One scarce expects established principles at five-and-twenty in a man, yet you require them in a girl of sixteen! But of this no more. She has erred; she has repented; and, during three years, her conduct has been so far above reproach, that even the piercing eye of calumny has not discovered a speck upon this radiant orb.

_Stra._ Now, were I to believe all this--and I confess that I would willingly believe it--yet can she never again be mine. [_With extreme asperity._] Oh! what a feast would it be for the painted dolls and vermin of the world, when I appeared among them with my runaway wife upon my arm! What mocking, whispering, pointing!--Never! Never! Never!

_Bar._ Enough! As a friend I have done my duty: I now appear as Adelaide's amba.s.sador. She requests one moment's conversation. She wishes once again to see you, and never more! You cannot deny her this, this only, this last, request.

_Stra._ Oh! I understand this too: she thinks my firmness will be melted by her tears: she is mistaken. She may come.

_Bar._ She will come, to make you feel how much you mistake her. I go for her.

_Stra._ Another word.

_Bar._ Another word!

_Stra._ Give her this paper, and these jewels. They belong to her.

[_Presenting them._

_Bar._ That you may do yourself. [_Exit._

_Stra._ The last anxious moment of my life draws near. I shall see her once again; I shall see her, on whom my soul doats. Is this the language of an injured husband? What is this principle which we call honour? Is it a feeling of the heart, or a quibble in the brain? I must be resolute: it cannot now be otherwise. Let me speak solemnly, yet mildly; and beware that nothing of reproach escape my lips. Yes, her penitence is real. She shall not be obliged to live in mean dependence: she shall be mistress of herself, she shall-- [_Looks round and shudders._] Ha!

they come. Awake, insulted pride! Protect me, injured honour!

_Enter MRS. HALLER, COUNTESS, and BARON._

_Mrs. H._ [_Advances slowly, and in a tremour. COUNTESS attempts to support her._] Leave me now, I beseech you. [_Approaches the STRANGER, who, with averted countenance, and in extreme agitation, awaits her address._] My lord!

_Stra._ [_With gentle tremulous utterance, and face still turned away._]

What would you with me, Adelaide?

_Mrs. H._ [_Much agitated._] No--for Heaven's sake! I was not prepared for this--Adelaide!--No, no. For Heaven's sake!--Harsh tones alone are suited to a culprit's ear.

_Stra._ [_Endeavouring to give his voice firmness._] Well, madam!

_Mrs. H._ Oh! if you will ease my heart, if you will spare and pity me, use reproaches.

_Stra._ Reproaches! Here they are; here on my sallow cheek--here in my hollow eye--here in my faded form. These reproaches I could not spare you.

_Mrs. H._ Were I a hardened sinner, this forbearance would be charity: but I am a suffering penitent, and it overpowers me. Alas! then I must be the herald of my own shame. For, where shall I find peace, till I have eased my soul by my confession?

_Stra._ No confession, madam. I release you from every humiliation. I perceive you feel, that we must part for ever.

_Mrs. H._ I know it. Nor come I here to supplicate your pardon; nor has my heart contained a ray of hope that you would grant it. All I dare ask is, that you will not curse my memory.

_Stra._ [_Moved._] No, I do not curse you. I shall never curse you.

_Mrs. H._ [_Agitated._] From the conviction that I am unworthy of your name, I have, during three years abandoned it. But this is not enough; you must have that redress which will enable you to chuse another--another wife; in whose chaste arms, may Heaven protect your hours in bliss! This paper will be necessary for the purpose: it contains a written acknowledgement of my guilt.

[_Offers it, trembling._

_Stra._ [_Tearing it._] Perish the record, for ever.--No, Adelaide, you only have possessed my heart; and, I am not ashamed to own it, you alone will reign there for ever.--Your own sensations of virtue, your resolute honour, forbid you to profit by my weakness; and even if--Now, by Heaven, this is beneath a man! But--never--never will another fill Adelaide's place here.

_Mrs. H._ [_Trembling._] Then nothing now remains but that one sad, hard, just word--farewell!

_Stra._ Stay a moment. For some months we have, without knowing it, lived near each other. I have learnt much good of you. You have a heart open to the wants of your fellow creatures. I am happy that it is so.

You shall not be without the power of gratifying your benevolence. I know you have a spirit that must shrink from a state of obligation. This paper, to which the whole remnant of my fortune is pledged, secures you independence, Adelaide: and let the only recommendation of the gift be, that it will administer to you the means of indulging in charity, the divine propensity of your nature.

_Mrs. H._ Never! To the labour of my hands alone will I owe my sustenance. A morsel of bread, moistened with the tear of penitence, will suffice my wishes, and exceed my merits. It would be an additional reproach, to think that I served myself, or even others, from the bounty of the man whom I had so deeply injured.

_Stra._ Take it, madam; take it.

_Mrs. H._ I have deserved this. But I throw myself upon your generosity.

Have compa.s.sion on me!

_Stra._ [_Aside._] Villain! of what a woman hast thou robbed me!-- [_Puts up the paper._] Well, madam, I respect your sentiments, and withdraw my request; but on condition, that if you ever should be in want of any thing, I may be the first and only person in the world, to whom you will make application.

_Mrs. H._ I promise it, my lord.

_Stra._ And now I may, at least, desire you to take back what is your own--your jewels. [_Gives her the casket._

_Mrs. H._ [_Opens it in violent agitation, and her tears burst upon it._] How well do I recollect the sweet evening when you gave me these!

That evening, my father joined our hands; and joyfully I p.r.o.nounced the oath of eternal fidelity.--It is broken. This locket, you gave me on my birthday--That was a happy day! We had a country feast--How cheerful we all were!--This bracelet, I received after my William was born! No! take them--take them--I cannot keep these, unless you wish, that the sight of them should be an incessant reproach to my almost broken heart.

[_Gives them back._

_Stra._ [_Aside._] I must go. My soul and pride will hold no longer.

[_Turning towards her._] Farewell!--

_Mrs. H._ Oh! but one minute more! An answer to but one more question,--Feel for a mother's heart!--Are my children still alive?

_Stra._ Yes, they are alive.

_Mrs. H._ And well?

_Stra._ Yes, they are well.

_Mrs. H._ Heaven be praised! William must be much grown?

_Stra._ I believe so.

_Mrs. H._ What! have you not seen them!--And little Amelia, is she still your favourite? [_The STRANGER, who is in violent agitation throughout this scene, remains in silent contention between honour and affection._]

Oh! let me behold them once again!--let me once more kiss the features of their father in his babes, and I will kneel to you, and part with them for ever. [_She kneels--he raises her._

_Stra._ Willingly, Adelaide! This very night. I expect the children every minute. They have been brought up near this spot. I have already sent my servant for them. He might, ere this time, have returned. I pledge my word to send them to the Castle as soon as they arrive. There, if you please, they may remain 'till daybreak to-morrow: then they must go with me.

[_The COUNTESS and BARON, who at a little distance have listened to the whole conversation with the warmest sympathy, exchange signals. BARON goes into the Hut, and soon returns with FRANCIS and the CHILDREN. He gives the GIRL to the COUNTESS, who places herself behind the STRANGER. He himself walks with the BOY behind MRS. HALLER._

_Mrs. H._ In this world, then--We have no more to say---- [_Seizing his hand._] Forget a wretch, who never will forget you.--And when my penance shall have broken my heart,--when we again meet, in a better world----

_Stra._ There, Adelaide, you may be mine again.