Act III, Scene 2

[Another place in the Wood. CRESPO tied to a tree.]

[Enter to him ISABEL.]

ISAB.

My father!

CRES.

Isabel! Unbind these cords, my child.

ISAB.

I dare not—I dare not yet, lest you kill before you hear my story—and you must hear that.

CRES.

No more, no more! Misery needs no remembrancer.

ISAB.

It must be.

CRES.

Alas! Alas!

ISAB.

Listen for the last time. You know how, sitting last night under the shelter of those white hairs in which my maiden youth had grown, those wretches, whose only law is force, stole upon us. He who had feigned that quarrel in our house, seizing and tearing me from your bosom as a lamb from the fold, carried me off; my own cries stifled, yours dying away behind me, and yet ringing in my ears like the sound of a trumpet that has ceased!—till here, where out of reach of pursuit,—all dark—the very moon lost from heaven—the wretch began with passionate lies to excuse his violence by his love—his love!—I implored, wept, threatened, all in vain—the villain—But my tongue will not utter what I must weep in silence and ashes for ever! Yet let these quivering hands and heaving bosom, yea, the very tongue that cannot speak, speak loudliest! Amid my shrieks, entreaties, imprecations, the night began to wear away and dawn to creep into the forest. I heard a rustling in the leaves; it was my brother—who in the twilight understood all without a word—drew the sword you had but just given him—they fought—and I, blind with terror, shame, and anguish, fled till—till at last I fell before your feet, my father, to tell you my story before I die! And now I undo the cords that keep your hands from my wretched life. So—it is done! and I kneel before you—your daughter—your disgrace and my own. Avenge us both; and revive your dead honour in the blood of her you gave life to!

CRES.

Rise, Isabel; rise, my child. God has chosen thus to temper the cup that prosperity might else have made too sweet. It is thus he writes instruction in our hearts: let us bow down in all humility to receive it. Come, we will home, my Isabel, lean on me. (Aside.) ’Fore Heaven, an’ I catch that captain! (Aloud.) Come, my girl! Courage! so.

VOICE.

(within) Crespo! Peter Crespo!

CRES.

Hark!

VOICE.

Peter! Peter Crespo!

CRES.

Who calls?

[Enter Notary.]

NOT.

Peter Crespo! Oh, here you are at last!

CRES.

Well?

NOT.

Oh, I’ve had a rare chase. Come—a largess for my news! The corporation have elected you Mayor.

CRES.

Me!

NOT.

Indeed. And already you are wanted in your office. The king is expected almost directly through the town; and, beside that, the captain who disturbed us all so yesterday has been brought back wounded—mortally, it is thought—but no one knows by whom.

CRES.

(to himself) And so when I was meditating revenge, God himself puts the rod of justice into my hands! How shall I dare myself outrage the law when I am made its keeper? (Aloud.) Well, sir, I am very grateful to my fellow-townsmen for their confidence.

NOT.

They are even now assembled at the town-hall, to commit the wand to your hands; and indeed, as I said, want you instantly.

CRES.

Come then.

ISAB.

Oh, my father!

CRES.

Ay, who can now see that justice is done you. Courage! Come.

[Exeunt.]