Robin, said the youth, do not address me in those terms. Call me your friend; for such I really am. The gratification I receive in giving comfort to a man like you, if indeed you are comforted, is full repayment; I deserve no praise. Now tell me sincerely; what is there besides that I can do to put you at your ease?
Nothing is wanting, he replied: Man can do no more for man than you have done for me. I have my son yet left; thanks to your bounteous goodness for the blessing! she in the corner, Sally Gwynne by name, a kinswoman of my late wife, is a good girl and waits upon me kindly: she was the beloved friend of my poor Nancy, and has been much affected by my mournful dirge: I did not know it, else I would have stopped. But sure I hear the footsteps of another in the room.
Your ear is correct, said De Lancaster. It is Mr. Devereux, a friend of mine. He listened to your dirge with great attention. I would not have you to repeat it, but let him know the purport. Tell that young woman to withdraw—And now I am about to put a melancholy task upon you, but it much concerns me, that this gentleman, newly arrived from Lisbon, should hear you briefly, truly and distinctly relate the manner of your daughter’s death.
Where is the gentleman?
He stands before you.
Sir, I call Heaven to witness that my child was murdered. Her vital functions were destroyed and poisoned by drugs of an inflammatory and deadly property, which, rendering her insane, drove her to suicide, and so brought on a death of double horror. This is no longer circumstance, but proof: The inspection of the corpse, the deposition of the surgeons, and, above all, the confession of the accomplice, bring it home to the criminal, and would convict him of murder, could he be brought to trial.
What prevents it? Devereux demanded with voice and look so horrow-struck, as seemed to indicate suspicion of the issue.
His flight prevents it: his accusing conscience, which haunts him with the dreadful recollection, that my poor Innocent, my virtuous child withstood his gross desires, till to effect his brutal purposes he villainously contrived to deprive her of her senses, and to the crime of murder added that of violation.
Name the villain, Devereux exclaimed.
The minstrel rose from his seat, and, laying his hand upon his heart, in a firm tone replied—David Ap Owen—my dead patron’s heir; and Heaven so judge me as I speak the truth!