First performed at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, on December 14, 1797.
Never tell me !—I repeat it, you are a fellow of a very scandalous course of life ! But
what principally offends me is, that you pervert the minds of the maids, and keep kissing and
smuggling all the pretty girls you meet. Oh ! fye! fye !
I kiss and smuggle them? St. Francis forbid! Lord love you, father, 'tis they who kiss and smuggle me. I protest, I do what I can to preserve my modesty; and I wish that the Archbishop Dunstan had heard the lecture upon chastity which I read last night to the dairy-maid in the dark! he'd have been quite edified. But yet what does talking signify ? The eloquence of my lips is counteracted by the lustre of my eyes; and really the little devils are so tender, and so troublesome, that I'm half angry with nature for having made me so very bewitching.
Nonsense ! nonsense !
Put yourself in my place:—suppose that a sweet, smiling rogue, just sixteen, with rosy cheeks, sparkling eyes, pouting lips, &c.
Oh, fye ! fye ! fye!—To hear such licentious discourse brings the tears into my eyes!
I believe you, father; for I see the water is running over at your mouth; which puts me in mind, my good father, that there are some little points which might be altered in you still better than in myself: such as intemperance, gluttony——
Gluttony! Oh! abominable falsehood !
Plain matter of fact!—Why, will any man pretend to say that you came honestly by that enormous belly, that tremendous tomb of fish, flesh, and fowl ? And, for incontinence, you must allow, yourself, that you are unequalled.
I!—I!
You ! you!—May I ask what was your business in the beech grove the other evening, when I caught you with buxom Margery, the miller's pretty wife ? Was it quite necessary to lay your heads together so close ?
Perfectly necessary: I was whispering in her ear wholesome advice.
Indeed ? Faith then she took your advice as kindly as it was given, and exactly in the same way too: you gave it with your lips, and she took it with hers.— Well done, father Philip !
Son, son, you give your tongue too great a license.
Nay, father, be not angry: fools, you know, are privileged persons.
I know they are very useless ones ; and in short, master Motley, to be plain with you, of all fools I think you the worst; and for fools of all kinds I've an insuperable aversion.
Really ? Then you have one good quality at least, and I cannot but admire such a total want
of selflove !
Well, well, fool; I am going ; but first let me explain to you, that my bulk proceeds from no indulgence of voracious appetite. No, son, no—little sustenance do I take ; but St. Cuthbert's blessing is upon me, and that little prospers with me most marvellously. Verily, the saint has given me rather too plentiful an increase, and my legs are scarce able to support the weight of his bounties.
He looks like an overgrown turtle, waddling
I cannot be mistaken— In spite of his dress, his features are too well known to me ! Hist! Gilbert! Gilbert!
Have you forgotten me ?
Truly, sir, that would be no easy matter; I never forget in my life what I never knew.
Hey !—can it be—Pardon me, my dear lord Percy.—In truth, you may well forgive my having forgotten your name, for at first I didn't very well remember my own. However, to prevent further mistakes, I must inform you that he who in your father's service was Gilbert the knave, is Motley the fool in the service of Earl Osmond.
Of Earl Osmond ?—This is fortunate. Gilbert, you may be of use to me; and if the attachment which, as a boy you professed for me still exists—
It does, with ardour unabated, for I'm not so unjust as to attribute to you my expulsion from Alnwick Castle: but now, sir, may I ask, what brings you to Wales ?
A woman whom I adore.
Yes, I guessed that the business was about a petticoat. And this woman is—
I hope I had better reasons for bestowing it on her. No, Gilbert; I loved her for a person
beautiful without art and graceful without affectation, for a heart tender without weakness,
and noble without pride. I saw her at once beloved and reverenced by her village companions;
they looked on her as a being of a superior order :
From which I am to understand that you mean to marry this rustic ?
Could I mean otherwise I should blush for myself.
Yet, surely, the baseness of her origin—
Can to me be no objection: in giving her my hand I raise her to my station, not debase myself to hers ; nor ever, while gazing on the beauty of a rose, did I think it less fair because planted by a peasant.
Bravo !—And what says your good grumbling father to this ?
Alas! he has long slept in the grave.
Then he's quiet at last! Well, heaven grant him that peace above, which he suffered nobody to enjoy below. But his death having left you master of your actions, what obstacle now prevents your marriage ?
You shall hear.—Fearful lest my rank should influence this lovely girl's affections, and induce her to bestow her hand on the noble, while she refused her heart to the man, I assumed a peasant's habit, and presented myself as Edwy, the low-born and the poor. In this character I gained her heart, and resolved to hail as Countess of Northumberland, the betrothed of Edwy the lowborn and the poor! Judge, then, how great must have been my disappointment, when, on entering her guardian's cottage with this design, he informed me, that the unknown, who sixteen years before had confided her to his care, had reclaimed her on that very morning, and conveyed her—no one knew whither.
That was unlucky.
However, in spite of his precautions, I have traced the stranger's course, and find him to be Kenric, a dependant upon Earl Osmond.
Surely, 'tis not Lady Angela, who—
The very same! Speak, my good fellow! do you know her ?
Not by your description; for here she's understood to be the daughter of Sir Malcolm
Mowbray, my
To demand her of the earl in marriage.
Oh! that will never do: for, in the first place, you'll not be able to get a sight of him. I've now lived with him five long years, and till Angela's arrival, never witnessed a guest in the castle. Oh! 'tis the most melancholy mansion! And as to the earl, he's the very antidote to mirth. He always walks with his arms folded, his brows bent, his eyes lowering on you with a gloomy scowl: he never smiles; and to laugh in his presence would be treason. He looks at no one—speaks to no one. None dare approach him, except Kenric and his four blacks— all others are ordered to avoid him ; and whenever he quits his room, ding! dong ! goes a great bell, and away runs the servants like so many scared rabbits.
Strange!—And what reasons can he have for—
Oh! reasons in plenty. You must know there's an ugly story respecting the last owners of this castle. Osmond's brother, his wife, and infant child were murdered by banditti, as it was said: unluckily, the only servant who escaped the slaughter, deposed, that he recognised among the assassins a black still in the service of Earl Osmond. The truth of this assertion was never known, for the servant was found dead in his bed the next morning.
Good heavens!
Since that time no sound of joy has been heard in Conway Castle. Osmond instantly became gloomy and ferocious; he now never utters a sound except a sigh, has broken every tie of society, and keeps his gates barred unceasingly against the stranger.
Yet Angela is admitted.—But, no doubt, affection for her father—
Why, no ; I rather think that affection for her father's child—
How?
If I've any knowledge in love, the earl feels it for his fair ward; but the lady will tell you more of this, if I can procure for you an interview.
The very request which—
'Tis no easy matter, I promise you; but I'll
Farewell, then, and remember that whatever reward—
Dear master, to mention a reward insults me. You have already shewn me kindness: and when 'tis in my power to be of use to you, to need the inducement of a second favor, would prove me a scoundrel undeserving of the first.
How warm is this good fellow's attachment! Yet our barons complain that the great can have no friends! If they have none, let their own pride bear the blame. Instead of looking with scorn on those whom a smile would attract, and a favour bind for ever, how many firm friends might our nobles gain, if they would but reflect that their vassals are men as they are, and have hearts whose feelings can be grateful as their own!
Now, Hassan, what success?
A troop of horsemen passed me as I left the wood.
Horsemen, say you ?—Then Kenric may be right. Earl Percy has discovered Angela's abode, and lurks near the castle, in hopes of carrying her off.
His hopes then will be vain. Osmond's vigilance will not easily be eluded—sharpened by those powerful motives, love and fear?
His love, I know; but should he lose Angela, what has he to fear?
If Percy gains her—everything! Supported by such wealth and power, dangerous would be her
claim
Think you the lady perceives that our master loves her ?
I know she does not. Absorbed in her own passion for Percy, on Osmond she bestows no thought, and, while roving through these pompous halls and chambers, sighs for the Cheviot hills and Allan's humble cottage.
But as she still believes Percy to be a low-born swain, when Osmond lays his coronet at her feet, will she reject his rank and splendour ?
If she loves well, she will. Saib, I too have loved! I have known how painful it was to leave her on whom my heart hung; how incapable was all else to supply her loss! I have exchanged want for plenty, fatigue for rest, a wretched hut for a splendid palace. But am I happier! Oh no ! Still do I regret my native land, and the partners of my poverty. Then toil was sweet to me, for I laboured for Samba! then repose ever blessed my bed of leaves, for there by my side lay Samba sleeping.
This from you, Hassan?—Did love ever find a place in your flinty bosom ?
Did it ? Oh, Saib! my heart once was gentle, once was good! But sorrows have broken it,
insults have made it hard! I have been dragged from my native land, from a wife who was
everything to me, to whom I was everything! Twenty years have elapsed since these Christians
tore me away; they trampled upon my heart, mocked my despair, and, when in frantic terms I
raved of Samba, laughed, and wondered how a negro's soul could feel! In that moment, when the
last point of Africa faded from my view, when as I stood on the vessel's deck, I felt that
all I loved was to me lost for ever, in that bitter moment did I banish humanity from my
breast. I tore from my arm the bracelet of Samba's hair ; I gave to the sea the precious
token, and while the high waves swift bore it from me, vowed, aloud, endless hatred to
mankind. I have kept my oath, I
And seemingly in wrath.
His conferences with the earl of late have had no other end. The period of his favour is arrived.
Not of his favour merely, Hassan.
How ? Mean you that—
Silence ! He's here !
Yet, that I saw Percy, I am convinced. As I crossed him in the wood, his eye met mine. He started as he had seen a basilisk, and fled with rapidity. But I will submit no longer to this painful dependance. Tomorrow, for the last time, will I summon him to perform his promise : if he refuses, I will bid him farewell for ever, and, by my absence, free him from a restraint equally irksome to myself and him.
Too late ! And wherefore ?
You will soon receive the reward of your services.
Ha ! know you what the reward will be ?
I guess, but may not tell.
Is it a secret ?
Can you keep one ?
Faithfully !
As faithfully can I. Come, Hassan.
What meant the slave ? Those doubtful expressions—ha ! should the earl intend me
false—Kenric ! Kenric! how is thy nature changed ! There was a time when fear was a stranger
to my bosom—when, guiltless myself, I dreaded not art in others. Now, where'er I turn
Nonsense ! You silly woman, what you say is not possible.
The fool, indeed ? Oh, fye! fye! How dare you call my lady's ghost a fool ?
Your lady's ghost!—you silly old woman!
Yes, father, yes ; I repeat it, I heard the guitar, lying upon the oratory table, play the
very air which the lady Evelina used to sing while rocking her little daughter's cradle. She
warbled it so sweetly, and ever at the close it went
Nonsense! Nonsense !—Why, prythee, Alice, do you think that your lady's ghost would get up at night only to sing Lullaby for your amusement ? Besides, how should a spirit, which is nothing but air, play upon an instrument of material wood and wire ?
How can I tell ?—Why, I know very well that men are made; but if you desired me to make a man, I vow and protest I shouldn't know how to set about it I can only say, that, last night, I heard the ghost of my murdered lady—
Playing upon the spirit of a cracked guitar! Alice ! Alice ! these fears are ridiculous ! The idea of ghosts is a vulgar prejudice. However, the next time you are afraid of a ghost, remember and make use of the receipt which I shall now give you ; and instead of calling for a priest to lay the spirits of other people in the Red-Sea, call for a bottle of red wine, to raise your own. Probatum est.
Wine, indeed!—I believe he thinks I like drinking
I am weary of wandering from room to room; in vain do I change the scene, discontent is everywhere— There was a time when music could delight my ear, and nature could charm my eye! when as the dawn unveiled the landscape, each object it disclosed to me looked pleasant and fair; and while the last sunbeams yet lingered on the western sky, I could pour forth a prayer of gratitude, and thank my good angels for a day unclouded by sorrow !—Now all is gone, all lost, all faded!
Lady!
Perhaps he wanders on those mountains! Perhaps at this moment he thinks upon me! Perhaps then he sighs, and murmurs to himself, "The flowers, the rivulets, the birds, every object reminds me of my wellbeloved ; but what shall remind her of Edwy ?"—Oh! that will my heart, Edwy; I need no other remembrancer.
Only ask how your ladyship rested?
Ill! very ill!
Lack-a-day! and yet you sleep in the best bed!
True, good Alice ! but my heart's anguish strewed thorns upon my couch of down.
Marry, I'm not surprised that you rested ill in the cedar-room. Those noises so near you—
What noises ? I heard none.
How ?—When the clock struck one heard you no music!
Music?—None.—Not that I—Stay! now I remember that while I sat alone in my chamber this morning—
Well, lady, well!
Methought I heard some one singing! it seemed as if the words ran
thus—
The ghost, Alice ! I protest I thought it had been you.
Me, lady!—Lord, when did you hear this singing?
Not five minutes ago, while you were talking with father Philip.
The Lord be thanked!—then it was not the ghost. It was I, lady ! it was I!—And have you heard no other singing since you came to the castle ?
None.—But why that question ?
Because, lady but perhaps you may be frightened ?
No, no !—Proceed, I entreat you.
Why, then, they do say, that the chamber in in which you sleep is haunted. You may have observed two folding doors, which are ever kept locked: they lead to the oratory, in which the Lady Evelina passed most of her time, while my lord was engaged in the Scottish wars. She would sit there, good soul ! hour after hour, playing on the lute, and singing airs so sweet, so sad, that many a time and oft have I wept to hear her. Ah ! when I kissed her hand at the castle-gate, little did I suspect that her fate would have been so wretched!
And what was her fate ?
A sad one, lady ! Impatient to embrace her lord, after a year's absence, the countess set out to meet him on his return from Scotland, accompanied by a few domestics and her infant daughter, then scarce a twelvemonth old. But, as she returned with her husband, robbers surprised the party scarce a mile from the castle; and since that time, no news has been received of the earl, of the countess, the servants, or the child.
Dreadful! Were not their bodies found ?
Never! The only domestic who escaped, pointed out the scene of action; and as it proved to be on the river's banks, doubtless the assassins plunged the bodies into the stream.
Strange ! And did Earl Osmond then become owner of this castle ?—Alice! was he ever suspected of—
Speak lower, lady! It was said so, I own: but for my part I never believed it. To my certain knowledge Osmond loved the lady Evelina too well to hurt her; and when he heard of her death, he wept, and sobbed as if his heart were breaking. Nay, 'tis certain that he proposed to her before marriage, and would have made her his wife only that she liked his brother better. But I hope you're not alarmed by what I mentioned of the cedar-room ?
No, truly, Alice ; from good spirits I have nothing to fear, and heaven and my innocence will protect me against bad.
My very sentiments, I protest—But heaven forgive me; while I stand gossiping here, I
warrant all goes wrong in the kitchen!
His strange demeanour! —Yes, in that gloomy brow is written a volume of villany! Heavenly powers ! an assassin then is master of my fate!—An assassin too who—I dare not bend my thoughts that way!—Oh ! would I had never entered these castle walls !—had never exchanged for fearful pomp the security of my pleasures—the tranquility of my soul!
The coast is clear!—Hist! Hist!—You may enter.
Loiter not here. Quick, my good fellow! Conduct me to Angela!
Be contented, and leave all to me : I will contrive matters so that Osmond shall have you
before his eyes, and be no jot the wiser,
How?
I do not dislike your plan: but tell me, Gilbert, do you believe this tale of the apparition ?
Oh! heaven forbid ! Not a word of it. Had I minded all the strange things related of this
castle, I should have died of fright in the first half-hour. Why, they say, that earl Hubert
rides every night round the castle on a white horse; that the ghost of lady Bertha haunts the
west pinnacle of the chapel tower; and that lord Hildebrand, who was condemned for treason
some sixty years ago, may be seen in the great hall regularly at midnight, playing at
foot-ball with his own head! Above all, they say that the spirit of the late countess sits
nightly in her oratory, and sings her baby to sleep. However, if
I will not sacrifice my happiness to hers ! No, Angela, you ask of me too much. Since the moment when I pierced her heart, deprived of whom life became odious; since my soul was stained with his blood who loved me, with hers whom I loved, no form has been grateful to my eye, no voice spoken pleasure to my soul, save Angela's—save only Angela's ! Mine she is, mine she shall be, though Reginald's bleeding ghost flit before me, and thunder in my ear—" Hold ! Hold !"—Peace, stormy heart! She comes!
Absurd!
While I saw you, Cheviot Hills, I was happy, oh! how happy! At morn when I left my bed, light were my spirits, and gay as the zephyrs of summer; and when at night my head again pressed my pillow, I whispered to myself, "Happy has been to-day, and to-morrow will be as happy!" Then sweet was my sleep ; and my dreams were of those whom I loved dearest.
Romantic enthusiast! These thoughts did well for the village maid, but disgrace the daughter of Sir Malcolm Mowbray. Hear me, Angela; an English baron loves you, a nobleman than whom our island boasts few more potent. 'Tis to him that your hand is destined, 'tis on him that your heart must bestowed.
I cannot dispose of that which has long been another's—My heart is Edwy's.
Edwy's ! A peasant's ?
For the obscurity of his birth chance must be blamed; the merit of his virtues belongs wholly to himself.
By Heaven you seem to think that poverty is a virtue!
Sir, I think 'tis a misfortune, not a crime: Edwy has my plighted faith; he received it on the last evening which I passed in Northumberland. It was then, that for the first time he pressed his lips to mine, and I swore that my lips should never be pressed by another!
Girl! Girl! you drive me to distraction!
You alarm me, my lord! Permit me to retire.
Stay !—
Force ? Oh no !—You dare not be so base!
Reflect on your situation, Angela; you are in my power—remember it, and be wise !
If you have a generous mind, that will be my surest safeguard. Be it my plea, Osmond, when thus I sue to you for mercy, for protection! look on me with pity, Osmond! "Tis the daughter of the man you loved, 'tis a creature, friendless, wretched, and forlorn, who kneels before you, who flies to you for refuge!—True, I am in your power; then save me, respect me, treat me not cruelly ; for—I am in your power!
I will hear no more. Will you accept my offer?
Osmond, I conjure you—
Answer my question !
Mercy ! Mercy!
Will you be mine?—Speak! Speak !
Here's rudeness ! here's ill-breeding! On my conscience, this house grows worse and worse every day!
Poor soul ! And who has been thumping and bumping you ?
Who has ? You should rather ask who has not —Why only hear: As I was just now going along the narrow passage which leads to the armoury—singing to myself, and thinking of nothing—I met lady Angela flying away, as if for dear life! So I dropped her a curtsey, but might as well have spared my pains. Without minding me any more than if I had been a dog or a cat, she pushed me on one side; and before I could recover my balance, somebody else, who came bouncing by me, gave me t'other thump—and there I lay sprawling upon the floor—however, thank the saints, I tumbled with all possible decency.
Somebody else! What somebody else ?
I know not—but he seemed to be in armour.
In armour ? Pray, Alice, looked he like a ghost ?
What he looked like, I cannot say; but I'm sure he didn't feel like one : however, you've
not heard the worst. While I was sprawling upon the ground, my lord comes tearing along the
passage; the first thing he did was to stumble against me—away went his heels—over he
came—and, in the twinkling of an eye, there lay his lordship! As soon as he got up
again—Mercy ! how he
My mind misgives me ; But what can this mean, Alice?
The meaning I neither know, or care about; but this I know—I'll stay no longer in a house when I'm treated so disrespectfully. " My lady !" says I, " Out of my way ! " says she, and pushes me on one side. " My lord!" says I, " Go to the devil!" says he, and pushes me on t'other!—I protest I never was so ill used, even when I was a young woman !
Should earl Percy be discovered—the very thought gives me a crick in my neck! At any rate I
had better inquire whether——
Don't stand prating here, but do as I bid you!
But first tell me—
I can only tell you to get out of the house— Kenric has discovered earl Percy. You are known to have introduced him—the Africans are in search of you. If you are found, you will be hung out of hand. Fly then to Edric's cottage—hide yourself there ! Hark !— Some one comes ! Away ! away ! ere it is too late !
Leave them to me ! You shall hear from me soon. Only take care of yourself, and fly with
all diligence ! Away !
This, sir, is your prison : but, doubtless your confinement will not continue long. The moment which gives me Angela's hand, shall restore you to liberty; and till that moment arrives, farewell.
Stay, sir, and hear me! By what authority presume you to call me captive ? Have you forgotten that you speak to Northumberland's earl ?
Well may I forget him, who could so far forget himself. Was it worthy of Northumberland's earl to steal disguised into my castle, and plot with my servant to rob me of my most precious treasure ?
Mine was that treasure; you deprived me of it basely, and I was justified in striving to regain my own.
Earl, nothing can justify unworthy means. If you were wronged, why sought you not your right with your sword's point ? I then should have esteemed you a noble foe, and as such would have treated you: but you have stooped to paltry artifice, and attacked me like some midnight ruffian, privately and in disguise. By this I am authorized to forget your station, and make your penance as degrading as your offence was base.
If such are indeed your sentiments, prove them now. Restore my sword, unsheath your own, and be Angela the conqueror's reward!
No, Earl Percy ! I am not so rash a gamester as to suffer that cast to be recalled, by which the stake is mine already. Angela is in my power.
Insulting coward.
Be calm, earl Percy ! You forget yourself. That I am no coward, my sword has proved in the fields of Scotland. My sword shall again prove it, if, when you are restored to liberty, you still question the courage of my heart! Angela once mine, repeat your defiance, nor doubt my answering.
Angela thine ? That she shall never be. There are angels above who favour virtue, and the hour of retribution must one day arrive ?
But long ere the arrival of that hour, shall Angela have been my bride and now farewell, lord Percy, —Muley, and Saib!
My lord ?
To you charge I commit the earl; quit not this apartment, nor suffer him for one moment from your sight.
My lord, we shall obey you.
Look, Muley, how bitterly he frowns!
Now he starts from the sofa! 'Faith, he's in a monstrous fury !
That may be. When you mean to take in other people, it certainly is provoking to be taken in yourself.
Now he's in a deep study : marry, if he studies himself out of this tower, he's a cleverer fellow than I take him for.
Were I not Osmond's captive, all might yet be well. Summoning my vassals, who by this time must be near at hand, forcing the castle, and tearing Angela from the arms of her tyrant. Alas ! my captivity has rendered this plan impracticable ! And are there then no hopes of liberty ?
He fixes his eyes on us.
Might not these fellows—I can but try it. Now stand my friend, thou master-key to human
hearts ! Aid me, thou potent devil, gold !—Hear me my worthy friends. Come nearer !—My good
fellows, you are charged with a
The tincture of your skin, my good fellow, is of little consequence : many a worthy heart beats within a dusky bosom, and I am convinced that such a heart inhabits yours ; for your looks tell me that you feel for, and are anxious to relieve my sufferings. See you this purse, my friends ?
It's too far off, and I am short-sighted. If you'll put it a little nearer—
Restore me to liberty!—and not this purse alone, but ten times its value shall be yours.
To liberty ?
That purse ?
Muley!
Saib!
You well know, that my wealth and power are equal, not to say superior, to earl Osmond's; release me from my dungeon, and share that power and wealth !
In truth, my lord, your offers are so generous, and that purse is so tempting—Saib, what say you?
The earl speaks so well, and promises so largely, that I own I'm strangely tempted.
Look you, Saib; will you stand by me ?
There's my hand then!
You agree then to release me ?
'Tis impossible to do otherwise; for I feel that pity, generosity, and every moral feeling, command me to trouble your lordship for that purse.
What! will you not keep your word?
In good troth, no; we mean to keep nothing— except the purse.
Confusion! To be made the jest of such rascals.
Earl Percy, we are none, but we should have been, could your gold have bribed us to betray our master. We have but done our duty—you have but gained your just reward ; for they who seek to deceive others should ever be deceived themselves.
Silence, fellow ! —Leave me to my thoughts !
Oh! with all our hearts. We ask no better.
Muley, we share that purse ?
Undoubtedly. Sit down and examine its contents—
How unfortunate, that the only merit of these villains should be fidelity!
Hark!—What's that?
I'll see.
Here, here! take this chair—
Now is the fittest time for flight.
Know, from your tyrant father's power,
Now, what's the matter ?
A boat lies at the foot of the tower, and the fishermen and their wives sing while they draw their nets.
Though deep the stream, though high the wall,
The danger trust me, love, is small;
To spring below then never dread;
Sing Megen-oh ! Oh! Megen-Ee !
Prithee, come down, Saib; I long to divide the purse—
Stay a moment;
Yes, I must brave the danger—I will feign to sleep; and when my gaolers are off their guard, then aid me, blessed providence !
Hold, Muley !—What if, instead of sharing the purse, we throw for its contents ? Here are dice.
With all my heart; and look—to pass our time the better, here's a bottle of the best sack in the earl's cellar.
Good! Good!—And now, be this angel the stake! But first, what is our prisoner doing ?
Oh! he sleeps; mind him not. Come, come, throw !
Here goes—nine!—now to you.
Nine too!—double the stake.
Agreed! and the throw is mine. Hark ! What noise ?
Oh !—nothing, nothing !
Methought I heard the earl—
Mere fancy !—you see he is sleeping soundly. Come, come ; throw !
There then—eleven!
That's bad—huzza !—sixes!
Plague on your fortune !—come, double or quits!
Be it so, and I throw—zounds ;—only five.
Then I think this hit must be mine—aces, by heavens!
Ha ! ha !—your health, friend!
Do you mean to empty the bottle ?—Come, come —give it to me.
Take it, blunder-head !
They encourage me to venture!—Now then, or never!
Yonder he stalks, and seems buried in himself! —Now then to attack him while my late
service is still fresh upon his memory. Should he reject my petition positively, he shall
have good cause to repent his
It shall not be ! Away with these foreboding terrors, which weigh down my heart!—I will forget the past, I will enjoy the present, and make those raptures again mine, which ——Ah ! no, no, no!—Conscience, that serpent, winds her folds round the cup of my bliss, and, ere my lips can reach it, her venom is mingled with the draught. And see where he walks, the chief object of my fears!—He advances!
So melancholy, my lord?
Ay, Kenric, and must be so till Angela is mine. Know that even now she extorted from me a promise, that, till to-morrow, I would leave her unmolested.
But till to-morrow.
But till to-morrow ?—Oh ! in that little space a lover's eye views myriads of dangers ! Yet think not, good Kenric, that your late services are undervalued by me, or that I have forgotten those for which I have been long your debtor. When, bewildered by hatred of Reginald, and grief for Evelina's loss, my dagger was placed on the throat of their infant, your hand arrested the blow —Judge then how grateful I must feel, when I behold in Angela her mother's living counterpart.—Worthy Kenric, how can I repay your services ?
These you may easily.—Let me then claim that independence so long promised, and seek for peace in some other climate, since memory forbids me to taste it in this.
Kenric, ere named, your wish was granted. In a far distant country a retreat is already prepared for you: there may you hush those clamours of conscience, which must reach me, I fear, e'en in the arms of Angela. Are you contented ?
My lord !—gratitude—amazement! —and I doubted—I suspected. Oh ! my good lord, how have I wronged your kindness!
No more ;—I must not hear you.
How now?—why this confusion?—why do you tremble ?—speak !
My lord !—the prisoner—
The prisoner ?—go on, go on!
Pardon, my lord, pardon! Our prisoner has escaped.
Villain !
Hold ! hold! What would you do ?
Unhand me, or by heaven—
Away! away ! Fly, fellow, and save yourself!
Consider, my lord—haply 'twas not by his keeper's fault that—
What is't to me by whose ? Is not my rival fled ? Soon will Northumberland's guards
encircle my walls, and force from me—Yet that by heaven they shall not! No ! rather than
resign her, my own hand shall give this castle a prey to flames; then, plunging with Angela
into the blazing gulf, I'll leave these ruins to tell posterity how desperate was my love,
and how dreadful my revenge !
Ha ! that look—that threat. Yet he seemed so kind—so grateful! He smiled too ! Oh ! there is ever danger when a villain smiles.
Hist! Kenric !
How now ? What brings—
Silence, and hear me. You have saved my life ; nor will I be ungrateful. Look at this phial !
Ha ! did the earl—
Even so. A few drops of this liquor should
Can it be possible ? Is not all this a dream ? Villain ! villain ! Yes, yes, I must away! But tremble, traitor! A bolt, of which you little think, hangs over, and shall crush you ! The keys are still in my possession; Angela shall be the partner of my flight. My prisoner too—Yet hold! May not resentment—may not Reginald's sixteen years' captivity—Oh no! Angela shall be my advocate ; and, grateful for her own, for her parent's life preserved, she can, she will obtain my pardon. Yet, should she fail, at least I shall drag down Osmond in my fall, and sweeten death's bitter cup with vengeance.
Thus far I have proceeded without danger, though not without difficulty. Yon narrow passage
is by no means calculated for persons of my habit of body. But, by my holydame, I begin to
suspect that the fool is in the right; I certainly am growing corpulent. And now, how shall I
employ myself? Sinner that I am ; why did I forget my bottle of sack ? The time will pass
tediously till Angela comes. And to complete the business, yonder is the haunted oratory.
What if the ghost should pop out on me ?—blessed St. Bridget, there would be a tête-à-tête !
Yet this is a foolish fear ; 'tis yet scarce eight o'clock, and your ghosts always keep late
hours; yet I don't like the idea of our being such near neighbours, If Alice says true, the
apparition just now
What, Alice! Alice, I say!
By St. David, 'tis the earl! I'll away as fast as I can.
You have heard my will, lady. Till your hand is mine, you quit not this chamber, and Alice, on whose fidelity I can rely, shall be your sole attendant.
If then it must be so, welcome my eternal prison ! yet eternal it shall not be. My hero, my guardianangel is at liberty. Soon shall his horn make these hateful towers tremble, and your fetters be exchanged for the arms of Percy.
Beware, beware, Angela! Dare not before me—
Before you ! Before the world! Is my attachment a disgrace ? No ! 'tis my pride ; for its object is deserving. Long ere I knew him, Percy's fame was dear to me. While I still believed him the peasant Edwy, often, in his hearing, have I dwelt upon Northumberland's praise, and chid him that he spoke of our lord so coldly! Judge then, Earl Osmond, on my arrival here, how strongly I must have felt the contrast! What peasant names you his benefactor? What beggar has been comforted by your bounty ? what sick man preserved by your care ? Your breast is unmoved by woe, your ear is deaf to complaint, your doors are barred against the poor and wretched. Not so are the gates of Alnwick Castle ; they are open as their owner's heart.
Insulting girl!—This to my face ?
Nay, never bend your brows ! Shall I tremble, because you frown ? Shall my eye sink,
because anger
Amazement!—Can this be the gentle, timid Angela ?
Wonder you that the worm should turn when you trample it so cruelly ? Oh! wonder no more; ere he was torn from me, I clapsed Percy to my breast, and my heart caught a spark of that fire which flames in his unceasingly !
Caught fire, lady !
Silence, old crone!—I have heard you calmly, Angela; now then hear me. Twelve hours shall
be allowed you to reflect upon your situation; till that period is elapsed this chamber shall
be your prison, and Alice, on whose fidelity I can depend, your sole attendant. This term
expired, should you still reject my hand, force shall obtain for me what love denies.
Tremble, did he say ? Alas ! how quickly is my boasted courage vanished! Yet I will not despair; there is a power in heaven, there is a Percy on earth ; on them will I rely to save me.
The first may, lady ; but as to the second, he'll be of no use, depend on't. Now might I advise, you'd accept my lord's offer: what matters it whether the man's name be Osmond or Percy ? An earl's an earl after all; and though one may be something richer than t'other—
Oh! silence, Alice !—nor aid my tryant's designs: rather instruct me how to counteract them ;— you have influence in the castle; assist me to escape.
I help you to escape ! Not for the best gown in your ladyship's wardrobe! I tremble at the very idea of my lord's rage; and, besides, had I the will, I've not the power. Kenric keeps the keys; we could not possibly quit the castle without his knowledge; and if the earl threatens to use force with you—Oh, gemini ! what would he use with me, lady ?
Threatens, Alice! I despise his threats!
Holy fathers!—a dagger !
Even now, as I wandered through the armoury, my eye was attracted by its glittering handle. Look, Alice! it bears Osmond's name ; and the point—
Is rusty with blood! Take it away, lady ! take it away ! I never see blood without fainting !
This weapon may render me good service. But, ah ! what service has it rendered Osmond ? Haply 'twas this very poniard which drank his brother's blood—or which pierced the fair breast of Evelina! Said you not, Alice, that this was her portrait ?
I did, lady; and the likeness was counted excellent.
How fair! how heavenly!
Ah ! 'twas a sad day for me, when I heard of the dear lady's loss ! look at the bed, lady:—that very bed was hers. How often have I seen her sleeping in that bed! And, oh! how like an angel she looked when sleeping! I remember, that just after Earl Reginald— Oh! Lord! didn't somebody shake the curtain ?
Absurd ! It was the wind.
I declare it made me tremble !—Well, as I was saying, I remember, just after Earl Reginald had set out for the Scottish wars, going into her room one morning, and hearing her sob most bitterly.—So advancing to the bed-side, as it might be thus—"My lady," says I, with a low courtsey, " Isn't your ladyship well?"—So, with that, she raised her head slowly above the quilt, and giving me a mournful look—
The devil! the devil!
How now?
Stay, daughter, stay ! If you run, I can never overtake you!
Amazement! Father Philip !
The very same ; and at present the best friend that you have in the world. Daughter, I came to save you.
To save me ? Speak ! Proceed !
Observe this picture :
Oh, worthy, worthy father! Quick, let us hasten ! let us not lose one moment !
Hold! hold! Not so fast. You forget that between the hall and vestibule we must traverse many chambers much frequented at this early hour. Wait till the castle's inhabitants are asleep. Expect me, without fail, at one.
Stay yet one moment. Tell me, does Percy—
I have apprised him, this night will restore you to liberty, and he expects you at the fisherman's cottage. Now then, farewell fair daughter!
Good friar, till one, farewell! This is thy doing, Father of Justice! receive my thanks. Yes, Percy, we shall meet once more—shall meet never again to separate ! Those dreams shall be realised—those smiling, golden dreams which floated before us in Allan's happy cottage. I must not expect thee, friar, before one. Till that hour arrives, will I kneel at the feet of yonder saint, and tell my beads and pray for morning.
'Tis near midnight, and the Earl is already
How, Alice, is it you ?
So, so! have I found you at last, father? I have been in search of you these four hours!—Oh! I've been so frightened since I saw you, that I wonder I keep my senses!
So do I ; for I'm sure they're not worth the trouble. And pray what has alarmed you thus? I warrant you've taken an old cloak pinned against the wall for a spectre, or discovered the devil in the shape of a tabby cat.
For the love of heaven, father, don't name the devil! or, if you must speak of him, pray mention the good gentleman with proper politeness. I'm sure, for my own part, I had always a great respect for him, and if he hears me, I dare say, he'll own as much, for he certainly haunts this castle in the form of my late lady.
Form of a fiddle-stick!—Don't tell me of your—
Father, on the word of a virgin, I saw him this very evening in Lady Angela's bed!
In Lady Angela's? On my conscience, the devil has an excellent taste ! But, Alice! Alice! how dare you trot about the house at this time of the night, propagating such abominable falsehoods ? One comfort is, that nobody will believe you. Lady Angela's virtue is too well known and I'm persuaded she wouldn't suffer the devil to put a single claw into her bed for the universe.
How you run on ! Lord bless you, she wasn't in bed herself.
Oh ! was she not.
No to be sure : but you shall hear how it happened. We were in the cedar-room together; and
while we were talking of this and that, Lady Angela suddenly gave a great scream ; I looked
round, and what should I see but a tall figure, all in white, extended upon the bed! At the
same time I heard a voice, which I knew to be the Countess Evelina's, pronounce in a hollow
tone—" Alice!
Well done, Alice! A very good story, upon my word. It has but one fault—'tis not true.
Odds my life, father, how can you tell any thing about it ? Sure I should know best; for I was there, and you were not. I repeat it—I heard the voice as plain as I hear yours : do you think I've no ears !
Oh! far from it: I think you've uncommonly good ones; for you not only hear what has been said, but what has not. As to this wonderful story of yours, Alice, I don't believe one word of it; I'll be sworn that the voice was no more like your lady's than like mine; and that the devil was no more in the bed than I was. Therefore, take my advice, set your heart at rest, and go quietly to your chamber, as I am now going to mine. Good night.
There, he's gone !—Dear heart! dear heart! what shall I do now? 'Tis past twelve o'clock, and stay by myself I dare not. I'll e'en wake the laundry-maid, make her sit up in my room all night; and 'tis hard if two women ain't a match for the best devil in Christendom.
The earl then has forgiven me! A moment longer and his pardon would have come too late. Had not Kenric held his hand, by this time I should be at supper with St. Peter.
Your folly well deserved such a reward. Knowing the Earl's hasty nature, you should have shunned him till the first storm of passion was past, and circumstances had again made your ministry needful. Anger then would have armed his hand in vain ; for interest, the white man's God, would have blunted the point of his dagger.
I trusted that his gratitude for my past services—
European gratitude ? Seek constancy in the
Then why so attached to Osmond ? For what do
Not for his virtues, but for his vices, Saib; can there for me be a greater cause to love him ? Am I not branded with scorn ? Am I not marked out for dishonour? Was I not free, and am I not a slave ? Was I not once beloved, and am I not now despised ? What man, did I tender my service, would accept the negro's friendship? What woman, did I talk of affection, would not turn from the negro with disgust? Yet, in my own dear land, my friendship was courted, my love was returned. I had parents, children, wife! Bitter thought, in one moment all were lost to me ! Can I remember this, and not hate these white men? Can I think how cruelly they have wronged me, and not rejoice when I see them suffer? Attached to Osmond, say you?—Saib, I hate him ! Yet viewing him as an avenging fiend sent hither to torment his fellows, it glads me that he fills his office so well! Oh! 'tis a thought which I would not barter for empires, to know that in this world he makes others suffer, and will suffer himself for their tortures in the next!
Hassan, I will sleep no more in the lion's den. My resolve is taken : I will away from the castle, and seek, in some other service, that security—
What, hoa! help ! lights there! lights!
Hark ! Surely 'twas the earl !
Save me ! save me ! They are at hand! Oh, let them not enter!
What can this mean? How violently he trembles ?
Speak, my lord! Do you not know us?
Ha ! whose voice—Hassan's ? And Saib too here ? Oh! was it then but a dream ? Did I not
hear those dreadful, those damning words? Still, still they ring in my ears. Hassan
Compose yourself, my lord. Can a mere dream unman you thus ?
A mere dream, say'st thou ? Hassan, 'twas a dream of such horror! Did such dreams haunt my bitterest foe, I should wish him no severer punishment. Mark you not how the ague of fear still makes my limbs tremble? Roll not my eyes as if still gazing on the spectre? Are not my lips convulsed, as were they yet pressed by the kiss of corruption ? Oh! 'twas a sight that might have bleached joy's rosy cheek for ever, and strewed the snows of age upon youth's auburn ringlets ! Hark, fellows ! Instruments of my guilt, listen to my punishment! Methought I wandered through the low-browed caverns, where repose the reliques of my ancestors ! Suddenly a female form glided along the vault; it was Angela! She smiled upon me, and beckoned me to advance. I flew towards her; my arms were already unclosed to clasp her; when suddenly, her figure changed, her face grew pale, a stream of blood gushed from her bosom ! Hassan, 'twas Evelina!
Evelina !
Such as when she sank at my feet expiring, while my hand grasped the dagger still crimsoned with her blood! " We meet again this night !" murmured her hollow voice ! " Now rush to my arms—but first see what you have made me ! Embrace me, my bridegroom ! We must never part again!" While speaking her form withered away: the flesh fell from her bones; her eyes burst from their sockets; a skeleton, loathsome and meagre, clasped me in her mouldering arms !
Most horrible!
And now blue dismal flames gleamed along the walls ; the tombs were rent asunder ; bands of fierce spectres rushed around me in frantic dance ; furiously they gnashed their teeth while they gazed upon me, and shrieked in loud yell " Welcome, thou fratricide ! Welcome, thou lost for ever!" Horror burst the bands of sleep; distracted I flew hither; but my feelings—words are too weak, too powerless to express them.
My lord! my lord! this was no idle dream! it was a celestial warning ; 'twas your better angel that whispered, "Osmond, repent your former crimes; commit no new ones." Remember, that this night should Kenric—
Kenric ? Oh, speak !—drank he the poison ?
Obedient to your orders, I presented it at supper; but ere the cup reached his lips, his favourite dog sprang upon his arm, and the liquor fell to the ground untasted.
Praised be heaven ! Then my soul is lighter by a crime. Kenric shall live, good Saib. What
though he quit me, and betray my secrets ? Proofs he cannot bring against me, and bare
assertions will not be believed. At worst, should his tale be credited, long ere Percy can
wrest her from me shall Angela be mine.
Yes, thou art sweet, vengeance ! Oh ! how it joys me when the white man suffers! Yet weak are his pangs compared with those I felt when torn from thy shores, oh, native Africa—from thy bosom, my faithful Samba! Oh, when I forget my wrongs, may I forget myself! When I forbear to hate these Christians, God of my fathers, may'st thou hate me ! Ha ! whence that light ! A man moves this way with a lamp ! How cautiously he steals along! He must be watched ;—this friendly column will shield me from his regard. Silence! he comes,
All is hushed; the castle seems buried in sleep. Now then to Angela.
It was Kenric ! Still he moves
Will it never arrive, this tedious lingering hour? Sure an age must have elapsed since the friar left me, and still the bell strikes not one! Hark ! Surely I heard—some one unlocks the door !—Oh ! should it be the earl! should he not retire ere the monk arrives!—The door opens— How !—Kenric here!—Speak—what would you?
Softly, lady!—If overheard, I am lost—and your fate is connected with mine—
What means this mystery?—This midnight visit—
Is the visit of a friend, of a penitent !—Lady, I must away from the castle : the keys are
in my possession : I will make you the companion of my flight, and deliver you safe into the
hands of Percy.—But, ere we depart—
Rise, Kenric: I understand you not. Of what captive do you speak ?
Of one, who by me has been most injured, who to you will be most dear. Listen, lady, to my
strange narration. I was brought up with Osmond, was the partner of his pleasures, the
confident of his cares. The latter, sprung solely from his elder brother, whose birth-right
he coveted, whose superiority he envied. Yet his aversion burst not forth till Evelina
Neville, rejecting his hand, bestowed her's with her heart on Reginald. Then did Osmond's
passion overleap all bounds. He resolved to assassinate his brother when returning from the
Scottish
Wretched man !
Condemn me not unheard. 'Tis true, that I followed Osmond to the scene of slaughter, but no blood that day imbrued my hand. It was the earl whose sword struck Reginald to the ground; it was the earl whose dagger was raised to complete his crime, when Evelina threw herself upon her husband's body, and received the weapon in her own.
Dreadful! dreadful!
His hopes disappointed by this accident, Osmond's wrath became madness. He gave the word for slaughter, and Reginald's few attendants were butchered on the spot. Scarce could my prayers and arguments save from his wrath his infant niece, whose throat was already gored by his poniard. Angela, yours still wears that mark.
Mine ?—Almighty powers!
Lady, 'tis true. I concealed in Allan's cottage the heiress of Conway: there were you doomed to languish in obscurity, till, alarmed by the report of his spies that Percy loved you, he caused me to reclaim you from Allan, and resolved, by making you his wife, to give himself a lawful claim to these possessions.
The monster ! Oh ! good—good Kenric ! and you knelt to me for pardon ? You to whom I owe my life ! You to whom—
Hold! oh, hold !—lady, how little do I deserve your thanks!—Oh! listen! listen !—I was the last to quit the bloody spot: sadly was I retiring, when a faint groan struck my ear. I sprang from my horse; I placed my hand on Reginald's heart; it beat beneath the pressure !
It beat! it beat! Cruel, and your dagger—
Oh! that would have been mercy. No, lady; it struck me, how strong would be my hold over
Osmond,
Still exists, say you ? My father still exists ?
He does, if a life so wretched can be termed existence. While his swoon lasted, I chained him to his dungeon wall; and no sooner were his wounds healed, than I entered his prison no more. Lady, near sixteen years have passed since the human voice struck the ear of Reginald!
Alas! alas !
But the hour of his release draws near: I discovered this night that Osmond seeks my life, and resolved to throw myself on your mercy. Then tell me, lady, will you plead for me with your father ? Think you, he can forgive the author of his sufferings ?
Kenric, you have been guilty—cruel: but restore to me my father, aid us to escape, and all shall be forgiven—all forgot.
Then follow me in silence; I will guide you to Reginald's dungeon : this key unlocks the castle gates, and ere the cock crows, safe in the arms of Percy—
Horror !—the earl !—undone for ever !
Miscreant !—within there !
Hence with that traitor! confine him in the western tower !
Yet speak once more, Kenric ; where is my father? What place conceals him?
Let him not speak ! away with him!
Nay, stifle not your curses ! why should your lips be silent when your eye speaks ? Is there not written on every feature "Vengeance on the assassin! Justice on my mother's murderer?" But mark me, Angela ! compared to that which soon must be thine, these titles are sweet and lovely. Know'st thou the word parricide, Angela ? Know'st thou their pangs who shed the blood of a parent ? —Those pangs must be thine to-morrow. This long-concealed captive, this new-found father—
Your brother Osmond? your brother ?— Surely you cannot, will not—
Still doubt you, that I both can, and will ?— Remember Kenric's tale! Remember, though the first blow failed, the second will strike deeper!—But from whom must Reginald receive that second ? Not from his rival brother? not from his inveterate foe!—from his daughter—his unfeeling daughter! 'Tis she, who, refusing me her hand, will place a dagger in mine ; 'tis she, whose voice declaring that she hates me, will bid me plunge that dagger in her father's heart!
Man ! man ! drive me not mad !
Then fancy that he lies in some damp solitary dungeon, writhing in death's agonies, his soul burthened with crimes, his last words curses on his unnatural child, who could have saved him, but would not!
Horrible ! horrible !
Must Reginald die, or will Angela be mine ?
Thine ?— She will perish first!
You have pronounced his sentence, and his blood be on your head!—Farewell!
Hold ! hold ! Look with pity on a creature whom your cruelty has bowed to the earth, whose heart you have almost broken, whose brain you have almost turned ! —Mercy, Osmond ! Oh ! mercy ! mercy!
Lovely, lovely suppliant! Why owe to cold consent what force may this instant give me ?—It shall be so, and thus—
Away! approach me not ! dare not to touch me, or this poniard—
Foolish girl! let me but say the word, and thou art disarmed that moment.
By hell, the very poniard which—
Ha! hast thou found me, villain ?— Villain, dost thou know this weapon. Know'st thou whose blood incrusts the point ? Murderer, it flowed from the bosom of my mother!
Within there! help !
Oh ! Mercy, heaven!
He faints!—Long may the villain wear thy chains, oblivion!—Long be it ere he wakes to
commit new crimes !
Heavens! The very words which Alice —— The door too ! It moves ! It opens ! Guard me, good angels !
Thanks to St. Francis, we have as yet passed unobserved ! Surely, of all travelling companions, fear is the least agreeable: I couldn't be more fatigued, had I run twenty miles without stopping !
Why this delay ? Good father, let us proceed.
Ere I can go further, lady, I must needs stop to take breath, and refresh my spirits with a
taste of this cordial.
Oh, not now! Wait till we are safe under
Well, well; be calm, daughter!—Oh, these women! these women ! They mind no one's comfort but their own ! Now where is the door ?
How tedious seems every moment which I pass within these hated walls !—Ha! yonder comes a light.
So, so—I've found it at last.
It moves this way! By all my fears, 'tis Osmond ! In, father, in !—Away, for heaven's sake !
Is all still within the castle ?
As the silence of the grave.
Where are your fellows ?
Saib guards the traitor Kenric: Muley and Alaric are buried in sleep.
Their hands have been stained with blood, and yet can they sleep? Call your companions
hither.
Yes! this is the place. If Kenric said true, for sixteen years have the vaults beneath me rung with my brother's groans. I dread to unclose the door ! How shall I sustain the beams of his eye, when they rest on Evelina's murderer ? Ha ! at that name my expiring hate revives! Reginald! Reginald ! for thee was I sacrificed ! Oh ! When it strikes a second blow, my poniard shall strike surer !
My lord ! my lord !
Now, why this haste ?
I tremble to inform you, that Saib has fled the castle. A master-key, which he found upon Kenric, and of which he kept possession, has enabled him to escape.
Saib, too, gone ?—All are false ! All forsake me!
Yet more, my lord ; he has made his prisoner the companion of his flight.
How? Kenric escaped?
'Tis but too certain; doubtless he has fled to Percy.
To Percy? Ha! Then I must be speedy: my fate hangs on a thread ! Friends, I have ever found
ye faithful; mark me now !
My child ! My Evelina !—Oh! fly me not, lovely forms!—They are gone, and once more I live
to misery. Thou wert kind to me, sleepI ! Even now, methought I sat in my castle-hall: a
maid, lovely as the
Be cautious, father!—Feel you not how the ground trembles beneath us ?
Perfectly well; and would give my best breviary to find myself once more on terra firma. But the outlet cannot be far off: let us proceed.
Look down upon us, blessed angels ! Aid us! Protect us !
Amen, fair daughter!
How wastes my lamp ? The hour of Kenric's visit must long be past, and still he comes not.
How, if death's hand hath struck him suddenly? My existence unknown—Away from my fancy,
dreadful idea!
How's this ? A door ?
It was barred on the outside.
That we'll forgive, as it wasn't bolted on the in. But I don't recollect—Surely I've not—
What's the matter ?
By my faith, daughter, I suspect that I've missed my way.
Heaven forbid!
Nay, if 'tis so, I shan't be the first man who of two ways has preferred the wrong.
Provoking! And did I not tell you to choose the right-hand passage!
Truly, did you : and that was the very thing which made me choose the left. Whenever I am in doubt myself I generally ask a woman's advice. When she's of one way of thinking, I've always found that reason's on the other. In this instance, perhaps I have been mistaken, but wait here a moment and the fact shall be ascertained.
How thick and infectious is the air of this cavern! Yet perhaps for sixteen years has my poor father breathed none purer. Hark! Steps are quick advancing! The friar comes, but why in such confusion?
Help ! help ! it follows me!
What alarms you ? Speak!
His ghost! his ghost!—Let me go !—let me go !—let me go!
Father! Father! Stay, for heaven's sake !- He's gone ! I cannot find the door! Hark ! 'Twas
Why did Kenric enter my prison. Haply, when he heard not my groans at the dungeon door, he thought that my woes were relieved by death! Oh! when will that thought be verified ?
Each sound of his hollow plaintive voice strikes to my heart. Dared I accost him—yet perhaps a maniac —no matter; he suffers, and the accents of pity will sound sweetly in his ears!
Thou art dead and at rest, my wife ! Safe in yon skies, no thought of me molests thy quiet. Yet sure I wrong thee! At the hour of death thy spirit shall stand besides me, shall close mine eyes gently, and murmur, "Die, Reginald, and be at peace !"
Hark! Heard I not
'Tis she! She comes for me! Is the hour at hand, fair vision ? Spirit of Evelina, lead on, I follow thee!
He faints—perhaps expires! Still, still,—see he revives!
'Tis gone! Once more the sport of my bewildered brain,
Ha! named he not Evelina ? That look !— this dungeon too !—the emotions which his voice—it
is, it must be. Father! oh, father! father!
Said you ?—meant you ? My daughter ?—my infant, whom I left—Oh, yes, it must be true! My
heart, which springs towards you, acknowledges my child!
Oh ! that name recalls my terrors! Alas ! you see in me a fugitive from his violence! Guided by a friendly monk, whom your approach has frightened from me, I was endeavouring to escape : we missed our way, and chance guided us to this dungeon. But this is not a time for explanation. Answer me ! Know you the subterraneous passages belonging to this castle ?
Whose entrance is without the walls ? I do.
Then we may yet be saved ! Father, we must fly this moment. Percy, the pride of our English
youth, waits for me at the Conway's side. Come then, oh ! come! stay not one moment longer.
Look ! look, my child!—the beams of distant torches flash through the gloom !
Hassan, guard you the door. Follow me, friends.
Osmond's voice! Undone! undone ! Oh, my father! he comes to seek you, perhaps to—Oh! 'tis a word too dreadful for a daughter's lips!
Hark! they come ! The gloom of yonder cavern (R. 3 E.) may a while conceal you: fly to it—hide yourself—stir not, I charge you.
What, leave you ? Oh! no, no!
Dearest, I entreat? I conjure you, fly! Fear not for me!
Father! Oh! Father!
Farewell! perhaps for ever!
The door unbarred?
You here, Osmond ? What brings you to this
Aright, if you have read my hatred.
Have I deserved that hate ? See, my brother, the once proud Reginald lies at your feet, for his pride has been humbled by suffering ! Hear him adjure you by her ashes, within whose bosom we both have lain, not to stain your hands with the blood of your brother!
He melts me in my own despite.
Kenric has told me that my daughter lives! Restore me to her arms; permit us in obscurity to pass our days together! Then shall my last sigh implore upon your head heaven's forgiveness, and Evelina's.
It shall be so. Rise, Reginald, and hear me ! You mentioned even now your daughter: know, she is in my power; know, also, that I love her !
How?
She rejects my offers. Your authority can oblige her to accept them. Swear to use it, and this instant will I lead you to her arms. Say will you give the demanded oath?
I cannot dissemble: Osmond, I never will.
How ?—Reflect that your life—
Would be valueless, if purchased by my daughter's tears—would be loathsome, if embittered by my daughter's misery. Osmond, I will not take the oath.
'Tis enough—
Brother, for pity's sake! for your soul's happiness !
Obey me, slaves ! Away!
Hold off!—hurt him not! he is my father !
Angela here ?
Daughter, what means—
You shall live, father! I will sacrifice all to preserve you. Here is my hand, Osmond. Osmond, release my father, and solemnly I swear——
Hold, girl, and first hear me !
Hold! Oh! hold—end not your oath!
Swear never to be Osmond's!
I swear!
Be repaid by this embrace.
Be it your last! Tear them asunder! Ha ! what noise ?
My lord, all is lost! Percy has surprised the castle, and speeds this way !
Confusion! Then I must be sudden. Aid me Hassan!
Horror! what form is this ?
Die!