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Thou art the daughter of my ancient master;
The child I rescued from the flood is thine.

Lady Rand. With thee dissimulation now were

vain.

I am indeed the daughter of Sir Malcolm;
The child thou rescuedst from the flood is mine.

Pris. Bless'd be the hour that made me a poor

man! My poverty hath saved my master's house!

Lady Rand. Thy words surprise me: sure thou

dost not feign!

The tear stands in thine eye: such love from thee
Sir Malcolm's house deserved not; if aright
Thou told'st the story of thy own distress.

Pris. Sir Malcolm of our barons was the flower;
The fastest friend, the best, the kindest master:
But ah! he knew not of my sad estate.
After that battle, where his gallant son,
Your own brave brother, fell, the good old lord
Grew desperate and reckless of the world;
And never, as he erst was wont, went forth
To overlook the conduct of his servants.
By them I was thrust out, and them I blame:
May heaven so judge me as I judged my master!
And God so love me as I love his race!

Lady Rand. His race shall yet reward thee.

On thy faith

Depends the fate of thy loved master's house.
Remember'st thou a little lonely hut,
That like a holy hermitage appears
Among the cliffs of Carron?

Pris. I remember
The cottage of the cliffs.

Lady Rand. 'Tis that I mean: There dwells a man of venerable age, Who in my father's service spent his youth: Tell him I sent thee, and with him remain, Till I shall call upon thee to declare, Before the king and nobles, what thou now To me hast told. No more but this, and thou Shalt live in honour all thy future days; Thy son so long shall call thee father still, And all the land shall bless the man who saved The son of Douglas, and Sir Malcolm's heir. Remember well my words; if thou should'st meet Him whom thou call'st thy son, still call him so; And mention nothing of his nobler father.

Pris. Fear not that I shall mar so fair a harvest, By putting in my sickle ere 'tis ripe.

Why did I leave my home and ancient dame?
To find the youth, to tell him all I knew,, :.
And make him wear these jewels in his arms,:
Which might, I thought, be challenged, and so

bring

To light the secret of his noble birth. , "*:;••• /'

[Lady Randolph goes towards the Servants.

Lady Rand. This man is not the assassin you

suspeeted, . ./•..*..

Though chance combined some likelihoods against

him. . ,. .• ... .' ;• :'.

He is the faithful bearer of the jewels
To their right owner, whom in haste he seeks.
'Tis meet that you should put him on his way,
Since your mistaken zeal hath dragg'd him hither.
[Exeunt Stranger and Servants.

Lady Randolph and Anna,

Lady Rand. My faithful Anna! dost thou

share my joy?

I know thou dost. Unparallel'd event! '. • ! . Reaching from heaven to earth, Jehovah's arm Snatch'd from the waves, and brings to me my

son!

VOL. I. Y

Judge of the widow, and the orphan's father,

Accept a widow's and a mother's thanks

For such a gift!—What does my Anna think

Of the young eaglet of a valiant nest?

How soon he gazed on bright and burning arms,

Spurn'd the low dunghill where his fate had thrown

him, And tower'd up to the region of his sire!

Anna. How fondly did your eyes devour the

boy!

Mysterious nature, with the unseen cord ^
Of powerful instinct, drew you to your own.

Lady Rand. The ready story of his birth believed

Supprest my fancy quite; nor did he owe
To any likeness my so sudden favour:
But now I long to see his face again,
Examine every feature, and find out
The lineaments of Douglas, or my own.
But most of all I long to let him know
Who his true parents are, to clasp his neck,
And tell him all the story of his father.

Anna. With wary caution you must bear yourself
In public, lest your tenderness break forth,
And in observers stir conjectures strange.

For, if a cherub in the shape of woman
Should walk this world, yet defamation would,
Like a vile cur, bark at the angel's train.—
To-day the baron started at your tears.

Lady Rand. He did so, Anna! Well thy mis-
tress knows

If the least circumstance, mote of offence,
Should touch the baron's eye, his sight would be
With jealousy disorder'd. But the more
It does behove me instant to declare
The birth of Douglas, and assert his rights.
This night I purpose with my son to meet,
Reveal the secret, and consult with him:
For wise he is, or my fond judgment errs.
As he does now, so look'd his noble father,
Array'd in nature's ease: his mien, his speech,
Were sweetly simple, and full oft deceived
Those trivial mortals who seem always wise.
But, when the matter match'd his mighty mind,
Up rose the hero; on his piercing eye
Sat observation; on each glance of thought
Decision follow'd, as the thunderbolt
Pursues the flash.

Anna. That demon haunts you still:
Behold Glenalvon.

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