[Music.—Enter Bolt and Grayling. R.; Grayling on seeing Gwinett and Lucy, is about to rush down upon them, when he is held back by Bolt: he at length approaches Gwinett, who, on beholding him, staggers back with horror—Grayling folds his arms and looks at Gwinett with an eye of malice.
Gwin. Wretch! monster! what do you here? come you to glut your vengeance on my dying pangs?
Gray. Were there no wretches—no monsters—no bloodsuckers, look you, there need no prison smiths: chains and fetters are not made for honest men.
Lucy. Grayling, if e’er you felt one touch of pity, in mercy leave us, cheat me not of one moment, with—(Lucy lifts her hands imploringly to Grayling—his eye rests upon the ring on her finger.)
Gray. (passionately.) Thy husband?
Lucy. Aye, my husband, I swore to be his and none but his—my oath was taken when the world looked brightly on us both—the world changed, but my oath remained; and here, but an hour since, within a prison’s walls, with none but hard-faced pitiless gaolers to behold our wretched nuptials; here I kept my vow—here I gave my hand to the chained, the despised, the dying Gwinett; and whilst I gave it, whilst I swore to love and honour the outcast wretched felon, I felt a stronger pride than if I’d wedded with an ermined king. (embracing Gwinett; Grayling, who, during this speech, is become quite overpowered—by an effort rouses himself, exclaiming wildly—
Gray. Tear them apart, gaoler, tear them apart, I say.
Bolt. For shame! for shame, master Grayling, have you no pity?
Gray. (incoherently.) Pity—havn’t I to do my work—havn’t I to measure the culprit—havn’t I to—
Gwin. Hold! hold! she knows not—spare her.