Lock. So set your heart at rest. I have slept so long, it must be near the time. Ah! there is a footstep coming to the door-'tis he! (Derby opens the door and comes in, in a riding coat, booted and spurred) Derby. Lockwood, good evening. Lock. Mary, you may leave us. Mrs. L. Shall I disturb you if I sit here at my work? Lock. You can work in the next room-take the light with you. (Mary takes up the light and approaches him.) Mrs. L. Stephen! Lock. (Turning on her.) Will you obey me? (She goes out.) Well, Derby, what news? Der. Lock. The worst-Mortlake has set off for Paris. Ha! Der. Some rascal has put him up to our design, and given our revenge a six months' holiday. Lock. (Pausing.) And I have waited for this day, through suffering and through want, with my wife's cheek whitening by my side, and a fever like a serpent eating at my heart. Der. I share your feeling, Lockwood, for we are partners in misfortune-have both been stripped and thrown into a ditch, by the same highwayman. Lock. Death to the villain. Der. So say I; but as we can't follow him, we must be content to sit down and bear our fortune 'till he comes back. Lock. Not I-revenge is a luxury I can afford no longer. Der. What do you mean? Lock. I have been settling in a slough for the last two months, but with the mad hope of dragging him down with me. He is gone-what have I to do but sink? Der. You saw Charlcote this morning-he gave you something Lock. Some excellent advice. Der. And Harding Lock. He heard I had a complaint, and was afraid to catch it. Derby, you are the only friend I have on earth. I told you how I was circumstanced to-day-look at this paper(Showing the notice.) Der. My friend, I am ashamed to say it, but the five pounds I meant to lend you, I have lost. I was drawn into play, after dinner, and Lock. (Sinking into a chair.) Well, well-it is decreed! Der. What's decreed? Lock. Starvation!-Look in that closet. Der. I can see nothing in this hovel but what should give a man of your ability determination. (Mrs. Lockwood appears.) Lockwood, we are both in the last strait of necessity. We have shared the same misfortunes, and should share the means of beating them. Have you spirit enough to join me if I propose a plan to relieve us from our present exigency? Lock. Do you put that question to a man who wants a meal? Der. Then listen. As I came down here by the coach, I sat next a farmer, who appeared to be returning home from Smithfield, with the profits of his Monday's sale. Lock. Well! Der. I saw his pocket-book-I am convinced it held a hundred pounds. He alighted at the inn close by, and took a bed there-I have done the same. I soon broke ground with him, and we agreed to sup together. Now if this fellow could be induced to play Lock. You would win from him? Der. The supply we want. Lock. But what if he refuse? Der. Then we have but one resource. We are to sleep in a double-bedded room, the window of which looks out upon the heath. That window I could put open as soon as he was asleep, and Lock. You wouldn't steal his money? Der. Not I-but by the help of a ladder you might borrow a few pounds. Surely you would have honor enough to return it to him, when in better circumstances. Lock. I am afraid, Derby, my nerves are not so steady— Der. Come, come-they were just now as hard as iron. Lock. We shall be detected! Der. Where's the danger? Suspicion, if it come at all, must fall on me. Lock. I will think of it. Der. Take a turn with me upon the heath, and see the window. Lock. In a few minutes-my head just now— Der. Then I'll wait for you outside. Remember, it is our only chance. It may give us not only what will meet our wants, but win us fortunes. (He goes out. Stephen sinks into a chair. Mary comes forward with the candle, which she puts on the table.) Mrs. L. Stephen! Lock. Mary! Mrs. L. What has Mr. Derby said to you? Lock. Why, he has asked me to go with him to the inn, and Mrs. L. Join him in a robbery! Lock. Mary! Mrs. L. Is this his plan to restore our peace and comfort? Mrs. L. felon ! Lock. Mrs. L. And would relieve it by making you become a He is my friend, whatever are his errors. Your friend? Great heaven! am I mad or dreaming? Is it my own husband that I listen to—is this the man I went up to the altar with, and swore to love and honor? Lock. You are eloquent, madam, but I am starving. Mrs. L. You are changed, Stephen, or you would not call me eloquent. Oh, as you hope for peace here or hereafter, think what you would do! What has supported you through all your trials hitherto, but the thought, that, suffer as you might, you had not injured others--and would you part with the blessing of that thought? would you become the very thing you have scorned— Lock. Leave me! (Turning from her.) Mrs. L. (Seizing his hand, and falling at his feet.) Stephen, I cannot leave you-my life is on your lips! I have loved you dearly hitherto, because I have revered you. Would you tell me that my love must cease? I have borne the hand of want with a light heart-for, suffer as we might, we were not stained with crime-and I could hope for better days; and will you rob me of that only, only consolation? Lock. Mary, you know how I am driven to it! Mrs. L. But think, dear Stephen-think if we have grown poor through folly, are we to grow rich through crime? This man whom you would rob, is poor, perhaps, and strugglinghis parents or children dependent on his labor-and would you lay your hands on that man's money? Is all forgot that you once loved and reverenced? Our dear parents' looksour lesson at their knees-the graves they lie in, and the peaceful words we have read upon their tombs— Der. (Calling.) Lockwood! Lock. (Rousing from the abstraction into which he has fallen.) He calls! Mrs. L. Stephen! Stephen! is my voice a stranger to you? Lock. It will not move me! (Struggling with her.) Mrs. L. It is my dying prayer! Lock. It comes too late! (Struggling with her.) fold! Lock. Be it so he will rid me of a burden! (He throws her off, and rushes out. She supports herself by a chair.) Mrs. L. It is decreed! The life which rose so sunnily, must set in shame! The honest man, whom all men's eyes have greeted, must pass away into the shadow of a prison. Oh, is there no way yet to save him? I will follow his misleader, and tell him that the first step he takes in this design, he must plant upon my bosom. No, no-long fasting has robbed me of the little strength I had, and I must lie downhere-(Falls on the ground. Rut opens the door, with a basket in his hand.) Rut. Misses Lockwood! I say, misses! (Sees her.) La, bless us! what be that on the floor? (Runs to her.) Misses! misses! what ee do here? Mrs. L. Is that you, Robin ? Rut. Ees. Whys be ee ill? Mrs. L. Very ill-ill of existence. Rut. Come, come-take a drop o' wine; here be plenty in the basket. (Reaching a bottle from it.) Mrs. L. Wine! where did you get it? Rut. Dont'ee talk-drink. Now let me lift ee up chair. (He lifts her up.) Mrs. L. Tell me, what sent you here? into a Rut. Why didn't I tell ee I'd come out to see ee as soon as I had got into my new pleace. Well, master, you must know, had a dinner-party yesterday, and as the good things were coming down from table, says I to cook, "My misses once had as good a house as this, and now she'd be thankful for a servant's dinner"—so she, being a kind-hearted soul, packed up a basket full, and— Mrs. L. Blessings-blessings on you, Robin-you have saved me from the grave! Rut. Come, come, misses-dont'ee take on so; better times are coming-I'm sure they be. Take another sup of wine. Mrs. L. (Rousing.) Wine! no, no! what have I been doing! drinking-feasting, while Stephen has had nothing since the morning! Ah! if he knew that this relief was here, it would keep him from his ruin, for it is want only, which drives him on to it. Run-run, Robin, in search of your old master. Stay. I am strong, now-I'll go myself. (She totters towards the door.-Bristles opens it.) Bristles. I beg pardon-does Mr. Lockwood live here? Rut. Ees. Bris. Ees! surely I know that voice! it is my old friend"A Bit of Rustic Life," in fine preservation. Mrs. L. You inquired, sir, for Mr. Lockwood? Bris. Yes, madam-pray excuse me; I really did'nt know you. Mrs. L. I don't wonder, sir; times have changed with us so much lately, that— Bris. I know-you want resuscitation-so have the best originals. I am happy to be the bearer of a piece of news which, despite your present dust and darkness, will give you a new countenance. Mrs. L. What do you mean, sir? Bris. I have come to tell you something of an old friend of yours-Mr. Ryland, who went out to Canada. Mrs. L. Is he alive? is he well? when did you hear from him? Bris. Why, about five minutes ago. Mrs. L. Speak-speak, sir! You must be sure that the news you bring me Bris. Ought to come out like a streak of lightning in a storm scene. Then, to be direct, madam, only last week he arrived in England. I met him to-day in town, coming from the door of my old patron. He had been down to your village |