SCENE I.
An Apartment in the Castle.
Sir Philip Blandford discovered on a couch, reading, Servants attending.
Sir Philip. Is not my daughter yet returned?
Serv. No, Sir Philip.
Sir Philip. Dispatch a servant to her.
[Exit Servant.
Re-enter Servant.
Serv. Sir, the old gardener is below, and asks to see you.
Sir Philip. [Rises and throws away the book.] Admit him instantly, and leave me.— [Exit Servant.
Enter Evergreen, who bows, then looking at Sir Philip, clasps his hands together, and weeps.
Does this desolation affect the old man?—Come near me—Time has laid a lenient hand on thee.
Everg. Oh, my dear master! can twenty years have wrought the change I see?
Sir Philip. No; [Striking his breast.] 'tis the canker here that hath withered up my trunk;—but are we secure from observation?
Everg. Yes.
Sir Philip. Then tell me, does the boy live?
Everg. He does, and is as fine a youth—
Sir Philip. No comments.
Everg. We named him—
Sir Philip. Be dumb! let me not hear his name. Has care been taken he may not blast me with his presence?
Everg. It has, and he cheerfully complied.
Sir Philip. Enough! never speak of him more. Have you removed every dreadful vestige from the fatal chamber? [Evergreen hesitates.]—O speak!
Everg. My dear master! I confess my want of duty. Alas! I had not courage to go there.
Sir Philip. Ah!
Everg. Nay, forgive me! wiser than I have felt such terrors.—The apartments have been carefully locked up; the keys not a moment from my possession:—here they are.
Sir Philip. Then the task remains with me. Dreadful thought! I can well pardon thy fears, old man.—O! could I wipe from my memory that hour, when—
Everg. Hush! your daughter.
Sir Philip. Leave me—we'll speak anon.
[Exit Evergreen.
Enter Miss Blandford.
Miss B. Dear father! I came the moment I heard you wished to see me.
Sir Philip. My good child, thou art the sole support that props my feeble life. I fear my wish for thy company deprives thee of much pleasure.
Miss B. Oh no! what pleasure can be equal to that of giving you happiness? Am I not rewarded in seeing your eyes beam with pleasure on me?
Sir Philip. 'Tis the pale reflection of the lustre I see sparkling there.—But, tell me, did your lover gain the prize?
Miss B. Yes, papa.
Sir Philip. Few men of his rank—
Miss B. Oh! you mean Mr. Handy?
Sir Philip. Yes.
Miss B. No; he did not.
Sir Philip. Then, whom did you mean?
Miss B. Did you say lover? I—I mistook.—No—a young man called Henry obtained the prize.
Sir Philip. And how did Mr. Handy succeed?
Miss B. Oh! It was so ridiculous!—I will tell you, papa, what happened to him.
Sir Philip. To Mr. Handy?
Miss B. Yes; as soon as the contest was over Henry presented himself. I was surprised at seeing a young man so handsome and elegant as Henry is.—Then I placed the medal round Henry's neck, and was told, that poor Henry—
Sir Philip. Henry!—So, my love, this is your account of Mr. Robert Handy!
Miss B. Yes, papa—no, papa—he came afterwards, dressed so ridiculously, that even Henry could not help smiling.
Sir Philip. Henry again!
Miss B. Then we had a dance.
Sir Philip. Of course you danced with your lover?
Miss B. Yes, papa.
Sir Philip. How does Mr. Handy dance?
Miss B. Oh! he did not dance till—
Sir Philip. You danced with your lover?
Miss B. Yes—no papa!—Somebody said (I don't know who) that I ought to dance with Henry, because—
Sir Philip. Still Henry! Oh! some rustic boy. My dear child, you talk as if you loved this Henry.
Miss B. Oh! no, papa—and I am certain he don't love me.
Sir Philip. Indeed!
Miss B. Yes, papa; for, when he touched my hand, he trembled as if I terrified him; and instead of looking at me as you do, who I am sure love me, when our eyes met, he withdrew his and cast them on the ground.
Sir Philip. And these are the reasons, which make you conclude he does not love you?
Miss B. Yes, papa.
Sir Philip. And probably you could adduce proof equally convincing that you don't love him?
Miss B. Oh, yes—quite; for in the dance he sometimes paid attention to other young women, and I was so angry with him! Now, you know, papa, I love you—and I am sure I should not have been angry with you had you done so.
Sir Philip. But one question more—Do you think Mr. Handy loves you?
Miss B. I have never thought about it, papa.
Sir Philip. I am satisfied.
Miss B. Yes, I knew I should convince you.
Sir Philip. Oh, love; malign and subtle tyrant, how falsely art thou painted blind! 'tis thy votaries are so; for what but blindness can prevent their seeing thy poisoned shaft, which is for ever doomed to rankle in the victim's heart.
Miss B. Oh! now I am certain I am not in love; for I feel no rankling at my heart. I feel the softest, sweetest sensation I ever experienced. But, papa, you must come to the lawn. I don't know why, but to-day nature seems enchanting; the birds sing more sweetly, and the flowers give more perfume.
Sir Philip. [Aside.] Such was the day my youthful fancy pictured!—How did it close!
Miss B. I promised Henry your protection.
Sir Philip. Indeed! that was much. Well I will see your rustic here. This infant passion must be crushed. Poor wench! some artless boy has caught thy youthful fancy.—Thy arm, my child.
[Exeunt.