Chapter X: Act I

SCENE.--_Interior of DAN’L DRUCE’S hut, a tumble-down old shanty, of
the rudest description; with very small wood fire. The whole place
is as squalid and miserable as possible. Wind and snow without.
Rain and wind heard each time door is opened. Night._

_Rip._ (_without_). Hullo! Dan’l, art within? (_Knocks._) Dan’l, I say, open, will you? (_He kicks the door open._) Why, the hut’s empty. Where’s the old devil gone, I wonder? Come in, master, out of the storm.

_Enter MARPLE._

Don’t be afeard (_MARPLE shuts door_); he’ll be a bit rusty, to be sure, at our coming in without leave, but that’ll blow off sooner than the gale outside.

_Mar._ Is the man away?

_Rip._ Nay, he’s never a hundred yards from this; he’s hauling up his boat on the beach, maybe, or taking in his nets, and making all snug and taut for the night; and well he may, for the devil’s let loose, and there’ll be mischief afore morning. The devil likes these here Norfolk coasts, burn him!

_Mar._ And so Jonas lives here.

_Rip._ Jonas? No, Dan’l--Dan’l Druce.

_Mar._ Well, Dan’l Druce, if that’s what he calls himself. It’s a strange hole for such a man as he!

_Rip._ It’s a fit hole for such a dog as he! A surly, scowling, drunken, miserly, half-starved cur! Never was a sulky hound so far athwart the world’s ways as Dan’l Druce. Why, he’s as rich as a Jew, and never gave bit nor sup to a soul in the town. Oh, take my word for it, it’s a fit hole for such as he. There’s only one fitter, and I wish he was in it!

_Mar._ Stop that cursed red rag of yours, will you?

_Rip._ Come, come, civil words, master, civil words!

_Mar._ Set the example. I am this man’s brother.

_Rip._ (_aside_). Well, you’ve got the family tongue in your head, anyhow. If you’re his brother, maybe you know how he came to live here all alone?

_Mar._ Maybe I do.

_Rip._ They say that before he came here--a matter o’ three or four years since--he was a decent sort o’ body enough, a blacksmith, I _do_ hear, but he got struck half silly like through some bad luck, and he’s been a changed man ever since.

_Mar._ Oh, they say that, do they?

_Rip._ Ay. Well, I don’t know what he _was_, but I know what he _is_; that’s enough for me. The scowlingest, black-browedest, three-corneredest chap _I_ ever see, ’cept as regards children, and he’s as fond o’ children as a young girl, and the littler they are the more he likes ’em, and they likes him. Now, I’m as tender-hearted as a kitten, but I _hates_ children, and they can’t abide me. That’s odd, ain’t it?

_Mar._ Ay.

_Rip._ Yes, that’s Dan’l Druce’s story as far as we knows it down in these parts. Maybe you know more?

_Mar._ Maybe I do.

_Rip._ Now, I dare swear there was a woman at the bottom of it all. I never got _my_ chain cable kinked but a woman had a hand in it.

_Mar._ (_coming forward_). Hark ye, my lad, you’re hard on women. From the look of you, I’ve a notion no woman ever had much to do with any trouble of yours, saving your mother when she bore you. No, no, your tongue’s done all the mischief that ever come to _you_. You let women alone; I’m sure they never interfere with _you_.

_Enter DAN’L DRUCE. He has a bundle of nets over his shoulder, and
he is half tipsy. His appearance is that of a man of fifty, but
haggard with want. His hair is long and matted, and he has a beard
of some days’ growth on his chin._

_Dan._ Hullo! Who’s that? Joe Ripley, eh? Why, Joe Ripley, what dost thou do skulking in other men’s huts when they’re away? Nothing to lay hands on _here_, Joe Ripley. And thou’st brought a friend, eh? Didst thee think there was too much plunder for a man to carry that thou’st brought an ass to help thee? There’s nowt for thee here. Take thine ugly face into the storm; maybe thou’lt get it battered straight. Come, out wi’ ’ee!

_Rip._ Hold thy peace, man. I want nowt of thine. I’ve brought thee money for thy two nets.

_Dan._ Where is it?

_Rip._ And here’s a man as says he’s thy brother--and I wish him joy o’ his brotherhood! I found him in the village asking for thee, so I brought him to thee. (_MARPLE holds out his hand._)

_Dan._ (_not heeding him_). Gi’ me the money.

_Mar._ Dost thou not know me, Jonas Marple?

_Dan._ Dead. Dead three years ago.

_Mar._ Ay, thou gavest thyself out as dead, that _he_ might make an honest woman of her.

_Dan._ Thou liest, she _was_ an honest woman, for all she left me. ’Twas him that stole her, God bless her! Jonas Marple died the day she left him. I’m Dan’l Druce.

_Rip._ I knew there was a woman in it.

_Mar._ And if Jonas _be_ dead, hast thou no word of welcome to Jonas’s brother?

_Dan._ None! (_To RIPLEY._) Gi’ me the money.

_Rip._ There! Ay, count it; we’re all thieves and liars. (_To MARPLE._) That’s his craze. Is it right?

_Dan._ I dunno, I can’t count to-night. Let it be, I’ll count it to-morrow. (_To MARPLE._) How didst thou find me?

_Mar._ I found thee through this fellow. I was in the town on law business, and I heard men talk of such a one as thou, and I asked and asked, and found out that thou wast the brother who used to work wi’ me. I’ve come to ask thee to come back to us, and be the man thou wast wont to be. Come, man, be thine old self, thou canst not be better; throw off thy present self, thou canst not be worse!

_Dan._ Not worse? Why, man, I’m a king, alone here! Here I live, free from liars and thieves, alone! alone! What, back to the world, the hollow, lying world? Not I! Back to the rock on which my ship was wrecked? Not I! Back to the den of thieves that stripped me? Not I! No, no; I don’t find fish come back to my nets when once they’ve slipped through the meshes, and I’m no more a fool than my fish. See here--I’ve lived here nigh upon four years, and ’cepting some such gaping fool as him (_indicating RIPLEY_), I’ve seen no soul, and no soul’s seen me. I’ve done harm to none, and none’s done harm to me. I’ve told no lies, and no lies ain’t been told me. I’ve robbed no one, and no one’s robbed me. Can any one who walks the world say as much? I’ve lived on the fish I’ve caught, the garden I’ve dug, and I’ve saved money by the nets I’ve made, not much--a trifle to such as thou, and I’ve sent it far from here--I never keep it here, no, no. I’ve no hopes, no cares, no fears. And thou askest me to go back to the foul old world, the world that poor dead and gone Jonas Marple was robbed in; the bitter black world that blighted his poor harmless life. No! I’m going to bide here.

_Mar._ Well, as thou wilt, Jonas.

_Dan._ Dan’l--that’s my name, Dan’l Druce. Jonas Marple died the day his wife left him. His wife’s a widow, and, mayhap, married again. God bless her!

_Rip._ Thou’lt do no good wi’ him, there’s a devil’s flare in his eyes; best let him bide.

_Dan._ Ay, best let him bide. I’m a poor thing of skin and bone; and this here arm, which made light of a forty-pound hammer four years since, is but a soft-roed thing now; but when muscle went out, devil come in; steer clear o’ me, and let me bide.

_Mar._ Thou’rt sadly changed: it’s fearsome to see a good, honest, hearty soul changed into the white-faced ghost of what he was. Time was when every beggar had the pulling of thy poor purse-strings, and none were turned empty away from the door. To think that Jonas Marple should have earned the name of miser!

_Dan._ Does it seem so strange to thee? Hast thou e’er known what it is to set thy heart night and day on one object, to dream of it, sleepin’ and wakin’, to find the hope of it flavouring thy meat and drink, and weavin’ itself so into thy life that every thought o’ thy brain is born of it, and every deed o’ thy hand has some bearin’ on it? And havin’ done all this, and so fashioned, and twisted, and turned, and trimmed the chances at thy hand that the one hope of thy soul shall be helped on by it, hast thou known what it is to find, at one bitter, black blow, thy hope made hopeless, thy love loveless, thy life lifeless? So did I hope and pray to be blessed with a little child--so was my hope withered when I thought it sure of fulfilment. I had a store of love in my battered heart to _set on some one thing of my creating_; it was there for that end, and for none other. When _she_ left me (curse him!) I knew, for certain, that one thing would never be of flesh and blood, and it never will, for the love of my heart is given over to the next best thing--gold and silver, gold and silver. Ay, brother, I love my gold as other men love their bairns; it’s of my making, and I love it, I love it! A mean and sordid love, maybe, but hard, and bad, and base as thou thinkest me, I’ve prayed a thousand times that my gold might take a living form, that the one harmless old hope of my wrecked life might come true.

_Mar._ The age of miracles is past, Jonas. Well, I’ve said my say and done my do. Stay where thou art, and Heaven forgive thee, Jonas Marple.

_Dan._ (_sternly_). He’s dead!

_Mar._ (_warmly_). He is; dead to the call of reason, dead to the voice of human love, dead to everything that marks a reasoning man off from the beasts that perish. Thou hast well said, Jonas Marple _is_ dead--rest his soul!

_Dan._ Amen! Now go.

[_MARPLE, after a pause, shrugs his shoulders, and exit with RIPLEY._

_Dan._ Ay, he’s dead, dead, dead! He died then, that the blackest devil that ever cursed this earth might put her right with the world. Heaven send he has done so! And the bairn! It was promised to me,--promised, but the promise was a lie, a damned black lie--not hers, no, no! not hers, but the double-dyed devil who stole her from me. (_Opens a hole in the floor in front of stool, and takes out a bag of money._) This is my bairn now (_handling the money_); see, here’s another day to thy life, another inch to thy height; grow as thou growest, child, and thou’lt be a golden beauty ere long. Gold, the best thing in the world; “as good as gold,”--why, it’s a saying; the best thing on earth to make a bairn of! Here’s a child that’ll never grow up to bring sorrow on its dad’s head, that costs nowt to keep, and never grows so big but you wish it bigger--my bairn! I’ve worked for thee and starved for thee that I might see thee grow, and thou hast growed, growed right royally! Lie here, my beauty, lie there in peace; I’ll never wake thee but to add to thy life, my bairn, my beautiful golden bairn!

[_The door is suddenly burst open, and SIR JASPER COMBE enters
hurriedly, followed by REUBEN as if pursued. They are both very
ragged and dirty, dressed in torn and faded Royalist uniforms; SIR
JASPER, an officer, REUBEN, a sergeant. REUBEN carries a child of
three or four years of age, wrapped in a cloak, so as not to be
seen by DAN’L. They close the door hurriedly, and listen for their
pursuers. REUBEN places child on locker._

_Jas._ At last! safe at last from the yelping bloodhounds! By the Lord Harry, but of many bouts with death this is the bout that had like to have gone hardest with us, Reuben!

_Dan._ Who and what are ye, jail-birds?

_Reu._ Hark, sir! I think I hear them again! (_Listening eagerly._)

_Dan._ (_very loudly_). Who and what are ye? (_Going up to them._)

_Jas._ (_listening_). Hold thy fool’s tongue, or I’ll slit it!

_Dan._ But----

_Reu._ (_placing his hand over DAN’L’S mouth_). Nay, it is necessary that some one hold thy tongue, and if thou wilt not do it, I must!

_Jas._ Listen to me, my friend! (_REUBEN removes his hand from DAN’L’S mouth. He again attempts to speak, REUBEN again gags him._) Nay, cover him up. He will hear the better for that he cannot give tongue the while. Now, keep thine ears open, for this concerns thee: We are proscribed Royalists, and you, miserable man, have harboured us, Heaven help you and, if we are taken here, I, and he, and thou will surely hang--I and he for our sins against the Parliament, thou--for thy virtue in aiding, abetting, and comforting us. Dost thou clearly understand me?

_Reu._ (_with his hand still over DAN’L’S mouth_). Dost thou clearly understand the Colonel? (_DAN’L cannot answer. REUBEN repeats his question loudly and angrily._) Dost thou clearly understand the Colonel?

_Jas._ (_to REUBEN_). When thou desirest him to be silent it is well to gag him; when thou wouldst have him speak it is judicious to remove the gag!

_Reu._ As you will, sir. Now then (_removing his hand_), dost thou clearly understand?

_Dan._ (_loudly_). I clearly understand that ye are two marauding devils, who----

_Reu._ (_hastily clapping his hand over DAN’L’S mouth_). He does not understand.

_Jas._ (_listening_). They’ve wheeled about, and their hoofs are dying away in the distance. Reuben, let the old beggar go; he may give tongue now till he split his lungs, if he will. We are safe, at least for the present, Reuben; and see to thy pistol--we may have to stand a siege yet, and this door must be barricaded; but with what?

_Dan._ (_taking up an iron bar from the fireplace and holding it in a threatening attitude_). Go your ways, both of ye; or as I am a man I’ll brain ye with this bar!

_Jas._ The very thing! (_Wrenches it easily out of his hand and barricades the door with it, while REUBEN shows DAN’L a pistol._) There! why, it’s made for it! A thousand thanks, old gentleman. (_DAN’L recovers himself’ flies at JASPER, who pushes him away; he falls on to a stool._) Now, master, listen to me, and if you have any respect for yourself, keep your ears open, for I’m speaking words of life and death. We are desperate men in a desperate strait, and little disposed to stand on ceremony, as you may perhaps have remarked. We are flying for our lives, and we desire to cross to France, where my lady is, and where we shall be safe. To carry out this design we have worked our way to the coast, sleeping under hedges and ricks for six bleak days, and tramping in the wind’s eye for six stormy nights, till the fire of life seems to have died out of our bodies, and our legs to have withered from their trunks. You have a stout boat on the beach; when this accursed gale shall have blown itself out you shall have the distinction of working us across to the opposite coast. In the mean time we appoint you our host, and we shall be prepared to look favourably on whatever meat or drink you can set before us.

_Dan._ Do I look like a man who keeps open house?

_Jas._ No, hang me if you do.

_Dan._ If I had my way, I’d hang you, anyhow.

_Jas._ Ay, and there’s many more of your way of thinking.

_Dan._ I’ll be sworn there are. Well, get out o’ my hut (_rises_); this is not _your_ way; this is not the road to the gallows.

_Reu._ My good fellow, that’s why we took it!

_Dan._ Who, in the devil’s name, are ye?

_Jas._ I’m a cavalier colonel, a trifle out of repair, and a thought begrimed, maybe, but that’ll wash off. Royalist to the backbone, as I proved some time since at Worcester, where my backbone had to bear the brunt of the flight! This is my regiment, the King’s Dragoons (_indicating REUBEN_). Come, doff thy hat, King’s Dragoons, and salute the gentleman; the credit of the corps is in thy keeping, Reuben, for thou’rt all that’s left of it! (_To DAN’L._) A worthy fellow, this regiment of mine, but somewhat shy and constrained in good company, but he will improve when he sees that flask of Schiedam that thou art about to surprise us with. Now, tell me, art thou for the Parliament?

_Dan._ No.

_Jas._ Then thou art for the king?

_Dan._ It’s a lie! I’m for myself.

_Jas._ And for us.

_Dan._ Nay, I’ll be damned if I am!

_Jas._ Nay, I’ll swear thou’rt for us if thou be not traitor to thyself; for if we hang at all we all hang together. _I’ll_ see to that. Now, what food have you got?

_Dan._ None (_sulkily_).

_Jas._ What can you get?

_Dan._ Nothing.

_Jas._ Where are we then?

_Dan._ Nowhere.

_Jas._ Harkee, sir, I’m just in that mood that I don’t care the flash of a flint whose life is swept out of my way when it comes betwixt me and my wants. I want food--get it.

_Dan._ I’ve no food--I’m a beggar.

_Jas._ Here’s a coin--our last--go and get bread, meat, and drink. Now be off, or Reuben here shall whip you with his sword-flat till he drops. (_REUBEN draws._) And, mark me, if by deed, word, or sign you do aught to give a clue to our hiding-place, I’ll burn the hut to the ground, and everything in it.

_Dan._ But---- (_REUBEN pushes him._)

_Jas._ Not a word. Be off, and do your errand--and mind, no treachery, or---- (_JASPER takes a burning log from the fire, and holds it immediately over the hole where DAN’L’S money is concealed. DAN’L snatches it from him._)

_Dan._ Put that down, put that down, for the love of Heaven--put it down, I say, you’ll have the hut afire--and I’ll see what I can do, I’ll see what I can do. [_DAN’L throws log on fire and exit._

_Jas._ Whew! I’ve brought the old devil to his senses. What a life this is! Was ever poor dog so hounded about from pillar to post as Jasper Combe? and for no better reason than that he is a gentleman, and loves his king!

_Reu._ Pardon, sir, but I never was accounted a gentleman, and for my king I care not one jot, yet am I hounded much as you are.

_Jas._ Thou art hounded much as I am because thou thyself art as I am, though in a lower degree. King Charles is my king (_raises hat_)--God bless him!--and I serve him, and am hunted for so doing. Jasper Combe is _thy_ king (_REUBEN raises hat_)--God bless him likewise!--and thou servest him, and thou art hunted for so doing. The analogy is complete. Be thou as faithful to thy king as I am to mine, and thy king will reward thee--when my king rewards me! Is the child safe?

_Reu._ (_uncovering the child, and bringing it down_). Ay, sir, thanks to my cloak; though I’m but a sorry dry-nurse, having taken to it late in life; but it’s never too late to learn, and I’ve learnt this, that babes won’t eat ship’s biscuits, and strong waters choke them. Their poor little heads can’t stand strong waters. I’ll marry some day on that piece of knowledge.

_Jas._ Add this to it, to my dower--that when thou art flying for thy life it’s best to leave thy babes behind. A dozen times we might have got away but for being hampered with this squalling abomination. Was ever officer of cavalry accursed with such a ridiculous element of peril?

_Reu._ Was ever sergeant of horse armed with such a mischief-dealing implement?

_Jas._ Well, there’s no help for it. My lady would have gone mad had I returned to her without it. She is devotedly attached to the child.

_Reu._ Strange that attachment of some mothers for their children. My mother always disliked me and kept me at a convenient distance; but _she_ was a Scotchwoman and not liable to be imposed on.

_Jas._ Well, we must make the best of a bad job. Whew! How cold it is. I’m chilled to the marrow of my bones. That fellow is taking his leisure over his errand; see, Reuben, if thou canst find aught in the hut.

_Reu._ Here’s a locker, your honour, but close fastened.

_Jas._ A proof that there’s something in it. Start it with thy sword. Stay, I’ll do it (_takes up hatchet_); so, gently (_opens locker_). Good, a crust of bread and some dried fish.

_Reu._ And a bottle of right good Schiedam, that never paid duty, I’ll be sworn.

_Jas._ (_taking it_). And on that account fairly forfeit to the Crown, which, on this occasion, I represent. So, bring an armful of those logs and make a merry blaze, for I ache as though I were trussed in a suit of thumbscrews. (_REUBEN brings wood._) That’s well; ha! ha! Now let us enjoy ourselves. Who would have thought the dingy old pig-stye had so much life in it! It’s the first good blaze I’ve seen since the long-nosed devils fired the old mill we lived in. Come, we’ll be jolly. (_REUBEN takes a piece of bread, JASPER snatches it from him._) Nay, of food there’s but enough for one (_JASPER eats; REUBEN takes up bottle and holds it to the light, JASPER snatches it from him_), and of Schiedam there’s not nearly enough for one. Why, thou gross and sensuous varlet, canst thou not be jolly without meat and drink? ’Tis always so with the baseborn; of intellectual recreation they have no notion whatever.

_Reu._ I’ve eaten nothing for two days, and I’m hungry.

_Jas._ Thou’lt have to wait till the old scoundrel returns.

_Reu._ (_at door_). There’s no signs of him yet.

_Jas._ Then give reins to thy voice and hail him. He took the road to the left. (_Exit REUBEN shouting--his voice dies away in the distance._) Here’s a plight for the Lord of Combe-Raven! Stripped of an ancestral mansion and two thousand old acres; hunted to his death by broad-brimmed bloodhounds--separated from his pretty wife by some two hundred miles of barren land and stormy water, and saddled with a confounded brat that hampers his flight, let him turn whithersoever he will! And say that I cross this accursed Channel--how am I to get to Paris--penniless as I am? When I think of what I have before me, I’m minded to make short work with this world, and try another! By the Lord Harry!--(_stamps impatiently; his foot starts a board over DAN’L’S hoard._) Ha! Why, what’s this? Not gold? (_Takes out some._) Gold--and in profusion! Here’s a way out of our difficulties, if Combe-Raven were but the man to take it. The old miser! (_Handling the money._) Bah--in another week’s time we may, perhaps, come down to this sort of thing--who knows? But not yet--no, not yet. (_Throws it into hole._) Lie there--I’ll not meddle with thee, though (_closing hole_) thou’lt be spent on a worse errand than helping JASPER Combe to his wife and his king, I’ll be sworn.

_Enter REUBEN in breathless haste. JASPER quickly covers the hole._

_Reu._ Yes, sir--we must fly--and that at once.

_Jas._ What d’ye mean?

_Reu._ I mean treachery--the old man has played us false!--I hear the horses’ hoofs in the distance----

_Jas._ A thousand devils wring his damnable neck! Run to the boat--get her ready for the sea. I’ll join thee at once and we’ll launch her together.

_Reu._ But----

_Jas._ Well?

_Reu._ If there’s such a thing as a crust of bread, or the tail of a dried mackerel----

_Jas._ But there’s not--be off. (_He watches him out, then quickly turns to the hole in which the money is concealed._) So--this changes the aspect of affairs. Old fool, thou hast betrayed us, and this is fair plunder. (_Takes it out of the hole._) With fair luck we may beat across to France to-night, and once there we are safe. But the child--again a clog on our movements! She would surely perish in an open boat on such a night as this. It’s a matter of life and death--_her_ life as well as mine. It would be murder to take her to sea with us, and it would be murder to remain and fight these fellows with her in our arms. There is no help for it--I must leave her here--this locket will serve to identify her (_putting a locket and chain on her neck_)--and I’ll reclaim her when I get across. They’ll never harm a child!

_Enter REUBEN hurriedly._

_Reu._ Sir, sir, the troops are upon us--they’re not two hundred yards off----

_Jas._ I’m coming. (_Exit REUBEN. JASPER writes on a piece of paper, and pins it on the child’s dress._) So--lie thou there, and God help thee, little one. I’m loth to leave thee, but it’s for life and death--for life and death!

[_JASPER leaps through the window as DAN’L and a _Sergeant_, with
four _Soldiers_, in Parliamentary uniform, enter at the door._

_Dan._ (_sees blaze of log fire_). Fire! fire! He has fired the hut--he has fired the hut!

_Ser._ Nay, fool, ’tis but thy blazing hearth; thy hut’s safe enough. Where are thy prisoners?

_Dan._ Oh, the reckless prodigal! see how he hath wasted my substance!

_Ser._ There are no men hidden here. The sons of Belial have escaped. Why, thou hast betrayed us; and if so, thou shalt hang for it. (_2nd_ Soldier _mounts ladder to get into loft_.)

_Dan._ They were here, but the noise of thy horses’ hoofs has alarmed them, and they are gone. I warned thee to tether thy beasts afar, and proceed silently.

_1st Sol._ See, they are putting off from the beach. (_2nd_ Soldier _descends ladder and makes ready to fire_.)

_Dan._ My boat, oh, my boat!

_Ser._ Bring down the Philistines, Nahum; a steady shot under the fifth rib, and may the Lord have mercy on them!

_1st Sol._ I will even smite them hip and thigh. (_He fires through the window._) Missed! (_Others fire outside._) Nay, they’re beyond range. May Heaven mercifully overwhelm them in the great waters!

_Dan._ (_sees hole in floor_). Gone, gone! Sergeant, see; they are gone--they were hidden in here--and they’re gone!

_Ser._ In there? Nay, there’s never room for two stout men in that cranny.

_Dan._ Men? Curse the men! It’s my gold--my gold! they’ve stolen it; they’ve robbed me! Sixty golden pounds! all I had--all I had! and it’s gone! My child! my child! they’ve stolen my child! (_Weeps passionately on his knees._)

_Ser._ Nay, man, see, thy child’s safe enough, and a bonny lass she be. (_Taking up child from behind table._)

_Dan._ (_raising his head stupidly_). Eh? Why, what’s that?

_Ser._ Thy child! Come, man, be thyself; the child’s safe enough. (_Places child on ground._)

_Sol._ He’s crazed!

_Dan._ (_stupefied_). That’s not mine. My gold is my child! The gold that the infernal villains have taken!

_Ser._ Here’s a paper, and some words writ on it.

_Dan._ Read--read--I cannot read.

_Ser._ (_reads_). “Be kind to the child, and it shall profit thee. Grieve not for thy gold--it hath taken this form.” [_Music._

_Dan._ (_on his knees taking the child_). A miracle, a miracle! Down on your knees, down, I say, for Heaven has worked a miracle to save me. This money, for which I toiled night and day, and which I loved and worshipped, was to me as a child--a dear dear child. I prayed that this might be, but scoffers mocked me when I prayed, and said that the days of miracles were passed. But they lied, for my prayer has been hearkened to. See, it has _her_ eyes, _her_ eyes, my darling, my darling! My Heaven-sent bairn, thou hast brought me back to reason, to manhood, to life! (_The_ Soldiers _crowd round him. 1st_ Soldier _offers to touch the child_.) Hands off, hands off! (_All fall back._) Touch not the Lord’s gift! touch not the Lord’s gift!

[TABLEAU. _DAN’L--the child on the ground before him_--soldiers
_grouped around._