Freb. (to Jane.) Cheer up, my noble friend; all Contemning carelessness, and all offence;

And had caress'd him as a worthy heart,
From native weakness such indulgence claiming.
But since he proudly thinks that cold respect,
The formal tokens of his lordly favour,
So precious are, that I would sue for them

(To the Countess.) My love, the morning, now, is As fair distinction in the public eye,

Forgetting former wrongs, I spurn it all.
And but that I do bear that noble woman,
His worthy, his incomparable sister,
Such fix'd profound regard, I would expose him;

Freb. (to De Mon.) Good day, De Monfort. (To And as a mighty bull, in senseless rage,

They enter and pass over the stage and EXEUNT; and From small offence he rear'd a quarrel with me, after them enter REZENVELT and FREBERG.

behind him, with a timid step. DE MONFORT, hearing him, turns suddenly about.

De Mon. (angrily.) Who follows me to this sequester'd room?

Jer. I have presumed, my lord. 'Tis somewhat late:

I am inform'd you eat at home to-night;

Here is a list of all the dainty fare

My busy search has found; please to peruse it.
De Mon. Leave me: begone! Put hemlock in
Or deadly night-shade, or rank hellebore,
thy soup,
And I will mess upon it.

Jer.

Heaven forbid !

Con. Forgive, I pray, my lord, a stranger's bold- Your honour's life is all too precious, sure

That mien so dignified, that piercing eye
Assured me it was he.

Freb. My name is not De Monfort, courteous
stranger;

But if you have a favour to request,
I may, with him, perhaps, befriend your suit.

Con. I thank your honour, but I have a friend
Who will commend me to De Monfort's favour;
The Marquis Rezenvelt has known me long,
Who, says report, will soon become his brother.
Freb. If thou wouldst seek thy ruin from De
Monfort,

The name of Rezenvelt employ, and prosper;
But, if aught good, use any name but his.

Con. How may this be?
Freb.

I cannot now explain.
Early to-morrow call upon Count Freberg;
So am I call'd, each burgher knows my house,
And there instruct me how to do you service.
Good-night.

[EXIT.

Con. (alone.) Well, this mistake may be of service to me:

And yet my business I will not unfold

To this mild, ready, promise-making courtier ;
I've been by such too oft deceived already.
But if such violent enmity exists
Between De Monfort and this Rezenvelt,
He'll prove my advocate by opposition.
For if De Monfort would reject my suit,
Being the man whom Rezenvelt esteems,
Being the man he hates, a cord as strong,
Will he not favour me? I'll think of this. [EXIT.

SCENE II-A LOWER APARTMENT IN

JEROME'S

De Mon. (sternly.) Did I not say begone?
Jer. Pardon, my lord, I'm old, and oft forget.

[EXIT. De Mon. (looking after him, as if his heart smote him.) Why will they thus mistime their foolish zeal,

That I must be so stern?

O, that I were upon some desert coast!
Where howling tempests and the lashing tide
Would stun me into deep and senseless quiet;
As the storm-beaten traveller droops his head,
In heavy, dull, lethargick weariness,
And, midst the roar of jarring elements,
Sleeps to awake no more.

What am I grown? all things are hateful to me.

Enter MANUEL.

(Stamping with his foot.) Who bids thee break upon my privacy?

Man. Nay, good my lord! I heard you speak

aloud,

And dreamt not, surely, that you were alone.

De Mon. What, dost thou watch, and pin thine
ears to holes,

To catch those exclamations of the soul,
Which heaven alone should hear? Who hired thee,
pray?

Who basely hired thee for a task like this?

Man. My lord, I cannot hold. For fifteen years,
Long troubled years, I have your servant been,
Nor hath the proudest lord in all the realm,
With firmer, with more honourable faith
His sovereign served, than I have served you;
But if my honesty is doubted now,

Let him who is more faithful take my place,
And serve you better.

De Mon. Well, be it as thou wilt. Away with
thee!

Thy loud-mouth'd boasting is no rule for me
To judge thy merit by.

Enter JEROME hastily, and pulls MANUEL away. Jer. Come, Manuel, come away; thou art not wise.

The stranger must depart and come again,
HOUSE, WITH A WIDE, FOLDING GLASS DOOR, For now his honour will not be disturb'd.

LOOKING INTO A GARDEN, WHERE THE TREES AND
SHRUBS ARE BROWN AND LEAFLESS.

Enter DE MONFORT with a thoughtful, frowning aspect,
and paces slowly across the stage, JEROME following

[EXIT Manuel, sulkily. De Mon. A stranger said'st thou ?

(Drops his handkerchief.) Jer. I did, good sir, but he shall go away;

You shall not be disturb'd.

A tale so damn'd?-It chokes my breath(Stooping to lift the handkerchief.)|(Stamping with his foot.) What wretch did tell it You have dropp'd somewhat.

De Mon. (preventing him.) Nay, do not stoop, my friend! I pray thee not!

Thou art too old to stoop.

I'm much indebted to thee.-Take this ring-
I love thee better than I seem to do.

I pray thee do it-thank me not-What stranger?
Jer. A man who does most earnestly entreat
To see your honour; but I know him not.
De Mon. Then let him enter.

[EXIT Jerome.

A pause. Enter CONRAD.

thee?

Con. Nay, every one with whom I have con-
versed

Has held the same discourse. I judge it not.
But you, my lord, who with the lady dwell,
You best can tell what her deportment speaks;
Whether her conduct and unguarded words
Belie such rumour.

(De Monfort pauses, staggers backward, and
sinks into a chair; then starting up hastily.)
De Mon. Where am I now? midst all the
cursed thoughts,

De Mon. You are the stranger who would speak That on my soul like stinging scorpions prey'd,

The tiresome preface of apology

I will forbear, and tell my tale at once.—
In plodding drudgery I've spent my youth,
A careful penman in another's office;
And now, my master and employer dead,
They seek to set a stripling o'er my head,
And leave me on to drudge, e'en to old age,
Because I have no friend to take my part.
It is an office in your native town,

For I am come from thence, and I am told
You can procure it for me. Thus, my lord,
From the repute of goodness which you bear,
I have presumed to beg.

De Mon. They have befool'd thee with a false
report.

Con. Alas! I see it is in vain to plead. Your mind is prepossess'd against a wretch, Who has, unfortunately for his weal, Offended the revengeful Rezenvelt.

De Mon. What dost thou say?

Con. What I, perhaps, had better leave unsaid.
Who will believe my wrongs if I complain?
I am a stranger, Rezen velt my foe,
Who will believe my wrongs?

De Mon. (eagerly catching him by the coat.)
I will believe them!
Though they were base as basest, vilest deeds,
In ancient record told, I would believe them!
Let not the smallest atom of unworthiness
That he has put upon thee be conceal'd.
Speak boldly, tell it all; for, by the light!

I'll be thy friend, I'll be thy warmest friend,

If he has done thee wrong.

This never came before-O, if it be !
The thought will drive me mad.-Was it for this
She urged her warm request on bended knee?
Alas! I wept, and thought of sister's love,
No damned love like this.

Fell devil! 'tis hell itself has lent thee aid

To work such sorcery! (Pauses.) I'll not believe it,
I must have proof clear as the noonday sun
For such foul charge as this! Who waits without?
(Paces up and down, furiously agitated.)
Con. (aside.) What have I done? I've carried

this too far.

I've roused a fierce, ungovernable madman.

Enter JEROME.

De Mon. (in a loud, angry voice.) Where did she go, at such an early hour,

And with such slight attendance ?

Jer. Of whom inquires your honour.

De Mon. Why, of your lady. Said I not my

sister?

Jer. The Lady Jane, your sister?

De Mon. (in a faltering voice.) Yes, I did call

her so.

Jer. In truth, I cannot tell you where she

went.

E'en now, from the short beechen walk hard by,
I saw her through the garden gate return.
The Marquis Rezenvelt, and Freberg's Countess,
Are in her company. This way they come,
As being nearer to the back apartments;
But I shall stop them if it be your will,
And bid them enter here.

De Mon. No, stop them not. I will remain
unseen,

And mark them as they pass. Draw back a little. (Conrad seems alarmed, and steals off unnoticed.

De Monfort grasps Jerome tightly by the hand, and drawing back with him two or three steps, not to be seen from the garden, waits in silence, with his eyes fixed on the glass door.) I hear their footsteps on the grating sand:

Con. Nay, pardon me, it were not well advised, How like the croaking of a carrion bird,

If I should speak so freely of the man

Who would so soon your nearest kinsman be.
De Mon. What canst thou mean by this?
Con.
That Marquis Rezenvelt
Has pledged his faith unto your noble sister,
And soon will be the husband of her choice.
So I am told, and so the world believes.

De Mon. 'Tis false! 'tis basely false !

What wretch could drop from his envenom'd tongue

Jer. You do, in truth, and your teeth chatter too. De Mon. See! see they come! he strutting by her side.

(Jane, Rezervelt, and Countess Freberg appear
through the glass door, pursuing their way up
a short walk leading to the other wing of the
house.)

See, his audacious face he turns to hers;
Uttering with confidence some nauseous jest.
And she endures it too-O this looks vilely!
Ha! mark that courteous motion of his arm-
What does he mean ?-he dares not take her hand!
(Pauses and looks eagerly.) By heaven and hell

he does!

(Letting go his hold of Jerome, he throws out his hands vehemently, and thereby pushes him against the scene.)

Jer. O! I am stunn'd! my head is crack'd in twain:

Your honour does forget how old I am.

And my soul shudder'd at the horrid brink,
I would not flinch.—Fy, this recalling nature!
O that his sever'd limbs were strew'd in air,
So as I saw it not!

Enter REZENVELT behind from the glass door. DE MON-
FORT turns round, and on seeing him starts back, then
drawing his sword, rushes furiously upon him.
Detested robber! now all forms are over;
Now open villany, now open hate!
Defend thy life!

Rez. De Monfort, thou art mad.

De Mon. Speak not, but draw. Now for thy hated life!

(They fight: Rezenvelt parries his thrusts with great skill, and at last disarms him.)

Then take my life, black fiend, for hell assists thee.

Rez. No, Monfort, but I'll take away your sword,

De Mon. Well, well, the wall is harder than I Not as a mark of disrespect to you,

wist.

Begone, and whine within.

[EXIT Jerome, with a sad, rueful countenance. De Monfort comes forward to the front of the stage, and makes a long pause, expressive of great agony of mind.)

It must be so: each passing circumstance;
Her hasty journey here; her keen distress
Whene'er my soul's abhorrence I express'd;
Ay, and that damned reconciliation,
With tears extorted from me; O, too well!
All, all too well bespeak the shameful tale.

I should have thought of heaven and hell conjoin'd,
The morning star mix'd with infernal fire,
Ere I had thought of this—

Hell's blackest magic, in the midnight hour,
With horrid spells and incantation dire,
Such combination opposite, unseemly,
Of fair and loathsome, excellent and base,
Did ne'er produce-But every thing is possible,
So as it may my misery enhance!

O! I did love her with such pride of soul!
When other men, in gay pursuit of love,
Each beauty follow'd, by her side I stay'd
Far prouder of a brother's station there,
Than all the favours favour'd lovers boast.
We quarrell'd once, and when I could no more
The alter'd coldness of her eye endure,

I slipp'd o' tip-toe to her chamber door;

He's gone already.

His servant told me,

De Mon. How! is he gone so soon?
Ser.
He was in haste to go; as night comes on,
And at the evening hour he purposes

To visit some old friend, whose lonely mansion
Stands a short mile beyond the farther wood,
In which a convent is of holy nuns
Who chant this night a requiem to the soul
Of a departed sister. For so well
He loves such solemn music, he has order'd
His horses onward by the usual road,
Meaning on foot to cross the wood alone.

And when she ask'd who gently knock'd-0! O! So says his knave. Good may it do him, sooth! Who could have thought of this?

(Throws himself into a chair, covers his face with
his hand, and bursts into tears. After some
time he starts up from his seat furiously.)
Hell's direst torment seize the infernal villain!
Detested of my soul! I will have vengeance!
I'll crush thy swelling pride-I'll still thy vaunt-
ing-

I'll do a deed of blood!-Why shrink I thus?
If, by some spell or magic sympathy,
Piercing the lifeless figure on that wall
Could pierce his bosom too, would I not cast it?

I would not walk through those wild dells alone
For all his wealth. For there, as I have heard,
Foul murders have been done, and ravens scream;
And things unearthly, stalking through the night,
Have scared the lonely traveller from his wits.
(De Monfort stands fixed in thought.)
I've ta'en your mare, an' please you, from her field,
And wait your farther orders.

(De Monfort heeds him not.)
Her hoofs are sound, and where the saddle gall'd,
Begins to mend. What further must be done?
(De Monfort still heeds him not.)

(Throwing a dagger against the wall.) | His honour heeds me not. Why should I stay? De Mon. (eagerly, as he is going.) He goes

Shall groans and blood affright me? No, I'll do it. ough gasping life beneath my pressure heaved, |

alone, saidst thou?

"Tis distant still: it tells their hour of prayer. It sends a solemn sound upon the breeze,

De Mon. How hollow groans the earth beneath That, to a fearful superstitious mind,