IDONEA Already I’ve been punished to the height
              Of my offence.
    [Smiling affectionately.]
                  I see you love me still,
              The labours of my hand are still your joy;
              Bethink you of the hour when on your shoulder
              I hung this belt.
    [Pointing to the belt on which was suspended HERBERT’S scrip.]

MARMADUKE Mercy of Heaven! [Sinks.]

IDONEA What ails you? [Distractedly.]

MARMADUKE The scrip that held his food, and I forgot
              To give it back again!

IDONEA What mean your words?

MARMADUKE I know not what I said—­all may be well.

IDONEA That smile hath life in it!

MARMADUKE This road is perilous;
              I will attend you to a Hut that stands
              Near the wood’s edge—­rest there to-night, I pray you: 
              For me, I have business, as you heard, with Oswald,
              But will return to you by break of day.

[Exeunt.]

ACT IV

SCENE—­A desolate prospect—­a ridge of rocks—­a Chapel on the summit of one—­Moon behind the rocks—­night stormy—­irregular sound of a bell—­HERBERT enters exhausted.

HERBERT That Chapel-bell in mercy seemed to guide me,
              But now it mocks my steps; its fitful stroke
              Can scarcely be the work of human hands. 
              Hear me, ye Men, upon the cliffs, if such
              There be who pray nightly before the Altar. 
              Oh that I had but strength to reach the place! 
              My Child—­my Child—­dark—­dark—­I faint—­this wind—­
              These stifling blasts—­God help me!

[Enter ELDRED.]

ELDRED Better this bare rock,
              Though it were tottering over a man’s head,
              Than a tight case of dungeon walls for shelter
              From such rough dealing.
   [A moaning voice is heard.]
                                       Ha! what sound is that? 
              Trees creaking in the wind (but none are here)
              Send forth such noises—­and that weary bell! 
              Surely some evil Spirit abroad to-night
              Is ringing it—­’twould stop a Saint in prayer,
              And that—­what is it? never was sound so like
              A human groan.  Ha! what is here?  Poor Man—­
              Murdered! alas! speak—­speak, I am your friend: 
              No answer—­hush—­lost wretch, he lifts his hand
              And lays it to his heart—­
      (Kneels to him.) I pray you speak! 
              What has befallen you?