Gwin. Many years after, the whole world believed him dead—your husband lived. (Lucy by a violent effort maintains her silence.) You know ’twas thought the body had been stolen for interment.—Listen, I knew your husband—met him abroad: to me, he confided the secret of his escape; to me, he described the frightful scene—the thronging multitude—the agonies of death! The dreadful ordeal past, the ministers of justice executed the remaining part of the sentence—the body was suspended in chains. Whether it was from the inexperience of the executioner, or the hurried manner in which the sad tragedy was performed, I know not,—but your husband still lived—the fresh airs of night blew upon him, and he revived—revived and found himself hanging.—Oh! my blood thickens as I think upon the torture that was his—fortunately, the irons that supported him, hung loosely about him; by a slight effort he freed his limbs, and dropping to the earth, hastened with all speed, to another part of the coast, took ship and quitted England.
Lucy. (incoherently.) And I!—I not to know of this—unkind.
Gwin. Often he strove to inform you—often wrote, but ne’er received an answer,—twelve years ago he set out, resolved to dare all hazards and seek you, when he was taken by the Moors and sold for a slave—I knew him whilst a captive.
Lucy. And did he die in slavery—oh, your looks declare it—unhappy wretched Gwinett,—but no, happy, thrice happy, he died not on a scaffold. Did he hope you would ever see his miserable widow?
Gwin. He did, and gave me this locket—it contains your hair.
Lucy. Oh, give it me—oh, well do I remember when I saw it last, Gwinett was gazing at it with tearful eyes, when the prison bell—oh, that sound! ’tis here still—I’m sick at heart. (Falls on Gwinett’s shoulder.)
Gwin. Still she knows me not—how to discover myself!—oh Lucy, what a ruin has sorrow made of thee.
Lucy. (reviving.) Ah!—what was that?—no no, I wander—yes, it is—(recognizing him.) oh heavens it is my husband! (falls into his arms.)
Gwin. Within there—