Wil. Not a drop! Win. Troth I bear thee a good will for thy honest, old, dead father's sake. Wil. I do thankfully perceive it, sir. Your placing me in Sir Edward's family some nine months ago, when my poor father died, and left me friendless, will never out of my memory. Win. Tut, boy! no merit of mine in assisting the friendless; 'tis our duty. I could never abide to see honest industry chop-fallen; I love to have folks merry about me, to my heart. Wil. I would you could instil some mirth into our good master, Sir Edward. You are an old domestic, the only one he brought with him, two years back, from Kent; and might venture to give his spirits a jog. He seems devoured with spleen and melancholy. Win. You are a prying boy-go to! I have told thee, a score of times, I would not have thee curious about our worthy master's humour. Wil. I should cease to pray, sir, would you but once (as I think you have more than once seemed inclined,) gratify my much-raised curiosity. Win. What, greenhorn! dost think to trap the old man? Go thy ways, boy! I have a head: old Adam Winterton can sift a subtle speech to the bottom. Wil. Ah! good sir, you need not tell me that. Young as I am, I can admire that experience in another, which Ï want myself. Win. [Aside.] There is something marvellously engaging in this young man. Sixty years ago, in Queen Elizabeth's time, I was just such another.-[Aloud.] Well, beware how you offend Sir Edward. Wil. I would not, willingly, for the world. He has been the kindest master to me; but, whilst my fortunes ripen in the warmth of his goodness, the frozen gloom of his countenance chills me. Win. Well, well, take heed how you prate on't. Out on these babbling boys! There is no keeping a secret with younkers in a family. Wil. [Very eagerly.] What, then, there is a secret? Win. Why, how now, hot-head? Mercy on me! an' this tinder-box boy do not make me shake with apprehension! Is it thus you take my frequent counsel? Wil. Dear sir, 'tis your counsel which most I covet : give me but that, admit me to your confidence, steer me with your advice (which I ever held excellent), and, with such a pilot, I may sail prosperously through a current, which, otherwise, might wreck me. Win. Well, well, I'll think on't, boy. Wil. [Aside. The old answer; yet he softens apace. Could I but clench him now!-[Aloud.] Faith, sir, 'tis a raw morning, and I care not if I taste the Canary your kindness offered. Win. Aha! lad, say'st thou so? Here's the key of the corner cupboard yonder; see you do not crack the bottle, you heedless goose, you! [Exit Wilford, L., and returns with bottle and glasses.] Ha! fill it up. Od! it sparkles curiously. Here's to-I prithee, tell me, now, Wilford, didst ever in thy life see a waiting-gentlewoman with a more inviting eye than the little Mrs. Blanch? Wil. [Drinking.] Here's Mrs. Blanch! Win. Ah, wag! well, go thy ways! Well, when I was of thy age-'Tis all over, now! But here's little Mrs. Blanch! [Drinks. Wil. 'Tis thought here, Sir Edward means to marry her lady, Madam Helen. Win. Nay, I know not: she has long been enamoured of him, poor lady! when he was the gay, the gallant Sir Edward, in Kent. Ah, well! two years make a wondrous change! Wil. Yes, 'tis a good tough love now-a-days that will hold out a couple of twelvemonths. Win. Away! I mean not so, you giddy pate! He is ali honour; yet I wonder sometimes he can bear to look upon her. Wil. Eh! why so? Did he not bring her, under his protection, to the forest, since, 'tis said, she lost her rela⚫tions? Win. Hush, boy!-On your life, do not name her uncle-I would say, her relations! Wil. Her uncle !-Wherefore -Where's the harm in having an uncle, dead or alive? Win. Peace, peace! In that uncle lies the secret. Wil. Indeed!How, good Adam Winterton ?-I prithee, how? Let us drink Sir Edward's health. Win. That I would, though 'twere a mile to the bottom. [Drinking.] Ha! 'tis cheering, i'faith! Wil. And this uncle, you say— Win. Of Madam Helen ?—Ah, there lies the mischief! Wil. What mischief can be in him?-[Wilford invites Adam to drink again—they do so.] Why, he is dead. Win. Come nearer: see you prate not, now, on your life! Our good master, Sir Edward, was arraigned on his account, in open court. Wil. Arraigned !-How mean you? Win. Alas! boy, tried-tried for-nearer yet-his murder! Wil. Mu—mur—murder ! Win. Why, what! why, Wilford !-Out, alas! the boy's passion will betray all! What, Wilford, I say! Wil. You have curdled my blood! Win. What, varlet! thou darest not think ill of our worthy master? Wil. I—I am his secretary; often alone with him, at dead midnight, in his library; the candles in the sockets; and a man glaring upon me who has committed mur— Ugh! [Crosses to R. Win. Committed!-Thou art a base, lying knave to say it! Well, well; hear me, pettish boy, hear me.Why, look now, thou dost not attend. Wil. I-I mark-I mark. Win. I tell thee, then, our good Sir Edward was beloved in Kent, where he had returned, a year before, from his travels. Madam Helen's uncle was hated by all the neighbourhood, rich and poor-a mere brute. Dost mark me? Wil. Like enough; but when brutes walk upon two legs, the law of the land, thank Heaven! will not suffer us to butcher them. Win. Go to, you firebrand! Our good master laboured all he could, for many a month, to sooth his turbulence, but in vain. He picked a quarrel with Sir Edward in the public county assembly; nay, the strong ruffian struck him down, and trampled on him. Think on that, Wilford; on our good master, Sir Edward, whose great soul was nigh to burst with the indignity! Wil. Well, but the end on't? Win. Why, our young master took horse for his own house, determined, as it appeared, to send a challenge to this white-livered giant in the morning. Wil. I see: he killed him in a duel. Win. See, now, how you fly off! Sir Edward's revenge, boy, was baffled; for his antagonist was found dead in the street that night, killed by some unknown assassins on his return from the assembly. Wil. Indeed!-Unknown assassins! Win. Nay, 'tis plain our good Sir Edward had no hand in the wicked act; for he was tried, as I told you, at the next assize. Heaven be thanked! he was cleared beyond a shadow of doubt. Wil. He was? [Crossing to L.] I breathe again !— 'Twas a happy thing-'twas the only way left of cleansing him from a foul suspicion. Win. But, alas! lad, 'tis his principal grief; he was once the life of all company, but now Sir Edward Mortimer. [Without, R.] Winterton! Win. Hark! some one calls. Out on thee! thou hast sunk my spirits into my heels. [Looking off, R.] Who calls merry old Adam Winterton ? Sir Edward. [Without, R.] hither to me! Adam Winterton, come Win. Nay, by our lady, 'tis Sir Edward himself!— Pestilence on't! if I seem sad now 'twill be noted. I come, good Sir Edward! Now, I charge thee, Wilford, do not speak of it for thy life. [Singing.] "When birds" -To Wilford, speaking.] Not a word, on thy life! [Singing.]-"do carol on the bush, Mercy on me! With a heigh no nonny." [Exit, R. Wil. This accounts, then, for all. Poor, unhappy gentleman! This unravels all, from the first day of my service, when a deep groan made me run into the library, and I found him locking up his papers in the iron chest, as pale as ashes. Eh! what can be in that chest? Perhaps some proof of-No, I shudder at the suggestion! 'Tis not possible one so good can be guilty of-I know not what to think, nor what to resolve; but curiosity is roused, and, come what may, I'll have an eye upon him. Exit, L. SCENE III-A Library-a door, R. F.—a book-case, R. c. —an iron chest, with a key in it, L. c.—a table, L., with writing materials, a pistol, &c. SIR EDWARD MORTIMER discovered at the writing-table, L., ADAM WINTERTON, attending, R. Sir E. 'Tis his first trespass, so we'll quit him, Adam; But caution him how he offend again. As keeper of the forest, I should fine him. Win. Nay, that your worship should: he'll prove ere long, Mark but my words-a sturdy poacher. 'Well, 'Tis you know best. Sir E. Well, well, no matter, Adam: He has a wife and child. Win. Ay, bless your honour! Sir E. They killed his dog? Win. Ay, marry, sir, a lurcher; Black Martin Wincot, the keeper, shot him— The rogue has lived this year upon that lurcher. Sir E. Poor wretch! Oh, well bethought: send Wal ter to me; I would employ him; he must ride for me On business of much import. Win. Lackaday! That it should chance so! I have sent him forth To Winchester, to buy me flannel hose, For winter's coming on. Good lack! that things Sir E. Nay, nay, do not fret: 'Tis better that my business cool, good Adam, Than thy old limbs. Win. Ah! you've a kindly heart! Sir E. Is Wilford waiting? Win. [Aside.] Wilford!-Mercy on me! I tremble, now, to hear his name.[Aloud.] He is ; Sir E. Send him in, I prithee. Win. I shall, sir. Heaven bless you! Heaven bless you! [Exit, R. |