAR Ay; and if truth were known I have good business there.

OSWALD I met you at the threshold, And he seemed angry.

BEGGAR Angry! well he might; And long as I can stir I'll dog him.--Yesterday, To serve me so, and knowing that he owes The best of all he has to me and mine. But 'tis all over now.--That good old Lady Has left a power of riches; and I say it, If there's a lawyer in the land, the knave Shall give me half.

OSWALD What's this?--I fear, good Woman, You have been insolent.

BEGGAR And there's the Baron, I spied him skulking in his peasant's dress.

OSWALD How say you? in disguise?--

MARMADUKE But what's your business With Herbert or his Daughter?

BEGGAR Daughter! truly-- But how's the day?--I fear, my little Boy, We've overslept ourselves.--Sirs, have you seen him? [Offers to go.]

MARMADUKE I must have more of this;--you shall not stir An inch, till I am answered. Know you aught That doth concern this Herbert?

BEGGAR You are provoked, And will misuse me, Sir!

MARMADUKE No trifling, Woman!--

OSWALD You are as safe as in a sanctuary; Speak.

MARMADUKE Speak!

BEGGAR He is a most hard-hearted Man.

MARMADUKE Your life is at my mercy.

BEGGAR Do not harm me, And I will tell you all!--You know not, Sir, What strong temptations press upon the Poor.

OSWALD Speak out.

BEGGAR O Sir, I've been a wicked Woman.

OSWALD Nay, but speak out!

BEGGAR He flattered me, and said What harvest it would bring us both; and so, I parted with the Child.

MARMADUKE Parted with whom? [3]

BEGGAR Idonea, as he calls her; but the Girl Is mine.

MARMADUKE Yours, Woman! are you Herbert's wife?

BEGGAR Wife, Sir! his wife--not I; my husband, Sir, Was of Kirkoswald--many a snowy winter We've weathered out together. My poor Gilfred! He has been two years in his grave.

MARMADUKE Enough.

OSWALD We've solved the riddle--Miscreant!

MARMADUKE Do you, Good Dame, repair to Liddesdale and wait For my return; be sure you shall have justice.

OSWALD A lucky woman!--go, you have done good service. [Aside.]

MARMADUKE (to himself) Eternal praises on the power that saved her!--

OSWALD (gives her money) Here's for your little boy--and when you christen him I'll be his Godfather.

BEGGAR O Sir, you are merry with me. In grange or farm this Hundred scarcely owns A dog that does not know me.--These good Folks, For love of God, I must not pass their doors; But I'll be back with my best speed: for you-- God bless and thank you both, my gentle Masters.

[Exit Beggar.]

MARMADUKE (to himself) The cruel Viper!--Poor devoted Maid, Now I _do_ love thee.

OSWALD I am thunderstruck.

MARMADUKE Where is she--holla! [Calling to the Beggar, who returns; he looks at her stedfastly.] You are Idonea's Mother?-- Nay, be not terrified--it does me good To look upon you.

OSWALD (interrupting) In a peasant's dress You saw, who was it?

BEGGAR Nay, I dare not speak; He is a man, if it should come to his ears I never shall be heard of more.

OSWALD Lord Clifford?

BEGGAR What can I do? believe me, gentle Sirs, I love her, though I dare not call her daughter.

OSWALD Lord Clifford--did you see him talk with Herbert?

BEGGAR Yes, to my sorrow--under the great oak At Herbert's door--and when he stood beside The blind Man--at the silent Girl he looked With such a look--it makes me tremble, Sir, To think of it.

OSWALD Enough! you may depart.

MARMADUKE (to himself) Father!--to God himself we cannot give A holier name; and, under such a mask, To lead a Spirit, spotless as the blessed, To that abhorrèd den of brutish vice!-- Oswald, the firm foundation of my life Is going from under me; these strange discoveries-- Looked at from every point of fear or hope, Duty, or love--involve, I feel, my ruin.