Pity that our young Chief will have no part

In this good service.

Wal.

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 favor in our sight, Well may we wonder he has gained such power Over our much-loved Captain.

Wal.

I have heard Of some dark deed to which in early life

His passion drove him,

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.

Wil. Be cautious, my dear Master!
Mar.

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

Wil. Nay, but I grieve that we should part.
This stranger,

For such he is

VOL. I.

I perceive

Mar.

Your busy fancies, Wilfred,

Might tempt me to a smile; but what of him? Wil. You know that you have saved his life. Mar.

Wil. And that he hates you!

perhaps

That word was hasty.

Mar.

I know it.

-Pardon me,

Fy! no more of it.

Wil. Dear Master! gratitude's a heavy burden To a proud soul. — Nobody loves this Oswald, — Yourself, you do not love him.

Mar.

I do more,

I honor him. Strong feelings to his heart

Are natural; and from no one can be learnt
More of man's thoughts and ways than his expe-

rience

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.

Wil.

Mar.

Oh, Sir!

Peace, my good Wilfred;

Repair to Liddesdale, and tell the Band

I shall be with them in two days, at farthest.
Wil. May He whose eye is over all protect you.

[Exit.

Enter OSWALD (a bunch of plants in his hand.) Osw. This wood is rich in plants and curious

simples.

Mar. (looking at them.) The wild rose, and the

poppy, and the nightshade:

Which is your favorite, Oswald?

Osw.

Strong to destroy, is also strong to heal.

Not yet in sight!

That which, while it is

[Looking forward.

We'll saunter here awhile;

They cannot mount the hill, by us unseen.

Mar. (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?

Osw. And saw the tears with which she blotted it.
Mar. And nothing less would satisfy him?
Osw.

No less;

For that another in his Child's affection
Should hold a place, as if 't were 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.

Mar.

Ne'er may I own the heart

That cannot feel for one, helpless as he is.

Osw. Thou know'st me for a man not easily

moved,

Yet was I grievously provoked to think

Of what I witnessed.

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?

Osw.

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, neighbors of the Esk and Tweed: 't is much

The Arch-impostor

Mar.

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,
'T was my delight to sit and hear Idonea

Repeat her Father's terrible adventures,

Till all the band of playmates wept together;
And that was the beginning of my love.
of our later years,

And, through all converse

An image of this old man still was present,
When I had been most happy. Pardon me

If this be idly spoken.

Osw.

Two travellers!

See, they come,

Mar. (points.) The woman is Idonea.
Osw. And leading Herbert.

Mar.

We must let them pass,

[They step aside.

This thicket will conceal us.

Enter IDONEA, leading HERBERT, blind.

Idon. Dear Father, you sigh deeply; ever since We left the willow shade by the brook-side,

Your natural breathing has been troubled.

Her.

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

Idon.

Nay,

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