« 이전계속 »
let me beg of you to lose no time in returning home.
Bailie. That you may swear; and the next time you catch me out o'hearing o' St. Mungo's bells, may Rob Roy sleep with his ancestors, and I —marry his widow!—My Conscience!
\_Exeunt on opposite sides.
Distant Fiew of the Banks of the Loch. Enter Rashleigh and Jobson, in great alarm.
Rash: Am I ever to be pestered with these coward fears?
Job. For Heaven's sake, Sir! if you kill rne I must speak. Except our own people, we are entirely unsupported; the Government forces are all withdrawn.
Rash. Poh! for that very reason we shall not be suspected—on that very circumstance alone, we might build our surest hope. This ruffian will not now suppose it possible he is watched, and least of all by me. Did you overhear their conference in the hut?
Rash. And you are sure my cousin is in possession of the packet? Job. Certain.
Rash. Does he accompany that foolish Magistrate to Glasgow?
Job. I think not: fearing to be surprized, I withdrew some paces from the hut, and crouched in the deepest shade—presently I saw—(He looks round terrified)—
Rash. Saw who?
Job. (In a subdued tone) Rob Roy! In a few minutes Mr. Frank joined him, and they walked away hastily towards the Loch—
Rash. To meet Diana and her Father in the Cave. Well, let them meet—I'll wait till M'Gregor and his Band depart, then spring upon, and crush them in the very nest where their venom was engendered. Did you place Wingfield in the track, to prevent the retreat of Sir Frederick and the proud dame his daughter?
Job. I did, Sir, exactly as you directed, and all the rest are within call — Hush! hark!
(Dougal lias suddenly appeared; lie instantly falls Jlat, throwing at the same time his Plaid entirely over him).
—•As I live and breathe, I heard a step I Rash. The echo of your own footfall. Job. No, no! as I'm an honest man—that is, as I'm a sinner—I beseech — I implore you to quit this place. /
Rash. Never, till my purpose is accomplished. Death alone shall defeat it. Curses on the chance that brought him to Diana's presence, that ever brought him to my father's house!—but I will not suffer singly; the disappointment and misery they have inflicted upon me shall be shared by them, in all its bitterness—Who's there?
Enter Lancie Wingfield.
Lancie. Word has passed, that the Highlanders are preparing to move.
Rash. Lose not a moment—Remember, if there be lives sacrificed in the business we are upon, your evidence must justify the act, as necessaryto the subjii£ ,i in of treason. Now, be resolute and be silent.
[Exit Rashleigh, followed by Lancie and Jobson. Dougal looks after them from beneath his Plaid,—rises cautiously and follows.
The Cave, the mouth at the upper end opening to the Loch, and opposite Mountains.—The Moon rising, illuminates the distant Scenery, and part of the mouth of the Cave.
Enter Rob Roy and Frank.
Rob. Let me now speak of my own concerns: my kinsman said something of my boys, that sticks in my heart, and maddens in my brain ;— 'twas truth he spoke, yet I dared not listen to it—'twas fair he offered, yet I spurned that offer from very pride. My poor bairns! I'm vexed when I think they must lead their father's life.
Frank. Is there no way of amending such a life, and thereby affording them an honourable chance of
Rob. You speak like a boy !—Do you think the old gnarled oak can be twisted like the green sapling? Think you I can forget being branded as an outlaw—stigmatized as a traitor—a price set upon my head, and my wife and family, treated as the dam and cubs of a wolf? The very name which came to me from a long and noble line of martial ancestors, denounced as if it were a spell to conjure up the devil!
Frank. Rely on it, the prosecution of your name and family is considered b> ^ne English as a most cruel and arbitrary law.
Rob. Still it is proscribed; and they shall hear of my vengeance, that would scorn to listen to the story of my wrongs.—They shall find the name of M'Gregor is a spell to raise the wild devil withal—Ah! God help me! I found desolation where I left plenty—I looked east, west, north, and south, and saw neither hold nor hope, shed nor shelter,—so I e'en pulled the bonnet o'er my brow, buckled the broad sword to my side, took to the mountain and the glen—and became a broken man ! — But why do I speak of this ?—'Tis of my children, of my poor bairns I have thought, and the thought will not leave me.
Frank. Might they not, with some assistance, find an honourable resource in foreign service? if such be your wish, depend on its being gratified.
Rob. (Stretching one hand to Frank, and passing the other across his eye)—I thank, I thank you— I could not have believed that mortal man would again have seen a tear in M'Gregor's eye. We'll speak of this hereafter—we'll talk of it to Helen— but I cannot well spare my boys yet—the heather is on fire.
Frank. Heather on fire !—I do not understand.
Rob. Rashleigh has set the torch—let them that can prevent the blaze—(March heard)-— Ah! they come—then all's well!
Frank. V comprehend—(Seeing the approach of the Highlanders) — The clans are assembling, and the defection of Rashleigh has but hastened this long-expected insurrection.
(The M'Gregor Highlanders enter, Hamish and Robert directing their movements— Helen confers with Rob Roy^.
Rob. Have you seen Diana and Sir Frederick on their way? (Apart).
Helen. 1 have.—Stranger, you came to our unhappy country when our bloods were chafed, and our hands were red—excuse the rudeness that gave so rough a welcome, and lay it on the evil times, not upon us.
Rob. Helen, our friend has spoken kindly, and proffer'd nobly —our boys—our children—<
Helen. I understand; but, no, no; this is not the time; besides, I,—no — no—I wi'l not— cannot part from them.
Frank. Your separation is not required—leave the country with them.
Helen. Quit the land of my Sires !—never! Wild as we live, and hopeless, the world has not a scene that could console me for these rude rocks and glens, where the remembrance of our wrongs is ever sweeten'd by the recollection of our revenge.
Rob. She says truly; 'twas a vain project— We cannot follow them—cannot part with the last ties that render life endurable. Were I to lose sight of my native hills, my heart would sink, and my arm would shrink like fern i'the winter's frost. No, Helen, no—the heather we have trod on while living, shall bloom over us when dead!
(Helen throws herself into his arms).
Frank. I grieve that my opportunity of serving those who have so greatly befriended me, is incompatible with their prospects and desires.