CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME 
 OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT 
 FUND GIVEN IN 189I BY 
 
 HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR5214.K2 
 
 Kate Peyton; or, Jealousy. A drama in a p 
 
 3 1924 013 538 743 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013538743 
 
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 * 
 
 KATE TEYTON; 
 
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 KATE PEYTON; 
 
 JEALOUSY. 
 
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 A PEOLOGUE AND FOUR ACTS. 
 
 CHARLES READE, ESQ. 
 
 
 ^- 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 WILLIAMS AND STEAHAM, PBINTEBB, 74 MEW CVT, LAMBETH. 
 1872. 
 
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 gramaiis |3cvson;t. 
 
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 {Country Gentlemen) 
 
 GRIFFITH GAUNT, ESQ. 
 
 GEORGE NEVILLE, ESQ 
 
 MR. HAMMERSLY 
 
 MAJOR RICK A RDS 
 
 MR. HOUSEMAN 
 
 AMOS TRIST .. 
 
 FATHER FRANCIS 
 
 FATHER LEONARD 
 
 TOM LEICESTER 
 
 MR. HITCHIN .. 
 
 PAUL CARRICK 
 
 SERJEANT WILTSHIRE 
 
 JUDCiB 
 
 CRIER OF THE COURT 
 
 JAILOR 
 
 COURIER 
 
 BARRISTERS, CLERK OP ARRAIGNS, JAILORS 
 RUSTICS, ETC. 
 
 , , (A Jovial Solicitor) 
 
 {His Doleful Clerk) 
 {An Elderly Priest) 
 {A Young Priest) 
 
 {a Surgeon) 
 {A Lancashire Farrier) . . 
 {Counsel for the Crown) 
 
 KATE PEYTON 
 ROSE GAUNT 
 MERCY VINT . . 
 CAROLINE RYDER 
 JANE BANNISTER 
 
 {Afterward) MRS. GAUNT) 
 {Her Daughter) 
 
 . . {A Lady's Maid) . . 
 {A Domestic Servant) . . 
 
 DATE OF THE PROLOGUE, 1740. 
 
 A Lapie of Eight Tears intervenes betweeti the Prologue and tlte 
 First ^ct of the Play. 
 
 M 
 
 a^ 
 
 O 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 Scene I. — Mr. Houseman's Inner Office, cnmntuniciitinfi 
 with the outer office In/ an open door, and also hi/ a uiii- 
 dow, which is pructicahle, and just larr/e enowjh for Amos 
 Tkist to jmt his head thrmnjh. In flat, door, c, and a 
 window lookinfi on the street. A screen. Two chairs, 
 and a lon<f table, r.h., coveied uith a nuwher of briefs 
 and other papers. Deed boxes against the wall. 
 
 Music, Poacher's Song. 
 
 Amos Trist discovered in the outer office at the wimlow, 
 perched on a high stool, and ciiijdoi/ed engrossing a deed 
 on a high desk. Tom Leicester seated on the edge of 
 Mr. Houseman's table, swinging his legs {dress a tight suit 
 ofgreg cloth). Tom Leicester looks furtivelg round, uhips 
 a piece of smooth brass aire out of his pocket, and /iro- 
 ceeds to make a slip-noose u-ith it, and to twist that part 
 of the wire double which forms the noose, leaving the rest 
 single. All this time his ei/es are roving, and watchim 
 Amos in a manner half wild, half si g. 
 
 Trist. (putting his head through the pane.) Tom 
 Leicester, what are you doing ? 
 
 Tom. Plaiting straw for my granny's bonnet. {Whistles 
 a verse of tlie Poacher's Song, accompanied very softig bg the 
 orchestra.) 
 
 Trist. {dolefully). I like that tune: it is so merry. 
 .What tune is it ? 
 
 Tom. The old hundredth. New style; as the gipsies 
 sing it in the wood, when the hares are afoot by moonlight. 
 
 Trist. Mr. Leicester. Now you are promoted to be 
 a lawyer's clerk, please forget your gipsies and woods, and 
 moonBhine, and take to copying — like a man. 
 
 Tom. Forget the woods and the moonhght ! You'd 
 
 J 
 
 r-4 
 
4 KATE PEYTON. 
 
 never forget them if you had ever seen them together. 
 
 tDo you know a dog they call a lurcher ? 
 Tbist. I have not that honour. 
 r Tom. Then he is half greyhound and half sheep-dog; 
 
 the cleverest dog after game that goes on four feet. 
 (P((i««.) Well — I'm a lurcher. (Oets doicii.) For my 
 sire was a gentleman, and my dam is a gipsy. Greyhound 
 and sheep-dog — gentleman and gipsy, that is a cross 
 you'll never breed a lawyer from. (Jumps up on taWe, 
 whistles as before, and daiKjles his feet.) 
 
 Teist. Your father a gentleman! Nay, but what sort 
 of gentleman ? For now-a-days every Jack is a gentle- 
 man. 
 
 Tom. a Squire, then, — a magistrate, — one of the 
 quorum, that do a send a poor chap to gaol for wiring a 
 hare — when they can catch him. 
 
 Tbist. Here's news. Prithee, what is his worship's 
 name ? 
 
 Tom. His name ! 'Tis writ upon my forehead. 
 
 {Exit into outer office.) 
 
 Tbist. I now take a note of the conversation. (,ir;:(('s.) 
 
 , The ju-ni-or clerk in this long-estabhshed office is a — 
 
 lurcher. Whose — worshipful father's name is writ upon 
 
 his forehead. (Pause). Then it is inscribed on brass. 
 
 (The jovial voice of Mb. Housemau w heard, 
 snyinij — 
 
 " Good day, Tom ; good day, A.mos." 
 
 (Mb. Houseman bustlfs in, takes off his cloak and 
 comforter. Iheii sits don-n and rapidly sorts 
 hiit papers, speaking at the same time.) 
 
 House. My letters, Thomas, if you please. (As' 
 .Tom is hrhujincj them.) A beautiful day, lads. (Hubs his 
 hands.) 
 
 Tbist. (I^urpdirioushj.) I think we shall have some 
 more snow. 
 
 House. Not a flake, sir; not a flake. My agenda! 
 
 ^^: 
 
KATE PEYTON. 5 
 
 Oh, [takes up a paper of memoranda) just copy these 
 exhibits in re Pettyfer. 
 
 [Exit Tom with the exhibits) 
 
 (He consults his ayenda again, and turns to Trist.) 
 
 That Will ? — Mr. NevUle's. Have you got it engrossed ? 
 You know, he said he must sign it to-day, to-morrow 
 might be too late. What on earth did he mean by that ? 
 
 Trist (u-ho has resumed his work). Ay; what indeed"? 
 I don't Uke the looks of it. 
 
 House. Ha ! ha ! Did you ever Uke the looks of 
 anything in the world, you croaking young raven ? (While 
 speitkiny, opens all his Utters, and spreads them out Jiat 
 be/ore lie reads one.) 
 
 Tkist. [bringing in will.) Here's Mr. Neville's vrill, 
 sir, duly engrossed. 
 
 (Houseman takes will, and runs his eye rapidhj over it.) 
 
 Tkist. (Rebellivushj.) Well, I daresay I do croak a 
 bit. But why is this young gentleman in such haste to 
 make his will '? and why { pointiug to a clause in will) does 
 he leave Moulton Grange to (the hnrijer and clerk jmt their 
 heads together over the clause) the- — very — lady that young 
 Griffith Gaunt has wooed this four years ? These Gaunts 
 are dangerous. They are known for four things. First, 
 for jealousy; secondly, for fighting on their legs till they 
 can't stand; thirdly, for fighting on their backs till they 
 can't breathe ; fourthly, for long, black moles on their — 
 foreheads — Oh ! (aside) the Im-cher tliere has got a 
 mole — written — on his forehead. 
 
 House. Why, here's a letter from the lady herself. 
 Fine as a hair. (Puts on Itis spectacles and reads) — 
 " Dear Mr. Houseman, 
 
 " If the hounds kill within ten miles of your office, 
 " expect a visit from me. Prithee be not from home. 
 " Your loving friend, 
 
 " And humble servant, 
 
 " Kate Peyton. 
 
 '^ Po.itcriptum. — Dear— good — kind Mr. Houseman, I 
 " have been so imprudent." (He leans back in his chair.) 
 
 J 
 
6 KATE PETTON. 
 
 (A TIMID KNOCK IS HEAED.) 
 
 Trist. There, sir, there. She has been bo imprudent. 
 Now, put this [taps letter) and that [tiipa deed) together; 
 and I say mischief is a brewing. And, as usual, there's " 
 a woman 
 
 Music. 
 
 (Kilter (jideJch/ Kate Peyton, in a scarlet ridiiuj 
 htihit and piirjile joekeij enji, d(je>:kin fianntletx, 
 bixjtx, and one Hjinr, lajht linntiiiij iiltiji, icitli 
 ijold hook,d-e.,folluwed iy Tom Leicesiee, !(7io 
 stands delifilited in the doorway. 
 
 at the bottom of it. Oh ! 
 
 (Kate Peyton cartsiei loir to Houseman and Teist, u-ho 
 hinc low.) 
 
 K\te. Good day, gentlemen. (Pause.) Do I inter- 
 rupt you ? 
 
 House. Nay, madam. Beauty takes precedence of 
 business; be seated. (The// seat her.) Never hoed Amos 
 Trist ; he is as close as the grave, and almost as cheerful. 
 Haw ! haw ! Heyday, what arc you standing there for, with 
 eyes hke saucers ? 
 
 Toil. Why, to hear all about the hunt, to be sure. 
 (I'athcticidlii.) Oh, please do, mistress. Oh Lord, at the 
 ^ight of you and your httle blue bonnet, that I've seen a 
 leading the field so often, I'm all afire. 
 
 House, (startimi up.) You incurable j-oung vagabond ; 
 think you this lady comes hither to chat with the hkes of 
 you? 
 
 Kate (rjiiietly.) Nay, good Mr. Houseman, do not 
 scold the young gentleman. He seems an enthusiast. 
 But indeed, young sir, though I ride hard to hounds in 
 my excitement, I love not to describe that folly in cold 
 blood. And to-day I have something very serious to con- 
 fide to my old friend here. 
 
 House. (Sotto voce tu the clerks.) The lady would be 
 private. (K.reitnt ToM ((ud Alios.) 
 
 Now, madam. 
 
 -v. 
 
w \ 
 
 KATE PEYTON. 
 
 Kate. You know, Mr. Houseman, I look on you as a 
 father. So I — I — I wish you were a woman. 
 
 House. Nay, madam; there is no sex in a lawyer's 
 office. My female clients come here and tell me things they 
 dare not tell their grandmothers. 
 
 Kate [hnfihti'iiinij up.) Oh, do they? Then so will 
 I. It is ahout two gentlemen. 
 
 House. Well, that is only one too many. 
 
 Kate. I beg your pardon; it is two too many for me. 
 Well then, sir, you know Mr. Gaunt has followed me this 
 four years, and, I believe, loves me sincerely. But I am 
 a Cathohc ; he is a Pi'otestant. And Mr. George Neville 
 has come back from Italy, and he pays me great attention ; 
 and the other day his famous piebald was standing in our 
 yard, and I was so incautious as to jump on him and give 
 him a gallop; out comes Mr. NeviUe, who has always his 
 ■wits about him, and carries off my old grey in exchange. 
 Both horses are well known in the county, and the matter 
 spread hke wildfire. Six noodles toasted me and Mr. 
 Neville together, six boobies rang the church bells, and, 
 Mr. Houseman, I am compromised. 
 
 House. Well, to be frank, I think you are. Humph! 
 Let me see. You have no decided preference for either 
 of these gentlemen ? 
 
 Kate. No. 
 
 House. You are not — in love — with either ? 
 
 Kate. [Scorn full ij.) In love ? Goodness forbid I 
 
 House. Then your course is clear. Mr. Neville has 
 large estates of his own ; he is heir to a baronetcy : you 
 admire him; he loves you: 'tis with him you are com- 
 promised. You must marry him. 
 
 {Ptnise.) 
 
 Kate. Yes. But then — what is to become of Mr. 
 Gaunt ? 
 
 House. He must go to sea, like his father before him. 
 
 Kate. Yes, to be sure. (Pioise.) The worst of it is, 
 he loves me so. He has been my servant this four years. 
 
 4 
 
r 
 
 -^ 
 
 
 »!**' 
 
 KATE PEYTON. 
 
 Poor soul, he has often rid fifteen miles and back for a 
 word with me at our shrubbery gate. I should break his 
 heart. Mr. Neville ? Why, he is a gay, good-humoured 
 rake, who only plays at love. He has too much vanity; 
 too much spirit, and too much sense to sigh long for 
 any woman. I am only his pastime. 
 
 House. Madam, you arc mistaken. Mr. NevUle has a 
 deep and sincere atiection for you. 
 
 Kate. How can j'ou know that ? 
 
 House. Got the proof in this office. On parchitieiit. 
 
 Kate. Then show it me. Seeing is beheving. 
 
 House. Nay, I demur to that. It is not our custom 
 to betray Uie secrets of our chents. 
 
 A KNOCK AT THE OuTER OfFICE. 
 
 Trist. (From lii.s ki'kI.) That is Mr. Neville. Shall I 
 show him in ? 
 
 Kate. Not whilst I am here ; oh pray. Or let me get 
 into covert first. ((Joes to screen.) May I '? I won't 
 Usteii — if I can help it. (Concents herself.) 
 
 House. (Ooing towards door.) Of course you won't. 
 That is off my conscience. Be good enough to come in, 
 sii-. 
 
 Enter George Neville. 
 
 We are quite ready for you. Be seated. (Thei/ git.) I'll 
 just read the will over before we sign. There's the draft 
 to compare. 
 
 (fie hiinds Mr. Ne\'TLLE the draft, who uprinkles it irith a 
 scent bottle, hut never looks at it to read it. Houseman 
 then rends very fast.) 
 
 " I, George Neville, of Neville's Court, in the county 
 " of Cumberliind, and of Leicester Square, London, Esq., 
 " being this day of sound mind, memory and understanding, 
 " do dehver this as my last will and testament. First, I 
 "bequeath my body," — etc., — "and my soul," — the 
 nsiml form. " I desire my executors to discharge my 
 " funeral and testamentary expenses — " 
 
KATE PETTON. 9 
 
 (Mr. Neville, early in this tirade, puts his fingers in his 
 {ears, and shows siijns of diatrets.) 
 
 Nev. Hold, sir 1 Would you assassinate me with 
 verbiage ? I came here to sign a will. 
 
 House. What, without reading it ? 
 
 Nev. Of course. I'll sii/n any rigmarole you Uke, but 
 I wouldn't listen to it tor a great deal of money. (House. 
 looks amn::ed.) Stay; there's a passage in the thing which 
 ought to be interesting, for it contains the name of a lady 
 for whom I have a profound esteem. You shall read me 
 that part, if you don't mind the trouble. 
 
 House. I will, sir, with great pleasure. Ahem ! 
 (Beads hiidh/ and dislinrtli/.) "And I give and bequeath 
 " to Mistress Catherine Peyton, of Peyton HaU, in the 
 " said county, in token of my respect and regard, all that 
 " my freehold estate, called Moulton Grange, with the i| 
 
 " messuage or tenement standing and being thereon, and 1 
 
 " the farmyard, buildings and appurtenances belonging [ 
 
 " thereto, and which contains, by estimation, 370 acres ! 
 
 " 3 roods and 5 perches, to hold to her, the said Catherine \ 
 
 " Peyton, her heirs and assigns — for over." j 
 
 Nev. There — hang the rest. Now let me sign, and t 
 
 bid you good day. 
 
 (Enter Amos Trist.) 
 (Business of signing, sealing and delicering.) j 
 
 (They rise ) ' 
 
 House. Ah, sir, few young gentlemen of your ago 
 have the prudence to make their wills. They confound ; 
 
 youth with immortality. 
 
 Nev. (offers him snuff.) Not when they know it is an 
 even chance whether they live the day out or not. 
 
 (Exit, with a polite hon\ learing Houseman uith the jiinelt 
 suspended. Kate comes out, looking eery tlnnighiful and 
 subdued. Mr. H. turns and sees her near him.) 
 
 House. Well, madam, what think you of all this ? 
 Kate. Oh, sir, I am surprised; I am flattered. Poor 
 a2 
 

 10 KATE PEYTON. 
 
 i Mr. Neville! Heaven forbid I should ever inherit his 
 
 I Moulton Grange. ( Walks reatles.sh/.) I am uneasy. This 
 
 ] gentleman is in the flower of his youth. Why does he 
 
 I make his will; and in such haste ? (Pause.) Pray, what 
 
 I did he say to you at the door ? for I only caught one word. 
 
 J Trist. [Pokes his head throiujh uindow, and uhispers) 
 
 I Are you at home ? 
 
 House. How can I tell ? TiU I know my visitor. 
 Thist. Mr. Griffith Gaunt. 
 I Kate. There now! — Get rid of him as quickly as you 
 
 can ; tliat we may resume our conversation. 
 
 (Retires behind screen.) 
 
 House. Show him in. 
 
 ^Ixisic, sliort and (jrare. 
 
 (Enter Griffith Gaunt, sombre and depressed as a man 
 } who thinks he has not long to live.) 
 
 I Gaunt. Mr. Houseman — I am come to make my will. 
 
 I (Houseman stares. — ^-1 jmuse.) 
 
 House. Wliy, the world is turning wise. You arc 
 right, sir: the young are as mortal as the old, and if any 
 creature on earth deserves to be hanged, it is — the man 
 who dies intestate. 
 
 Gaunt. Then here is my will. Be pleased to witness 
 it for me. (Proilures a sernji of jia/ier icritten on.) 
 
 House. That thing a will ! Why, it would all go into 
 the ace of spades. 
 
 Gaunt. I had not time to waste words. Shall I read 
 it to you ? (Houseman nods stiffli/. Gaunt reads.) " I 
 " Griffith Gaunt, at present residing at Bolton HaU, in 
 " the county of Cumberland, do dehver this as my 
 t^' " lust will and testament. I bequeath all the property, 
 
 " real or personal, which I now possess, or may hereafter 
 " become entitled to, to my dear friend and mistress, 
 " Catherine Peyton, of Peyton Hall. But I also bequeath 
 " my curse to the said Catherine Peyton, if at any time 
 
A 
 
 KATE PEYTON. 11 
 
 " she shall wed with George Neville, of Neville's Court, 
 " in this county." 
 
 House. I object to the last clause. You cannot 
 demise a curse: it is neither realty nor personalty. 
 Besides, sir, when a Christian man makes his last will 
 and testament, he should think of the grave, and of the 
 place beyond, where we may carry our love for those we 
 leave behind, but not our hate nor our jealousy: the gate 
 is too narrow for such wares. 
 
 Gaunt (doggedly). Old man, be not too hard on me: 
 I am no saint nor apostle, but a poor, plain gentleman of 
 Cumberland: happy as a prince two httle months ago; 
 but now a stranger has come between me and her I love. 
 My whole bleeding heart hes on this paper. I can't cut it in 
 two and take half back. But I'll tell you what I can do, I can 
 carry it to that new lawyer over the way, if Jack House- 
 man has forgotten who set him up in this town, and backed 
 him against high and low, when I was in my cradle. 
 
 House, (agitated.) Here, Amos; come in directly, 
 and witness this damnable instrument with me. 
 
 (Re-enter Tbist.) 
 
 (Business of signing and delivering tJie will, as tlie testator's 
 act and deed.) 
 
 House. There, sir, you see I have not forgotten old 
 Squire Gaunt, my benefactor. What more can I do for 
 his son ? 
 
 Gaunt. (Giving him his hand.) Nothing. You have 
 set my heart at ease. Oh, yes, by-the-bye, let me have 
 a word in private with young Tom Leicester. 
 
 House. Certainly. I'll look over his work in the 
 outer office, Here, Tom Leicester, come and speak to 
 Squire Gaunt. (Exeunt Houseman and Trist.) 
 
 (Re-enter Tom Leicester.) 
 
 Gaunt. Tom, come here. Look at me, lad. Canst 
 keep a secret ? 
 
 Tom. Ay, Squire, that I can. 
 
 
12 KATE PEYTON. 
 
 Gaunt. {Louering his voife.) I'm going from this 
 place to Scutchemzee Nob — to fight Mr. Neville. 
 
 (Kate shows her face for an instant, and is evidently trying 
 to listen.) 
 
 Come after me by the footpath, as fast as you can ; and if 
 I fall, take this letter to Peyton HaU on the instant. K I 
 stand, give it back to me. 
 
 Tom. Only let me get my own things on, Squire, and 
 I'll do your bidding. I can't run in these. 
 
 Gaunt. Well, well; but lose no time. (Tom runs out. 
 {Looks at his watch ) / must ride hard too; 'tis near the 
 hour. Exit. 
 
 (Kate comes fomard, pale and agitated.) 
 Kate. What mystery is this ? 
 
 {Ee-enter Me. Houseman.) 
 
 Mr. Houseman ! Both these gentlemen's lives are in 
 danger: that is why they make their wills. And how 
 should both their lives be in danger, but from each other ? 
 But perhaps the letter will tell me. 
 
 (Tom runs in in his gipsy clothes.) 
 Ah! I know you now. The brave boy that runs with 
 he hounds. The letter, the letter! I know it is for me, 
 
 Tom. Nay, but I wa'n't to give you that. Not till I 
 see which of them gets killed. 
 
 Kate. Which gets killed ! (rii Houseman.) There — 
 there I (Holds out her hands imploringly.) Oh ! for 
 pity's sake do not keep it from me I 
 
 Tom. There, then, [(jives her letter.) 
 
 Kate [Reading it.) " Sweet mistress, — Wlien this 
 " reaches you, I shall be no more here to trouble you with 
 " my jealousy. This Neville set it abroad that you had 
 " changed horses with him. He is a liar, and I told him 
 " so to his teeth. (Oh, madman! he hog insulted the 
 bravest gentleman in the county !) " We are to meet at 
 " three this afternoon, and one must die." [She puts her 
 hand on her head, and is transjijced with horror.) One 
 
KATE PEYTON. 18 
 
 must die 1 " Then let the grave hide my faults from thy 
 " memory; think only that I loved thee well. I leave thee 
 " my substance — would it were ten times more — and the 
 ' ' last thought of my heart. 
 
 " So, no more in this world, from him that 
 " is thy true lover and humble servant, 
 " till death, 
 
 " Gkdtith Gaunt." 
 
 {Crying convulsively) What have I done ? "What,shall I 
 do ? Oh, Mr. Houseman, pray stop this fearful fighting. 
 Pray ! pray I pray ! {Clings subbing to him.) 
 
 House. Alas, my dear ! what can I do ? I don't 
 even know where the duel is to bp. 
 
 Tom. But I do. {Pulls Kate's sleeve, and whimpers) 
 Mistress, don't ye take on hke that. While there's life 
 there's hope. I'll show you a short cut to Scutchemzee 
 Nob, where the fighting is to be. (Kate starts up ) But 
 nay, I forgot; there's Harrowden Brook in the way, and 
 it is running broad and deep, with the flood. (Shakes his 
 head.) 
 
 Kate. Harrowden Brook I I took it flj-ing twice to- 
 day, after a miserable fox, and shall I shy it when there's 
 life to be saved ? Oh, you brave boy, run to the inn, — 
 you wiU go faster on foot than I can ; bring out my piebald 
 this moment, and then just put me in the Une for Scutch- 
 emzee Nob, that is all. Fly ! fly ! (Tom runs out.) 
 
 House. But, madam, had you not better trust to a 
 constable's warrant ? To go on the field will compromise 
 you worse than ever. 
 
 Kate. Wliat does that matter, in a case of hfe and 
 death ? Sir, I have acted like a coquette and a vacillating 
 fool; but God, he knows, I'm neither. I have the best 
 horse in all the north country, and I've the heart to ride him; 
 and I will ride him on to their drawn swords, sooner than 
 any man's blood shall be shed for me. {Exit running.) 
 
 House. {Shouting.) She is on fire, and I've caught the 
 flame 1 Here, Amos ! Turn out, ye dog. Shall we be 
 
 J 
 
1* KA.TE PEYTON. 
 
 outdone by a woman ? Come I give me my alderman's staff 
 — quick I — I'll tap them on the shoulder, and sto'^ their 
 fighting. Shut you the office, and away we go to Scutch- . 
 emzee Nob. 
 
 A Horn is blown. 
 What's that ? 
 
 Courier, [outside.) Express from London, for John 
 Houseman, Attomey-at-law. 
 
 House. I'm coming down this moment. I'm coining. 
 
 (Exit hastily.) 
 
 Scene H. — Outside Houseman's door, on wliich his imme 
 appears on a plate. 
 
 Music. 
 
 Enter a Couhiek in jack boots, splashed. Houseman comes 
 out, followed by Teist. 
 
 House. Come, my lad, despatch. For I'm in a 
 hurry. 
 
 Courier. Despatch ! Why, I've knocked up two 
 horses between this and Lancaster. Isn't that despatch ? 
 From Atkins and Co., Attorneys, Gray's Inn, London. 
 Hands him a packet, consisting of a letter and the draft of 
 
 a will. He hands the document to Trist, ivho runs his 
 
 eye over it, while Houseman reads the letter.) 
 
 House. (Reads.) " Dear Sir, —This is to inform you 
 " that your cUent, Mr. Charlton, has just breathed his 
 " last, after an illness of two days only. Finding himself 
 " near his end, he sent for our Mr. Atkins, and made his 
 " will, revoking all previous dispositions of his property. 
 " In this, his last testament, his heir-at-law, though a 
 " Catholic, is made residuary legatee. We send you the 
 " draft," &c., &c. Let me see the last clause. It is so. 
 Hurrah ! There's a guinea to the bearer of good news. 
 
 (Exit Courier, l.h.) 
 
 Well, this settles all; she marries Mr. Ne\ille, unless^ 
 we have got to bury him. Ah 1 there goes scarlet and 
 
KATE PKTTON. 15 
 
 bind, on her great piebald, slap through the chnrohjwd, 
 by heaven ; jnd over the wall, like a bird ! Come, let ns 
 get horses and a guide to the Nob ; and the devil take the 
 hindmost. . (Exit.) 
 
 Tbist. (Lugubriously). Then he is sure to take me. 
 
 (Exit.) 
 
 Scene rH. — Scutcliemzee Nob. A bleak, rising ground, 
 looking down on a long, sloping valley. The trees are 
 covered with rime, or light frost. Griffith Gaunt 
 standing pale, gloomy, and dejected, in position, l.h. Mb. 
 Neville in position, b.c.b. Mb. Hitchin, a Surgeon, 
 L.B., with a ease of surgical instruments. In the c, be- 
 tween the combatants, stand the seconds, Mb. Hammersly 
 
 . and Major Rickabds — the latter hat finished loading 
 two brace of pistols. 
 
 "Music, of a grave character, not loud. 
 
 Major Bickabds places two pistols behind his back a 
 moment, then offers Hammersly the choice. Ham- 
 MERSLY takes one, and bows formally, then goes with it 
 to Neville, Rickakds to Gaunt. 
 
 Music ceases, as the seconds turn to go to the combatants. 
 
 Rick. (Sotto voce.) Stand sharp ; and don't take your 
 eye off him. (Pause.) How d'ye feel ? 
 
 Gaunt. Like a man who must die ; but will try not to 
 die alotie. 
 
 (The seconds take thdr places.) 
 
 Rice. Gentlemen, you will fire- when I let fall this 
 handkerchief, and not before. Mark me, gentlemen, to 
 prevent mistakes, I shall say — one — two — three — and 
 then drop the handkerchief. (Pause.) Are you both 
 ready ? 
 
 Nev. and Gaunt. Yes. 
 
 Rick. (With white handkerchief.) One — two — three. 
 
 (He drops the handkerchief — the combatants fire, and Mb. 
 
 yiiHf 
 
r 
 
 16 
 
 KATE PEYTON. 
 
 Neville's hat is knocked off, and Gaunt's pistol falls 
 out of his grasp, and his right arm appears powerless. 
 They all gather round him, except Neville, who, however, 
 takes a step or two towards him.) 
 
 Hitch. He is wounded. 
 
 Gaunt. It is nothing ; it is nothing. 1 shoot better 
 with my left than with my right. Give me another pistol, 
 I 3ay. He has hit me. And now I'll hit him. 
 
 Ham. The affair need go no farther. Mr. Neville has 
 owned to me there was some provocation on our side. 
 And on behaK of the party insulted, I shall let the matter 
 end here, Mr. Gaunt being wounded. 
 
 Gaunt. (Grimly.) I demand my second shot to his 
 third. He will not decline, unless he is a poltroon, as well 
 as — what I called him. 
 
 Nev. Hammersly, you are wasting time there. Load 
 agaiD ; and let me rid the county of a mad dog. 
 
 Gaunt. Bickards, I don't insult my rival in the field. 
 I content myself — with killiirg him. 
 
 Music, subdued. 
 
 (Buxiness of loading pistols, c, during which the following 
 dialogue, sotto voce: — ) 
 
 Ham. This is a barbarous business. 
 
 Bice. It is business. It is not play. I think my man 
 will wing yours this time. I see it in his eye. 
 
 Ham. Neville is a dead shot, when he chooses. I am 
 afraid neither will Uve long after this discharge. 
 
 {Seconds return to their places) 
 Rick. [Solemnly.) Gentlemen, we are both resolved 
 that this is the last shot you can be allowed to fire in this 
 quarrel, under any circumstances. Are you ready ? 
 Nev. and Gaun. Yes. 
 Rick. Then — one — two — 
 
 (Kate Peyton rushes in and stands in the line of fire She 
 looks from one to the other. The combatants lower their 
 pistols, and stand aghast. Then they take off their hats. 
 
 S»L^ 
 
KATE PETTOW. 17 
 
 and Neville puts his pistol behind his back. Kate 
 curtsies low to each. 
 
 Kate. (^Walking majestically up to Gaunt.) Give me 
 that pistol, Mr. Gaunt. 
 
 {He gives it her submissively. She walks to Mb. Neville.) 
 
 Oblige me with yours, Mr. Neville. 
 
 {He bows and hands it her. She returns to centre, and, 
 standing with her back to audience, fires both pistols in 
 the air, and drops them. Then turns and lifts her eyes 
 and hands to Heaven in gratitude. Her lips move as if in 
 prayer — then she utters a faint cry, and falls in swoon, 
 c. The gentlemen utter exclamations of dismay, and rush 
 to her assistance. 
 
 Gaunt. We have kLUed her I we have killed her I 
 Hitch. Stand aside, gentlemen, if you please. 
 Gaunt. Oh, yes, the doctor ! Oh, sir ! 
 Hitch. Be cahri> gentlemen, pray be calm. {Ex- 
 amining her.) The lady has swooned, that is all. 
 Ham. Clap her hands I 
 BicK. Burnt feathers ! 
 Nev. (Bustling up.) Here's my scent bottle. 
 Gaunt. Here's my flask I 
 Hitch. No, no. Fetch me some cold water. 
 
 Gaunt and Neville rush out, b. & l.) 
 
 EicK. Shall I raise her head ? 
 
 Hitch. On the contrary, the flatter she lies the better. 
 {Coolly.) Swooning is caused by the blood receding from 
 the vessels of the brain. 
 
 {Re-enter, running, Neville and Gaunt,- eacA with water 
 in his hat, which they thrust under Surgeon's nose.) 
 
 Hitch. {Dipping a hand into each hat, flings water 
 sharply into Kate's /ac« ) There — she is coming to. Be 
 pleased to stand aloof, and give her air. And you mustn't 
 be alarmed if ahe's a Uttle hysterical at first. 
 
 {They stand aloof, but watch her with marked anxiety. Sha 
 
r 
 
 18 KATE PEYTON. 
 
 siahs and looks beivildered. Presently she turns her head 
 and sees Neville and Gaunt.) 
 
 Kate. Oh ! {Hides her face in her hands). 
 
 Hitch. Courage, madam. There are none here but 
 friends. (Kate hei/ins to cry.) Now, Mr. Gaunt, your 
 flask. There, Mistress Kate, drink a drop, to oblige old 
 Hitchin, that brought you into the world. 'Twill do you 
 good now. 
 
 (Kate clings to Hitchin, and sips from flask, crying a little 
 all the while.) 
 
 Kate. {Recovering a little.) This comes of my fasting 
 so long. I have eaten nothing since breakfast. It is 
 enough to upset anybody. 
 
 Gaun. {Coaxing). Yes, and you had a hard run with 
 the hounds, too. 
 
 Nev. {Coaxing.) It was enough to upset a porter. 
 
 Kate, i Riling.) But indeed I did not come here to make 
 a fuss, but to clear up a misunderstanding. Gentlemen, 
 thus it is. I took the freedom to borrow Mr. Neville's 
 piebald horse. 
 
 Gaunt. Oh, if you did exchange horses with him, of 
 course I have only to make my apologies — and go. 
 
 Kate. Be pleased not to exaggerate, sir, where I am 
 concerned. The exchange, as you call it, was only for a 
 day. But Mr. Neville knows his piebald is worth two of 
 my grey ; and so he was too fine a gentleman to send me 
 back my old hunter, and demand his young thoroughbred. 
 He waited for me to do that ; and if anybody ought to be 
 shot, it is me. But, as I am not so fond of being shot 
 as some people are — here, Mr. Leicester I 
 
 (Enter Tom Leicester.) 
 
 Put my ?ide saddle on that grey horse yonder, and the 
 man's saddle on the piebald. {Exit Tom Leicester.) 
 
 Gaunt. {With joy.) Ah! 
 
 Kate. And now, Mr. Gaunt, it is your turn. Yon 
 must apologise. 
 
'WH 
 
 KATE PEYTON W 
 
 Gaunt. To him ! — Never ! 
 
 Kate. Come, consider : Mr. Neville is esteemed by all 
 the county. (Draws nearer to him.) Oblige me, and do 
 what is right. 
 
 Gaunt. She sides with him. Oh, agony ! 
 
 ■Kate. Come, Griffith, let your reason unsay the 
 barbarous words your passiop has uttered against a worthy 
 gentleman, whom we all esteem. (Patise.) Mr. Neville, 
 Mr. Gaunt has a word to say to you. 
 
 {She draws back, Neville and Gaunt approach, the 
 latter dejectedly, and salute.) 
 
 Gaunt. (Dejectedly, but not sidlrily.) Sir, one, whom I 
 am Uttle used to gainsay, has made me see that I was 
 too hasty, and applied harsher terms to you than the oc- 
 casion justified: and — so— sir — 
 
 Nev. Not a word more, sir, I pray. I do not feel 
 quite blameless in the matter, and have no wish to mortify 
 an honourable adversary. I am satisfied. 
 
 (They bow, and separate. Gaunt leans against a tree, and 
 beckons Hitchin and Rickabds. These are promptly 
 joined . by Hammersly, and the gentlemen conceal 
 Gaunt /coni Kate, while the Doctor cuts off the sleeve of 
 Gaunt's coat, and cuts out a bullet, which ojyeration, 
 hoicerer, is not to be made too clear to the audience. 
 During the first part of this business Kate's attention it 
 distracted by her conversation with Mb. Neville.) 
 
 Kate. That was kind and generous of you May I 
 go away now ? You promise me there will be no more 
 fighting ? 
 
 Nev. Oh, all that is over for to-day. Do you really 
 care about two fools Uke Gaunt and me shooting one 
 another ? 
 
 Kate. Strange to say, I do. If either of you had died 
 for me, my life would have been one long remorse. 
 
 Nev. Then let me remind you that you can end the 
 difference at once — by honouring one of us with your hand. 
 
20 KATE PEYTON. 
 
 Kate. (Drily.) Which? 
 Nev. The one you think you can love. 
 ^ Hitch. It is close to the skin. 
 
 (Kate turns her eyes with curiosity on the other group.) 
 
 Gaunt. Cut away, man. If you cut my arm off, I 
 should not feel it. Here lies my wound. (Lays his hund 
 on his hri'iist.) 
 
 Kate. [J'neasUy.) What are they all so busy about 
 round Mr. Gaunt ? 
 
 Nev. [(Joolly.) I have not an idea. 
 
 Hitch. Out it comes, I've got it. Now put on this 
 
 Kate. (Adfanciny.) What is the matter ! Wounded! 
 — He is wounded ! 
 
 Rick. A mere trifle, madam; no danger. See, here is 
 the bullet. 
 
 Kate. Ah ! ah ! [Looks (isk((nt and horrvr-stiirken 
 at hullet.) Give me that bullet; it is mine. He owes it 
 tome. Ha! ha! ha! [Latiyhs hysterically.) 
 
 [Suryeon puts on shiny) 
 
 Houseman. [Outside.) Hurrah 1 hurrah ! , 
 
 Music. 
 
 (Enter Houseman, hwitily, followed by Amos Teist.) 
 
 House. Good news ! Hunah ! Thank Heaven you are 
 all alive to hear it, especially you, Mr. Neville. Madam, 
 I wish you joy. 
 
 Kate. (Anyrily.) Oh, don't come wishing me joy; 
 wish me a halter. {Eyes the bullet.) For that is what I 
 deserve. 
 
 House. Mr. Charlton is dead, and you are his resi- 
 duary legatee 
 
 Kate. [Impatiently.) Residuary legatee ! What is 
 that '? 
 
 House. Why, he has revoked his old will, and left 
 Mr. Gaunt two thousand pounds : but to you he leaves 
 
KATE PEYTON. 21 
 
 (rending from iHII) all his messuages or tenements, farm 
 lands, hereditaments and real estate, &e. &c. 
 
 Trist. And all his lunioys, mortgages, chattels, fur- 
 niture, plate, pictures, wines, liquors, horses. 
 
 House. In a word, all he had in the world, to you, 
 and your heirs, executors, administrators, and assigns for 
 ever. Madam, I wish you joy. 
 
 Tkist. [Diilrfidh/.) Madam, I wish you joy. 
 
 Kate. What, I have wounded him, and disinherited 
 him, and you wish me joy ? Monsters of cruelty ! 
 
 House. Heyday ! 
 
 Gaunt. Nay, Kate, look not at it so. {In a broken- 
 voice.) Gentlemen, never did good fortune light on one 
 more worthy. And, for me, I feel not the loss of house 
 and lands, not one jot. I have lost this day what I 
 valued a thousand times more than them. Your arm, 
 Rickards. [Leana on him.) 
 
 Kate. [To Neville.) You are right; and I can hide 
 my heart no more. Be generous; understand me, for- 
 give me; and leave me. 
 
 Nev. [With a maffnanimous effort.) I know how to 
 respect a lady's will, madam. 
 
 {He bows loic — slie curtdcs — and exit Neville.) 
 
 Kate. {Agitated, and lowering her eyes.) Gentlemen, I 
 desire to say a word in private to Mr. Gaunt. 
 
 Rick. By all means. {Theij retire back, hut ivatrh.) 
 
 Kate. {With great emotion.) Dear Griffith, I never 
 loved but you. I feared your jealousy, and the diflference 
 in our faith, that is all. But this day you are wounded 
 for my sake, and disinherited for my sake, and — oh I it 
 is more than I can bear ! My hand and my heart are 
 yours for ever, if you will take them. Oh, Griffith I my 
 poor, poor Griffith I 
 
 Gaunt. {Falling on Ms knees, and kissing her hand 
 jiiissionatelg). Kate ! darUng Kate ! 
 
 Kate. Dearest, compose yourself, and don't make me 
 cry 80. Gentlemen, he is only asking my pardon. 
 
 J 
 
HT" 
 
 22 KATE PEYTON. 
 
 Tm8t. He is jealous; she is high-minded: she is a 
 CathoUc; he is a Protestant: I don't much Uke the 
 looks 
 
 (Houseman stops his mouth.) 
 
 Kate. Get up, dear, and invite the gentlemen for this 
 day month. 
 
 Gaunt. A whole month ! 
 Kate. I meant this day week. 
 
 Music to end. 
 
 Gaunt. This day week we hope you wiU do us the 
 honour to he at our wedding. 
 
 (Kate and Gaunt make a low obeisance to the others, buck 
 to the Audience: then turn and repeat the same to front. 
 
 END OF PBOLOOUE. 
 
 EIGHT YEARS ELAPSE BETWEEN THIS AND FIRST ACT. 
 
^mm 
 
 Act 1.] KATE PEYTON. 23 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 ScBNS I. — The Grounds of Ernshaw Castle. In Jront, a 
 gravel path, bordered with box. Then a piece of turf at 
 the side of the mere or lake. One or more flowering bushes 
 overhang the water, and are refected in it. On the turf, 
 near the water, are laid one or two wet cloths and towels. 
 A stone roller at side. 
 
 Music. 
 
 Cakoline Rtdee and Jane Bannister discovered. Ryder, 
 dressed almost like a lady, is knitting a silk purse me- 
 chanically, but bending her brows and deep in thought. 
 Jane is in working attire, and bare armed, and is seated 
 on a low three-legged stool, with her coarse apron to her 
 eyes, crying quietly ; by her side is a large red pan, con - 
 taining wet linen, and a basin. Eyder gives her a glance 
 of perfect indifference, and pursues her reflections. 
 
 Music changes. 
 
 (Jane rises up with a movement of sudden resolution, takes 
 a wet cloth out of pan, wrings it vigorously and nmket it 
 flap, then lays it on the grass behind Ryder.) 
 
 Music ceases. 
 
 Ryder. Am I really so mad as to love him ? What 
 can come of it but misery ? 
 
 (Jane, who hat returned to the stool, takes out another cloth 
 
 and wrings it, but breaks down suddenly, and puts it to 
 
 her eyes.) 
 
 Jane. To be turned off like this all at one time ' 
 What will father say ? He won't believe but what 'tis all 
 my fault. He'll give me a hiding. Turn your back, if you 
 please ; I be a going to drown myself in this here mere. 
 (^Runs towards it — Ryder takes no notice whatever.) Ah! Ah I 
 
 Ryder. (Without moving.) What now? 
 
 Jane. I seed one of them nasty great fish, awaiting to 
 
 ■J 
 
r 
 
 "^ 
 
 24 KATE PEYTON. [Act 1. 
 
 eat me up. {Shakes her fist at the water.) I won't die there. 
 They'd clean the flesh off my bones in about an hoar, 
 as they did off t' parson's as was drowned there sixty 
 years agone. [Returns to stool, sits down and rocks.) But 
 I'll find some way. I won't go home, I won't never go 
 home. Oh ! oh I oh t [Bocking.) 
 
 Ryder. (Tapping her on the shoulder.] Come, Jane, don't 
 be a fool. 
 
 Jane. {Sobbing.) I will. I will. 
 
 Rydeb. Ah I {Her /ace is wreathed in smiles.) 
 
 Music. 
 Enter Geiffith Gaunt, uith a face very ruddy and bright. 
 
 Gaunt. Hey-day, lasses, what is your trouble ? 
 
 Jane. {Sobbing.) I've got the sack ; that is what ails me. 
 
 Gaunt. {Bather kindly.) Got the sack, Jenny I Why, 
 what for ? 
 
 Jane. Nay,, sir, that is what I want to know. Our 
 Dame ne'er found a fault in me ; and now she does pack 
 me off like a dog. 
 
 Rydek. Come, yon must not blame the mistress. She 
 is a good mistress as ever breathed. I'll tell yon the truth, 
 master, if you will pass me your word I shan't be sent 
 away for it. 
 
 Gaunt. I pledge you my word as a gentleman. 
 
 Ryoeb. Well, then, sir, Jane's fault is yours and mine. 
 She is not a Papist. I listened, and heard the Priest 
 Leonard tell our Dame she must have Catholic servants. 
 That Leonard's word is law in this house ; so Harriet she 
 was packed off last month, and now poor Jane is to go — 
 for walking to church behind you, sir. But there, Jane, I 
 believe he would get our very master out of the house if he 
 could ; and then what would become of as all ? {The women 
 interchange a furtive glance.) 
 
 Gaunt. That is enough, Jenny, thon'lt stay. 
 
 {Exit, looking discomposed.) 
 
 Jane. {Who has risen.) Mrs. Ryder, I never thought to 
 like yon so well. {Gives her a hearty kiss, which Rydeb 
 
 > 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
r 
 
 Act 1.] KATE PEYTON. 25 
 
 receives like a martyr.) I won't cry no more. After all 
 (Bimwsg,) this house is no place for us that be women. A 
 fine roost to be Sure, where the hen she crows, and the 
 cock do but cluck. 
 
 Rydkb. You foolish woman, there are dogs that bark, 
 and dogs that bite. Our master is one of those that bite. 
 Whist 1 here she comes, reading that book Leonard gave 
 her. He wrote it. 
 
 Enter Mks. Gaunt, waUdnif very slowly, and in profound 
 contemplation — the women curtsey, which she acknowledges, 
 but almost without taking her eyes off the book. She stops. 
 
 Kate. What tenderness t what pious eloquence ! How 
 his words lift the soul above the vanities, the follies, and 
 even the affections of this sorry world. 
 
 {Enter Gaunt, fuistily, meeting her.) 
 Ah ! my dear. 
 
 Gaunt. I want to speak to you. 
 
 Kate. {Closing the book and putting it in her bosom.) 
 With all my heart. 
 
 Gaunt. Run away, you girla. D'ye hear ? 
 
 (Rtdeb and Jane go out different ways, exchanging a rapid 
 
 look of intelligence.) 
 So Jane is turned off now. 
 
 Kate. {Calmly.) I don't know about being turned off; 
 
 but she leaves me next month, and Cicely Davis comes back. 
 
 Gaunt. Cicely Davis I An useless slut that cannot boil 
 
 a potatoe fit to eat. But then she is a Papist, and poor 
 
 Jenny is a Protestant, and can cook a dinner. 
 
 Kate. My dear, do not you trouble about the women 
 • servants ; leave them to me. 
 ■ Gaunt. And welcome ; but this is not your doing, it is 
 that Leonard's. Come, Kate, now I ask yon, is a young 
 bachelor a fit person to govern a man's family ? 
 
 Kate. -A young bachelor I whoever heard of such a 
 term applied to a priest : and a saint upon earth ? 
 
 Gaunt, Why, he is not married, so he must be a 
 B 
 
 iJiiH 
 
 MMilMiiMAIiMi 
 
 
-U 
 
 26 KATE PEYTON. lAcr 1. 
 
 bachelor ; and I say again it is monstrous for a young 
 bachelor to come between old mamed folk, and hear all 
 their secrets, and set up to be master of my house, and 
 order my wife to turn away my servants, for going to church 
 behind me. Why not turn me away too ? Their fault is mine. 
 Kate. Griffith, yon are in a passion, and I think yon 
 want to put me in one. 
 
 Gaunt. Well, perhaps I am. But you were never so 
 uncharitable, nor so unreasonable, when good old Father 
 Francis was your director. 'Tis this Leonard's doing. He 
 is my secret, underhand enemy ; I feel him undermining 
 me, inch by inch, and I can bear it no longer. I must 
 make a stand somewhere, and I may as well make it here ; 
 foj: Jenny is a good girl, and her folk live in the village, and 
 she helps them. Think better of it, Kate, and let the poor 
 wench stay, though she does go to church behind your 
 husband. 
 
 Kate. Are you going to be jealous again ? jealous of 
 my confessor ? or (fij^iiiy her eyes on him) is some mischief- 
 making woman advising you ? You never used to interfere 
 between me and my maids. 
 
 Gaunt. Nor wouldn't now. But this has been traced 
 home to the priest, and I'll not brook it. I tell you plainly, 
 if you turn this poor lass off, to please this mischief- 
 making, meddUng priest, I'll turn the priest off, to please 
 her and her folk. They are as good as he is anyway. 
 
 Kate. As good as he is ! — Now I see some vulgar 
 woman's tongue has been at your ear. The scum of my 
 kitchen as good as Father Leonard ! you will make me 
 hate the mischief-making hussy. She shall pack out of 
 this house to-morrow morning. 
 
 Gaunt. Then I say that priest shall never darken my 
 doors again. 
 
 Kate. Ah I Then I say they are my doors ; not yours : 
 and that holy man shall brighten them whenever he pleases. 
 
 Gaunt. Oh I 
 
 (Dead silence as Ion;/ as possible.) 
 Kate. {Aside in a whisper.) Oh God ! what have I said ? 
 
 J 
 
Act l.J KATE PETTON. 87 
 
 . Music. 
 {Enter Fatheb Francis.) 
 
 Fran. Good day, my good friends. What, are you in 
 trouble ? Perchance I intrude. 
 
 Gaunt. No, no ; an old friend is always, welcome — to 
 me, at all events. 
 
 Kate. Never so welcome as now. Father, I have just 
 committed a great sin. Ah ! they may well say anger is a 
 short madness. Was it really Kate Gaunt who said that — 
 to Griffith ? 
 
 Fran. Said what ? 
 
 Eate. Ask him. I could not utter in cold blood the 
 base, ungenerous thing I have said in anger. 
 
 (Francis looks towards Gaunt.) 
 
 Gaunt. And I have nothing to say about this lady to 
 any man. She is my wife. (Francis pats him on the back 
 approvingly.) Ah, Father Francis, you are an honest 
 man : why did you leave us ? We were happy together all 
 those years that she had your advice to walk by. 
 
 Fran. (Thoughtfully) My successor. Brother Leonard, 
 is much my superior in piety. To be sure, I am older and 
 more experienced. 
 
 Rate. Let me profit by both. Come with me to my 
 boudoir. Receive my confession, inflict my pen^ce, and 
 aid me with your counsels. 
 
 (Sighs, and tint, followed by Francis.) 
 
 Gaunt. It is true. Both house and land are hers ; 
 tied up as tight as wax. She said " No," in her grand 
 way ; " shall I give him myself, and grudge him my 
 lands ?" But the priests had their will. Even my two 
 thousand pounds is hers now, for I spent it on this place. 
 Eight years man and wife, and, till this day, she has al- 
 ways put me forward as the Squire, and made herself of no 
 importance ; but the moment I set up my authority againit 
 that young priest's — " Know your real place, Griffith 
 
 •U^MII 
 
28 KATK PEYTON. [Act 1. 
 
 Gaunt. This is my house, not yours ; your place in it ia 
 on a low stool, at Leonard's feet." — REVENGE ! 
 
 Enter Thomas Leicestee, with a bucket. 
 
 What have you got there ? 
 
 Tom. Pike — for our Papists. 
 
 Gaunt. Put 'em down, and listen to me. I hear you 
 are sick of my service, and want to be a pedlar, only you 
 haven't got the money to fill your pack. There's five 
 guineas. (Tom takes them and looks stupified.) Now tell 
 me ; why do I that for thee ? 
 
 Tom. Well, Squire, you had always an open hand, and 
 I have been a good servant, and kept your honour's game. 
 
 Gaunt. You never catch a poacher, and you wire my 
 rabbits, and sell them at the nearest market. 
 
 (Tom hangs his head.) 
 
 I ought to send thee to Carlisle Gaol on a justice's warrant ; 
 instead of that I empty my pockets into thine. Why do I 
 so ? Come, speak thy mind for once, or else begone for a 
 liar as well as a poacher. 
 
 (Tom looks to see that they are alone.) 
 
 Tom. Well, sir, since we are alone, 'tis this here mole 
 I am in debt to, no doubt. 
 
 (Takes off his cap and shows mole. Griffith shmts his. 
 
 Rydeb re-enters at back, and affects to busy herself with 
 
 the linen.) 
 
 Gaunt. Tom, I've been insulted. 
 
 Tom. That won't pass. Who is the man ? 
 
 Gaunt. One I cannot call out like a gentleman, and 
 must not lay on with my cane. But you might deal with 
 him. 'Tis the Popish priest, Father Leonard. 
 
 Tom. Say ye so. Squire ? Then a word in your ear. 
 First time he comes here, George and I will take him by 
 the heels and drag him through the horsepond. A' won't 
 come again to trouble you after that, I know. 
 
 Gaunt. You are right, lad. There must be no bioken 
 
 <. 
 
Act 1.] KATE PEYTON. 29 
 
 bones, and no bloodshed, being a priest. The horsepond 
 is the thing. And if you are discharged for it, why, 
 shoulder your pack, and show the place your heels. I am 
 off to the " Red Lion." 
 
 Ryder. (Coming forward ) Oh, master, don't go there. 
 I am sure that is no place for you. 
 
 Gaunt. Why not ? At the " Red Lion " there is 
 laughing, daffing, and raerrjrmaking ; here there is nought 
 but praying, and fasting, and quarrelling. That for 
 Emshaw Castle ; cold, gloomy, and priest-ridden. Give me 
 the sanded floor and the chimney-comer of the " Red 
 Lion," with a big beech log a blazing, and lighting np the 
 teeth and eyes of a dozen jolly fellows that can all sing a 
 good song, or tell a merry tale. Besides, this is my wife's 
 house ; the " Red Lion " is my house, or any man's that 
 can pay his shot ; so I'll take my heavy heart — to the 
 "Red Lion." (Exit.) 
 
 Ryder. (Sighs, then turns to Tom.) Thomas Leicester, 
 don't you meddle with Father Leonard. Religion is religion ; 
 and if you lay a finger on him you'll never thrive. 
 
 Tom. Can't help that. Shouldn't insult Squire. You 
 see I've- passed my word. 
 
 Ryder. Thomas, to tell the truth, it does not suit me to 
 have that priest driven away from this house. 
 
 Tom. Oh, that is it, is it ? You have taken a fancy to 
 his face now. All the better. I did not much like the 
 job ; but now I'U do't with a good heart. Your servant, 
 mistress. (Exit.) 
 
 Bydeb. Talk of women's jealousy I 
 
 (Re-enter Mas. Gaukt and Father Francis.) 
 
 Kate. Oh, Ryder, be good enough to find your master ; 
 tell him Father Francis is just going away. 
 
 Ryder. I will bring him to you, madam. (Exit.) 
 
 Fran. Before he comes, I must say a word or two to 
 confirm you in your decision. (Very gravely.) I called at 
 Leonard's cottage as I came, and there I found a Madonna, 
 painted by himself; the features of that Madonna were 
 yours, madam. 
 
 J 
 
30 KATE PEYTON. [Act 1. 
 
 Kate. (Oratified.) You surprise me. But is there any 
 harm in that ? Do riot all who would portray a saint, 
 take some woman's face to aid their fancy ? 
 
 Fean. That is all very well in Italy, but not here. Yon 
 are the wife of a Protestant gentleman, and his name is 
 Gaunt ; and the foible that runs in his very blood is jea- 
 lousy. What indiscretion ! 
 
 Kate. Excuse me ; I never sat to Father Leonard. Me 
 sit for the Queen of Heaven ! [She crosses herself.) You 
 overrate my presumption. 
 
 {Ee-enter Rtdeb.) 
 
 Fran. In that case, see how full of yon that young 
 priest's imagination must be. (Kate starts, and looks 
 down.) For it is an exact portrait of you. Humph I 
 
 Ryder. Madam, I .have found our master. He is at 
 the ' ' Red Lion. " He said he would come presently. (Kate 
 shakes her head.) If you please, madam, I much desire to 
 speak to you privately, before he comes. 
 
 (Kate loolcs at her with some little surprise.) - 
 
 Kate. (Coldly.) Well ; you can wait. 
 
 (Ryder retires up. Kate turns and observes Iter.) 
 Be good enough to fetch me a seat. (Exit Ryder.) 
 
 The " Red Lion." 
 
 Fran. He will cease to go there when you make his 
 home delightful to him, as it used to be. . 
 
 Kate. I will. 
 
 Fran. And the girl Jane shall stay ? 
 
 Kate. With all my heart. 
 
 Fran. And Leonard go to a sphere more fitted to his 
 great abilities ? 
 
 Kate. I should be his enemy to keep him here. His 
 enemy, and my dear husband's, whose happiness is every- 
 thing in the world to me. 
 
 (He-enter Ryder with seat.) 
 
 Fran. I will see Leonard at once, and send him here, 
 to bid you farewell. (Eait Francis.) 
 
 K^ 
 

 '^ 
 
 • ■ , 
 
 
 
 
 Act 1.] KATE PEYTON. 
 
 81 
 
 Rydek. (Send him here ! !) 
 
 • 
 
 {Exit Francis. Kate watches him out. 
 
 Rydee places Oie 
 
 seat for Kate, and stands at her side, a little behind her, 
 watching the effect of her words.) 
 
 Kate. (Seating herself coldly.) Well, what is to do ? 
 Be brief; for I am in no humour to be worried with my 
 servants' squabbles. 
 
 Rydeb. Nay, madam ; 'tis no such trifle. Tis about 
 Father Leonard. Sure you would not like him to be drawn 
 through the horse-pond ? 
 
 Kate. (Turning rapidly, and facing her.) What are yon 
 saying ? Which of my people would dare to lay hands on 
 a priest in my house. 
 
 Rydeb. I don't deceive you. They are on the watch 
 for him now ; and 'tis a burning shame. A more heavenly 
 face than Father Leonard's I never did see. And for it to 
 be dragged through a filthy horse-pond ! 
 
 Kate. (Starting up.) The villains ! the fiends 1 — Go 
 and desire your master to come to me on the instant. 
 
 Rydeb. Alack, Dame I that is not the way to do. You 
 may be sore the servants would not dare, if master had not 
 shown them his mind. 
 
 Kate. Not one — word — fi-om my servant, against my 
 husband, in my hearing. 
 
 Rydeb. (&ni7«i(/.) Heaven forbid, madam! (Proud devil!) 
 
 Kate. (Walking in agitation.) My Grriffith is a lion. 
 This comes from the heart of cowardly curs. Oh, that I 
 were a man ! (Drops her glove — which Ryder picks up and 
 aecretes. — Pause) Good heavens I he is coming here al- 
 most immediately — by my invitation. I have laid a trap 
 for him. What is to be done, woman ? for you are cooler 
 than I am. 
 
 Ryder. Why not send him a line, and bid him stay 
 away ? 
 
 Kate. You are right. But, nay, I promised Father 
 Francis to receive Leonard to-day, and bid him farewell ; and 
 indeed I must furnish him with money to go, poor souL 
 
32 KATE PEYTON. [Act 1- 
 
 Ryder. At least, jnadam, bid him come no farther than 
 the Grove. The villains won't look for him there. 
 
 Kate. But whom can I send ? My own servants are 
 traitors to me, I find. 
 
 Ryder. I'll go myself, madam. 
 
 Kate. You shall. Run through the wood ; 'tis the 
 shortest way. Fly! {Exit BrrDEtL hastily.) 
 
 {Kate seats herself .— E^-enter Gbiffitb Gaunt, not intox- 
 icated, but sonuwhat flushed.) 
 
 Gaunt. You sent for me, madam. 
 
 Kate {Feebli/ ) Father Francis was going away. 
 But you had company more to your taste, it seems. 
 However, since you are come, be pleased to accept my 
 excuses for what I said. I forgot myself, and my duiy as 
 a wife. 
 
 Gaui^t. {Doggedly.) I have no quEirrel with von, my 
 dear. You but do what you are bidden, and say what you 
 are bidden. I take the wound from you as best I may : the 
 meddling knave that set you on, 'tis him I'U be revenged on. 
 
 Kate. You deceive yourself; that holy man would be 
 the first to rebuke me for rebelling against my husband. 
 However, he will offend you uo more : he is to leave these 
 parts. You see you were the master, after all. There was 
 no need ol violence. (Gaunt hangs his head.) And Jane 
 keeps her place in your kitchen. 
 
 Gaunt. All the better. Come, Kate, I was in fault as 
 much as you. Let us kiss and be friends. 
 
 Kate. Excuse me : you have worked upon my fears, 
 not my love. Such a victory, over a woman and a poor 
 defenceless priest — you must be pleased to enjoy it alone. 
 
 {Exit sadly.) 
 
 Gaunt. {Sits don-n sadly, and sighs.) Victory indeed I 
 My heart feels like lead in my bosom. For eight years we 
 were the happiest couple in Cumberland. That mischief- 
 making villain has been here but three months ; and what 
 a change \ 
 
Act 1.] KATE PEYTON. 83 
 
 (Re-enter Rydeb.) 
 
 Rtdeb (Soothingly) What is the matter, dear master? 
 
 (He takea no notice of her.) 
 
 Oh, I see : yon are down-hearted, becanse mistress is in the 
 snlks at having to part with her handsome yoong priest. 
 
 Gaunt. What is that you say ? 
 
 Rydeb. Oh, never heed what I said. I am a foolish 
 woman. I can't bear to see my dear master so abused. 
 
 Gaunt. What d'ye mean, woman ? Speak out, can't ye. 
 
 Rydeb. But I am afraid you wUl hate me. Dear master, 
 don't you look into women too narrowly ; 'tis best to be blind 
 at times. 
 
 Gaunt. Girl, yon torture me. Do you mean to say 
 that priest is my wife's — lover ? 
 
 Rydeb. Nay, sir, that is more than I know. But, what 
 I say is, if a cross word from her makes you unhappy, you 
 mustn't drive Leonard from her, or put any affront on him 
 whatever. And, if you want to see her all smiles again, 
 and loving you better than ever, why you have only to 
 admit that Leonard to the house, and not watch them too 
 closely. There — there — don't look so. After all, there's 
 nothing certain. And perhaps I am too severe when I see 
 you ill-treated I am sure no woman could be cold to you, 
 unless she was bewitched out of her senses by some 
 other man. 
 
 Gaunt. I am a miserable man. 
 
 Rydeb. But I won't let you be miserable. What do 
 we know against her, after all ? She is a gentlewoman, 
 and well brought up ; she is not likely to throw herself 
 away. I'll tell you what to do. Don't you be so simple as 
 to accuse her to her face, or you'll learn nothing. Watch 
 her quietly ; and I'll help you. Be a man, and know the 
 truth. 
 
 Gaunt. I will. And (with effort) I believe she will 
 come ont pure as snow. 
 
 Rydeb. I hope so too. 
 B 2 
 
34 KATE PEYTON. [Act 1. 
 
 (Enter hastily, Jane Bannister.) 
 
 /Jane. Oh, Mrs. Ryder, you are wanted. Onr Dame is 
 taken badly, and asking for yon. . 
 
 { Whips up linen and exits, holing bach at Gaunt. — Ryder 
 goes out hastibj.) 
 
 Gaitnt. She didn't send for me. But I'll go to her all 
 the same. We have made her ill amongst us — Poor Kate ! 
 
 [Erit.) 
 
 Scene n. — An Anteroom to Kate's Boudmr. — Chairs. 
 Footstool. 
 
 Music. 
 Kate. [Speaking feebly at side.) No, I am better. 
 
 [Enter Kate, leaning on Ryder.) 
 
 Kate. All I want now is a little air. Let me sit 
 here. [Sits down.) 
 
 Ryder. [Obsequiously.) Let me put your feet up, 
 madam. [Does so.) 
 
 Kate. Thank you. [Puts her hand on Ryder's head.) 
 ChUd, yon have done me a service, and my husband too. 
 For, if such a dastardly act had been done in his name, he 
 would have deplored it all his days. Such services can 
 never be quite repaid. But you wiU find a purse in my 
 drawer : it is yours. And my lavender silk, I have only 
 put it on twice, be pleased to wear that about me ; to re- 
 mind me of the good office you have done me. [Leans her 
 liead bach and closes her eyes.) 
 
 Ryder. CWhy do I hate this woman, and love where 
 I have no right to look ? I'll take her presents in my hand, 
 and pray by her bedside. Heaven cure my folly, and end 
 my pain.) [Exit agitated.) 
 
 [Enter Gaunt eagerly.) 
 
 Gaunt. Why, Kate, my poor girl. What is amiss? 
 Where's thy pain ? 
 
Act 1.] KATE PEYTON. 85 
 
 Kate. {Laying her hand on her heart.) Here, Griffith, 
 here. 
 
 Gaunt. (Kneels by her side, and tales Iter hand.) Lean 
 on me, sweetheart; forget all that passed between us 
 this morning. I dare say we were both in fault. 
 
 Kate. Iknow I was. 
 
 Gaunt. Not so much as I — not so much as I. Ah, 
 Kate, for eight happy years you and I had never an angry 
 word. 
 
 Kate. And. bo it shall be again. I am going to make 
 a sacrifice ; a great sacrifice. No matter ; 'tis for yon. 
 Will you grant me a favour in return ? 
 
 Gaunt. Ay, and with a glad heart. 
 
 Kate. You once promised to take me abroad. 
 
 {Re-enter Ryder, with dress on her arm, and stands in 
 waiting, eyeing them with visible pain.) 
 
 I long to see foreign countries. After eight years, we both 
 want a change. I want to be alone with you, far from this 
 place where angry words have passed between us. (IShe 
 throws her arms round his neck — he embraces her. Rydek 
 winces ) 
 
 Gaunt; I'll roam Europe wiih thee, my girl, and seek 
 no other company. But not to-day : thou art not fit for it. 
 Mercy on me, how cold she is ; and but now she was 
 burning hot. 
 
 Ryder. (Peevishly.) 'Tis your fault, sir — yon do agitate 
 her. Let me lay her on her bed, and a good woollen shawl 
 over her. 
 
 Gaunt. Nay, I'll carry her thither myself. {Supports 
 Kate — co<ij;«« and kisses her.) Did we worry her and 
 make her Ul, poor lamb ? 
 
 {He kisses her, and eont, murmuring over her.) 
 
 Ryder. (Dashing the dress down.) Who can bear such 
 torture ? Talk of his jealousy ; founded on a shadow — 
 while / look on and see the amorous idiots. And now 
 what good have I done myself ? they are fonder than ever. 
 
 .^ 
 
3 KATE PEYTON. ' [Act 1. 
 
 {Leans against the door.) I hear them purring over 
 one and another, fonder now than ever. Oh, agony ! Oh, 
 well can I understand what that evil spirit felt when he 
 looked from his place of torture on that fond couple in their 
 garden of sweets. Like him I bum, and freeze, and ache, 
 and pine, and rage, and sicken. (Pause.) It needed but 
 a serpent's tongue to spoil that Paradise ! Now let me 
 see what a jealous, love-sick, tortured, maddened woman's 
 tongue can do. ( Whips the gown luistily off the Jioor, us — 
 
 Re-enter Griffith Gaunt.) 
 
 {in honeyed tones.) Ah, master! where are you going? 
 You look as pert as a peacock. 
 
 Gaunt. Well, girl, if you must know, I am going to 
 mount my horse, and ride off all my foolish fancies. 
 
 Ryder. She 'twas that told you to ride. 
 
 Gaunt. Yes She advised me to have a good gallop 
 for my health, and then I am to dine with her in her room. 
 
 Ryder. That was the bait. 
 
 Gaunt. What d'ye mean ? 
 
 Ryder. Don't you see she wants you away ? 
 
 Gaunt. You are cmel to tell me so. I was so happy. 
 
 Ryder. Alas ! I seem cruel I but I am kind. [Knits her 
 brows.) Let me think a moment. {Pause.) Yes, you 
 shall. Mount your horse directly, and gallop him — to 
 Father Leonard's cottage. He is not at home. 
 
 Gaunt. Ah ! and what should I go there for ? 
 
 RYDHai. Just to see whose picture hangs over that 
 young priest's mantlepiece. 
 
 Gaunt. {Bewildered.) Whose picture? {Pause.) 
 Can't you tell me ? 
 
 Ryder.- I can; but I will not. Be a man, and use 
 your own eyes ; don't believe me, nor any woman. Our 
 words are air. Ck)me back to me here, and I'll show you 
 something / found there. Come, lose no time. 
 
 (Gaunt looks beudldered and loretched, utters a groan and 
 rushes out.) 
 
Act 1.] KATK PEYTON. 87 
 
 MUBIC, STACCATO. 
 
 {Enter, on tip-toe, Thomas Leicester.) 
 
 Tom. Hist 1 Mrs. Ryder. 
 
 Rybbr. Well, I'm sure. The gamekeeper here. 
 
 Tom. Where the hare is, the dog must follow. You 
 are my game to-day. Come, sweet Mistress Ryder, I am 
 suiting to you ever since I came here, and now I want 
 your answer. 
 
 Ryder. You shall have it : I decline. 
 
 Tom. Don't ye say that. Pray don't say that. You 
 will make me believe it is true what they say in the kitchen, 
 that you are setting your cap at our master. What good 
 can come of that ? Come, sweetheart, take a thought. 
 I'm young and healthy; I've got money from the Squire 
 to fet op in a business, such as 'tis. I'll work hard and be 
 sober for thee. Say the word now, do. 
 
 Ryder. [Agitated.) No, Tom, I cannot. I am thank, 
 ful for your offer, but you must look another way. 
 
 Tom. So be it, then : I'll shoulder my pack, and travel. 
 Change is the heart's best cure. [Exit ) 
 
 Eydeb. Ay, all the men and women in this house are 
 at cross purposes. 
 
 ^ Music, STRONG. 
 
 {Re-enter Gaunt, pale.) 
 
 Gaunt. It is her picture. I tore it to atoms. There 
 it lies. {FHnfis down the strips of torn canvass, and puts 
 his foot on them. — Pause. — I'iteously.) Mightn't he 
 have painted it without her consent ? 
 
 Ryder. Of course he might. I don't build much on 
 that. Did you find nothing else there ? 
 
 Gaunt. No. Oh I if I could only get proof of her 
 innocence, or proof of her guilt 1 Anything better than 
 the misery of doubt. It gnaws my heart ; it bums my 
 flesh. I can't eat, I can't sit down. I envy the dead that 
 lie at peace. Oh, my heart ! my heart I 
 
 Ryder. And all for a woman not half so handsome as 
 

 38 KATE PEYTON. IAct 1. 
 
 yourself, when there are others as well to look at, and 
 younger, and that adore every hair on your head, and 
 would follow you round the world for one kind look. 
 
 Gaunt. Let no one love we. I hate all womankind for 
 her sake. Oh doubt I doubt ! 
 
 Rydee. I'll cure you of that ! See what I found in 
 the priest's cottage. 
 
 [Sfumis him the glove she had picked u/i on the green. He 
 eyes it with horror.) 
 
 Gaunt. My wife's glove ! I gave her a new pair last 
 week. That is one of them, 
 
 Ryder. She must have been a good deal flurried to 
 leave that in such a place. 
 
 Gaunt. Oh agony! agony! — But, say she Aks been 
 there ; after all, he is her confessor. 
 
 Ryder. Ay, but when an old man was her confessor, 
 she always confessed in the chapel. 
 
 Gaunt. (Giispiny.) She did. (Silence.) Who lives in 
 the cottage besides him ? 
 
 Ryder. Betty Gough. 
 
 Gaunt. Ah ! 
 
 Ryder. But la I the mistress did buy her, body 
 and soul, long ago. No, sir; you had no friend there; 
 and you had three enemies — Love, Revenge and Oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 Gaunt. Oh, God ! can this thing be ? My wife ! the 
 mother of my child ! the girl that married me because I 
 had lost house and lands : the woman that loved me so 
 truly till this villain came. Abused ! dishonoured ! 
 (Pause.) No, I'll not believe it yet. I'll take these 
 things to her, and watch her face when she sees them. 
 (Picks up the pieces.) 
 
 Ryder. (Uneasily.) That will never do. 
 
 Gaunt. Give me the glove. 
 
 Ryder. No ; no ; you'll spoil all ; you'll put her on 
 her guard. 
 
 Gaunt. Give me the glove, I say. 
 
Act 1.] KATE PEYTON. 39 
 
 {Tears it from her. Rydms utters a faint scream. Gaunt 
 moves towards door, but suddenly turns and confronts 
 her, hut without moving.) 
 
 You seem very loth she should hear your tale. You want 
 me to condemn her unheard. Now, how do I know you 
 are not a slanderer, and she your victim ? {A step towards 
 her ) You hate her ; I can see that; and a lie is nothing to 
 one of your sort. {Another step.) I'll know the truth; 
 I'll bring you and her face to face. , 
 
 Ryder What, me tell a lady to her face — 1 
 
 Gaunt. The truth. Why not? Come. ] 
 
 Rydek. Not lor all the world. I won't go there. ; 
 
 [Tries to escape.) ' 
 
 Gaunt. Liar and slanderer ! {Seizes her. She screams.) 
 I'll drag you to her, but you shall come. i 
 
 {Drags her, screaming and struggling, across the stage ; she 
 gets down to his knees, and at last feigns a swoon.) 
 
 Lie there, then, viper. I'll bring her out to you, that is 
 all. Face her you shall. {Kxit.) > 
 
 (Ryder raises herself a little the nwment of Gaunt's exit.) \ 
 
 Ryder. I've played a dangerous game, and lost it. 
 Well, let him kill me ; I don't care what becomes of me 
 now! j 
 
 A Chord. j 
 
 {Enter Gaunt very pale, and statids at door.) I 
 
 Gaunt. She is not there. ] 
 
 (Ryder raises herself a littU more.) 
 
 I tell you she is not there. Where is she ? } 
 
 Ryder. Help me up, dear master, and I'll tell you. 
 
 (Gaunt helps her up.) , 
 
 Gaunt. I left her too ill to move. 
 
 Ryder. {Feigning weakness.) What, don't you know j 
 
 that women are sick to one man and well to another ? I 
 
 Gaunt. Woman, don't rack me bo ; but if you know J 
 
 where she is, tell me. i 
 
 ■HiHBalMa 
 
40 KATE PEYTON. [Act 1. 
 
 Rydek. Nay, I've got a lesson (o mind my own busi- 
 ness: however, I'll tell you thus much — find him, and 
 you'll find her. 
 
 Ga0nt. Ah ! I'll find them both if they are above 
 ground. 
 
 (He rushes furiously into adjoining room, and immediately 
 returns with a pistol in his hand.) 
 
 Rydeb. (Flying at him ivith great boldness and energy. ) 
 "hat would you do ? Madman, would you hang for them, 
 *i*d break my heart, the only woman in the world that 
 Wes you ? Give me the pistol. Nay, I will have it. 
 (Wrenches it out of his hand, and defies him.) I won't let 
 you get into trouble for a priest and a wanton, you shall 
 kill me first. Leave me the pistol, and pledge me your 
 sacred word to do them no harm, and then I'll tell you 
 where they are. Refnse me this, and you shall go to your 
 grave and know nothing more than yon know now. 
 
 Gaunt. No, no ; if you are a woman have pity on me ; 
 let me come at them. There, I'll nse no weapon. I'll tear 
 them to atoms with these hands. Where are they ? 
 
 Bydeb. (After throning away the pistol.) If you are a 
 man, and have any feeling for a poor girl who loves you ; 
 if you are a gentleman, and respect your word — no violence. 
 
 Gaunt. I promise. Where are they ? 
 
 Rydeb. Nay, nay ; I fear I shall rue the day I told 
 you; Promise me once more : no bloodshed — upon your 
 soul. 
 
 Gaunt. I promise, upon my soul. Where are they ? 
 
 Rydeb. God forgive me ; they are in the Grove. 
 
 (Gaunt rushes out.) 
 
 I have let loosa a wild beast. I tremble. I had better 
 follow him. (Exit.) 
 
 Scene in. — The Pine Orove. (See description in Novel.) 
 Broad lights and shades thrown across the stage to repre- 
 
 mL. 
 
Act 1.] KATE PEYTON. - 41 
 
 sent the effect of afternoon sun penetratimj the tall stems 
 of tlie trees. Tlie ground is covered with fir seeds. 
 
 Music. 
 
 (Enter Kate and Father Leonard walldng slowly.) 
 
 Kate. It seems so ungrateful to part with you, to whom 
 I owe so much. But I console myself by reflecOing that it 
 is ior your good. Yon will go to a sphere more worthy of 
 you. 
 
 Leon. I have a better consolation than that. Francis 
 
 has made me see that it is my duty to retire hence, rather 
 
 • than cause dissension between those whom the church, by ( 
 
 the holy sacrament of marriage, hath bound together. \ 
 
 Kate. ( Hesitatinyhj . ) Now, you must not be offended ; i 
 
 but Father Francis desired me to — to— supply you with ! 
 
 the means to make the journey in comfort. (She offers him 
 a purse.) 
 
 Leon. (Declines by gesture.) Nay, my daughter, Mr, ! 
 
 Gaunt might disapprove, 
 
 Chords, 
 
 (Enter Gaunt, at back, pale, bloodshot, and, at sight of 
 tlu'tn, staggers against a tree.) 
 
 Kate. Ah ! you do him injustice ; he has but one 
 foible ; his unhappy jealousy. I will tell him; and I 
 promise you he will approve what I do. 
 
 ("Leonard is about to take the purse. Gaunt rushes between 
 them, drives them apart, and stands a moment, silent and 
 awful.) 
 
 Gaunt. You vile wretch ; so yon buy your own dis- 
 honour and mine. Oh I but for my oath, I'd lay yon dead 
 at my feet. So, this is the thing you love. (Seizes him 
 furiously and forces him down.) 
 
 Kate. This is some strange delusion. 
 
 Gaunt. I must go, or kill I (Turns his back to go.) 
 
 Kate. What are you doing ? (Gaunt turns his face.y 
 Where are you going ? 
 
42 KATE PEYTON. [Act 1. 
 
 Gaunt. To put the seas between me and this hell I 
 (Bushes out, as Rydee enters, and supports Kate, who is 
 i almost fainting. Leonard kneeling, hit )ianda crotwd 
 
 ',■ on his bosom.) 
 
 ■HD or ACT I. 
 
I 
 
 Act 2. 1 KATE PEYTON. 43 
 
 ACT II. . 
 
 ScBNE I.— The parlour of " The Pack-horse." A brick or 
 sandsd floor. Round table with cloth, and knives and 
 forks on it. Cupboard. Griffith's picture hung an wall. 
 Long, low window, u'ith diamond panes and solid upright 
 frame — one casement open. Outside on the rill are several 
 geraniums, through the green leaves of which the summer 
 sun shines powerfully. A butterfly flutters in at the 
 vdndow and out again. A narrow table with a blanket 
 stretched tight over it, iron-stand, basket of linen, mmll 
 fire with iron at it. 
 
 Music, — " Tlu Woodpecker." ! 
 
 Meec!Y Vint discovered ironing a shirt. Paul Caebick looks ' 
 
 in at the window and watches her. 
 
 Paitl. Ay, there she is, working for him, and thinking 
 of him. — Mercy ! '• 
 
 Mercy. {Without turning her head.) Yes I 1 
 
 Path.. Can I speak to you a minute ? 
 Mercy. Ay, surely. Come in. (Business with shirt.) ■, 
 
 (Enter Paul Carrick.) 
 
 Paul. I bring ye sorry news, lass. I was in Kendal ^ 
 
 yesterday, and there I learned that the bailiflfs are coming 
 here. Thy father is deeper in debt than he let us know. [ 
 
 Mercy. Oh, this is heavy tidings. But my master that 
 is to be says he will help father. | 
 
 Paul. Thy husband ! A needy gentleman ! Eh, lass, I 
 
 how could you think to give me the go-by, and marry Mr. 
 Leicester ; a stranger — a man ye know nought about ? 
 
 Mercy. Now, Paul, not a word against him ; or there's 
 the door. How came I to fancy Tliomas Leicester 1 He 
 rode to our door, on his black horse, pale and wretched. ' 
 
 0, what a face of misery it was! He flung himself into ; 
 
 this very chair, and neither ate nor spoke, all night. 
 
 mOi 
 
44 ■ KATE PEYTON. [Act 2. 
 
 Next day down with fever on the brain : and oh, 'twas 
 piteous. He kept a-crying on one " Kate," in such a 
 voice brought tears to mother's eyesand mine too. Then the 
 doctor said he could not live ; and his very shroud was 
 a making in this house, poor soul. And then you know 
 I sent for you. 
 
 Paul. And had ye to send twice ? 
 
 Mercy. No, good Paul You were his doctor, I his 
 nUrse. Well, with me being so much about him, and 
 seeing the strong man weak as a little child, my heart 
 yearned towards him. He was main cross at first, but 
 the stronger he got, the gentler and the more grateful. 
 Nurse and patient, our hearts did warm together, and soon 
 he saw my heart, and asked me to be his wife. Ah ! he 
 is coming at last. I hear his voice in the yard. 
 
 {Runs and puts down shirt, and goes to the cupboard, whence 
 she brings out things for his dinner. Paul watclies lier 
 "> a monunt — then exit with a deep sigh. She does not ob- 
 
 serve his departure. Business. Musio, and — 
 
 Enter Grifpith Gaunt.) 
 
 Mercy. Come, Thomas, why you must be famished. 
 There, give me your hat, and sit ye down to meat. 
 
 [She puts the hat away. Gaunt smiles and nods to her — 
 then sits down and goes to carve. She lays her hand on 
 his arm.) 
 
 Mercy (Gravely.) Sweetheart, you are forgetting to 
 give thanks for 't. 
 
 Gaunt. [Stands up and mutters a grace.) I've most 
 need to give thanks for thee, true friend, and gentle mis- 
 j^ tress. [Kisses her.) Come, sit, and eat with me. 
 
 ■ Mercy. Nay, I dined an hour agone. But I'll sit 
 
 down ; for I do love to sit aside thee and see thee eat. It 
 does me more good than it does thee I trow. 
 
 (Gaunt eats heartily. She Jills his cup,) 
 Gaunt. Put it to thy lips, or I'll none on't. 
 
 I 
 
Act 2.] ^ KATE PEYTON. 45 
 
 {She smihs and puts it to her lips. He drinks.) 
 
 Ye don't ask me what made me so late. 
 
 Mescy. Kay, that is a question I never shall ask yon, 
 master, or I should have you hurrying home, not to be 
 questioned. Early or late you are always welcome to me, 
 Thomas. 
 
 Gaunt. (She is as wise as she is good.) Well, my 
 dear, I have been to Eendal about your Other's debts. 
 
 Mebcy. [Laying her hand upon his shoulder.) Now, 
 Thomas, you know the rule of this room. No trouble, nor 
 care, nor vexation is ever to come here. When you do set 
 your foot within that door, you leave all worries outside. 
 
 Gaunt. I know it, sweet Mercy ; and here I have 
 found peace, and an angel of comfort. But, to-day, I 
 must'e'en break thy good rule for once. You know, I have 
 had many a gibe from your father, and your mother too : 
 and last night he said before all his company (he had taken 
 a drop too much, I daresay), says he, " If our Mercy would 
 wed plain Paul Carrick instead of a gentlemafi out at 
 elbows, we shouldn't be in this mess ; for Paul would help 
 us." 
 
 Mebot. Oh ! (Throws her arm round Gaunt.) 
 
 Gaunt. Now don't you fret about that I Only, now 
 you know it, don't blame me neither, for losing my temper 
 at last. Said I, " Old man, that is the la'st of your taunts. 
 I take your inn, your farm, and your debts." "So be it," 
 said he, " before these witnesses." So, the first thing 
 this morning, I had his name struck off the sign-board, and 
 put up " Thomas Leicester ;" and then I rode to the law- 
 yer, and made myself old Harry Vint's bondsman, and got 
 seven days to pay the debts in, and I'll pay them in five. 
 
 Mebcy. Alas ! Thomas, what have you done ? Why ' 
 
 he owes three hundred pounds, I hear. 
 
 Gaunt. And I have got two thousand to pay those 
 three hundred withal. 
 
 Mebcy. Two thousand pounds ! 
 
 Gaunt. But now comes the bitter pill. To get my two 
 
 li'n"' [I'll' ■ -■]'!■ ''''f I"" fi ''■ii'''if liiH^rniit-'''-'r(tff''iii'ii ' iirttr 
 
46 KATir PEYTON. [Act 2. 
 
 thousand pounds I must ride fifty miles — into Cumberland ; 
 and, worse than that, I must face two people the very sight 
 
 (of whom will be sure to tear open the wound thy gentle 
 hand has closed, sweet Mercy. 
 Mebcy. Then go not anigh them. Send me. I am 
 ' a good rider I can tell you. 
 
 Gaunt. Child, they would not give it to thee. But to 
 me — they must. Not a word more. I can't see thee turned 
 out of the place where thou did'st save me from death and 
 despair. Come, give me my shirt, and let me go, lass. 
 
 Mercy. Nay, let me sew a button on fii-st; or what 
 will they think of Lancashire lasses in Cumberland ? Sens 
 button on.) Tell me, master, was Kate a Cumbrian lass. 
 
 Gaunt. {Starting violently.) Kate? what Kate? who? 
 what do you mean. 
 
 Mercy. [Fixing her eyes on him.) Her you cried on 
 so, when you had the fever. 
 
 Gaunt. No matter who she was. 
 
 Mercy. Oh, I know she is dead. For if she was alive, 
 you could not care for me. You loved her ; yet she must 
 die. Poor Kate ! 
 
 Gaunt. (Oroaning.) Never mention that name to me 
 again. She was not the true friend to me that you have 
 been. 
 
 Mercy. [Gravely.) Say not so, Thomas: for you 
 loved her well. Her death had all but cost me thine. Ah, 
 well, we cannot all be the first. I am not very jealous, 
 for my part ; and I thank God for't ; thou art a dear good 
 lover to me, and that is enow. [Embraces him.) 
 
 Gaunt. I'd think it little to die for thee. 
 
 [Takes up shirt and exit.) 
 
 Mercy. [Looking after him.) Poor Thomas ! I wish 
 he was not so grateful to me. Makes me fear that 'tis 
 gratitude more than liking. Oh, my foolish heart misgives 
 me at parting. 
 
 Music. 
 
 ■fc-*^ --' 
 
|(9lf'.F%"'"-^","*- 
 
 Act 2.] KATE PEYTON. *7 
 
 {Re-enter Gaunt in jack bnota.) 
 
 Oh, Thomas, yon have got yonr new hoots on. You are 
 really going from me. Alas ! if harm should hefal you 1 
 
 Gaunt. Fear nought, my dear ; I am well armed and 
 well mounted. My nag's, at the door. Stay me not ; 
 for indeed I need all my courage to leave thee. 
 
 {He kisses her, and nms out. She opens the ^nndow, then 
 
 sits sadly down, and rocks herself a little.) I 
 
 Mbroy. 'Tis our first parting. Pray heaven it may he 
 our last 1 {RUes with a brave effort.) Come, to work ; ^ 
 
 that is my only cure. Idleness is the nurse of grief. ^ 
 
 I 
 Music, soft and pensive, Minob Key. ' 
 
 {She places a handkerchief on the blanket, takes iron from 
 
 the fire, and tries its heat on the blanket, then is about to ■ 
 
 iron, hut breaks down and lays her head, on the table.) J 
 
 Change to Major. - I 
 
 (Tom Leicester shows himself at the window with his path | 
 
 on his back. He takes it down and sings a stave in praise . 
 
 of his wares. — Tune, the Poacher's song.) , J 
 
 Mercy. {Recommencing her work, and scarcely turning 1 
 
 Iter head.) Alas ! good man, you'll find no market here. ' 
 
 I've no heart to lay out my money on vanity, this day. ' 
 
 Tom. The worse my luck, good dame. However, I 
 am main hot and dry, so I'll e'en drink a cup with my 
 namesake. *, 
 
 Mercy. {Looking half round.) Thy namesake, good i 
 
 man ? f 
 
 Tom. Ay, my name is Thomas Leicester. 
 
 Mercy. Indeed ! then thou art welcome for thy very j 
 
 name. Bid them give thee bite and sup, and charge thee { 
 
 noug&t; I 
 
 Tom. Thanks, good dame. 
 
 Mercy. (Ironing.) What is this ? " G. G ," and 
 wi-ought with fine silk. Silk ? 'Tis a woman's hair. 
 {Holds it up to the light.) Auburn hair. Something tells 
 
 m 
 
• 
 
 48 KATE PEYTON. ' [Act 2. 
 
 me this is " Kate's" hair. " G. G.," what can that mean ? 
 
 {Enter Vaul CmmcK, followed by Tots. Leicesteb.) 
 
 Pxcii. Come on, man. Mercy, lay out a penny with 
 thy hasband's namesake. It shan't cost thee none. Come 
 let us see your wares. 
 
 (Leicesteb puts down his path and takes out some lace and 
 jewels ; hut suddenly lifting his eyes, he sees Gaunt's 
 portrait and gives a violent start.) 
 
 Tom. Oh, Lord. 
 
 Mebcy. What ? you know my Thomas ? 
 
 Tom. {Still tooking at portrait.) Not I. But 'I know 
 him that hangs there, of course. Tell me (in a whisper), 
 is he alive ? ^ 
 
 Paci.. Alive ! of course he is. That is your namesake. 
 
 Tom. {Looking.) That is my namesake, is it ? Well, 
 'tis a curious world. Thank heaven he is alive, anyway. 
 This will be news in Cumberland. 
 
 MEiiCY. Belike you are a kinsman of his ? 
 
 Tom. Anyway, you see we are marked alike. {Shows 
 his moU.) 
 
 Mebcy. Dear heart ! How strange. But how comes 
 it he is a gentleman, and thou a pedlar? 
 
 Tom. Well, because my mother was a gipsy, and his a 
 gentlewoman. 
 
 Mebcy. What brought him into these parts ? 
 
 Tom. Trouble. 
 
 Mebcy. What trouble ? 
 
 Tom. Well, I daresay there was a woman at the bottom 
 of it. 
 
 Mebcy. Kate ? 
 
 Tom. Kate ? We don't make so free with her name in 
 ' Cumberland. 
 
 ' Mebcy. Can yon tell me what this stands for on his 
 handkerchief? " G. G." {Shows him the initials.) 
 
 Tom. Why the first letters of his name. I do suppose. 
 
 .^^ 
 
Act 2.] KATE PEYTON. ' 49 
 
 pAUt. {Looking at them.) How can '• G. G." stand 
 for Thoipas Leicester ? 
 
 Tom. Did / say his name was Thomas Leicester? 
 However, he is alive, and got a bonny buxom — wife, it 
 seems. We shall never see him again in Cumberland. 
 
 Meboy. What part of Cumberland does he belong to ? 
 
 Tom. Good folks, I came here to sell my wares, not to 
 say my catechism ; but you do question much, and buy 
 none. 
 
 Merot. First go to the kitchen, good man, and dine at 
 my cost. 
 
 (Exit Tom Leicester.) 
 
 Mebot. (Sinks into a chair and rocks herself.) Deceit ! 
 and from him ! 
 
 Paul. Nay, lass ; let us not make a mountain of a mole- 
 hill, neither. Mayhap he has got into some trouble, and so 
 was fain to change his name. 
 
 Meboy. There is more in it than that. Paul, are you 
 still my friend ? Why Jo I ask ? I know you are. 
 Prithee, sit down to meat with that pedlar, and loosen his 
 tongue with good fellowship, and learn more from him. 
 
 Paul. I'll do't — I'll do't : and cleverly. (Exit.) 
 
 Mercy. Deceit ! — Deceit I — a false name. His real 
 name begins with a G. 
 
 (Re-enter Paul Cabbick.) 
 
 Paul. Why, what d'ye think ? The pedlar is gone. 
 Took to his heels. Your mother says he just went through 
 the house and took the road, as if he had stolen the silver 
 spoons. 
 
 Mercy. He went north. 
 
 Paul. Well, so they say. 
 
 Mbboy. He has gone to Cumberland, That man found 
 he had told us too much. This decides me. Paul, will 
 yon lend me your sorel mare ? 
 
 Paul. And welcome : she is at the door. 
 
 Mebcy. Put our woman's saddle on her this moment, 
 if you please. 
 
 
 Km. 
 
f 
 
 60 KATE PEYTON. [Act 2. 
 
 Paul. Yonr will is my pleasure. (Buns out.) 
 
 Music. Devotional. (Boyce's Hymn, " When overwhelmed 
 with grief.") 
 
 (Meboy hieeh down and prays silently. Then rises and 
 takes out a thick veil and skirt. She puts on the hat, and 
 is about to put on the skirt, when re-enter Paul Cabbick.) 
 , Paul. Mare is saddled. Shall I go with ye ? 
 Meb. No, Paul ; not for the world. 
 Paul. Why, where are ye going ? 
 Meb. To Cumberland. [Exeunt.) 
 
 Scene II. — Emshaw Grove. A ctoss has been set up at 
 the side, whose shadow falls upon the stage. 
 Music to open Scene. 
 
 Gaunt and her daughter Rose enter slowly, hand in 
 hand. Suddenly Mrs. Gaunt stops, and, Jialf kneeling, 
 examines the child' s face earnestly. 
 
 Kate. Her father's eyes. [Kisses her.) 
 Rose. Mamma I 
 Kate. My love. 
 
 Rose. When is papa coming back ? 
 Kate. [Softly.) When Heaven pleases. 
 Rose. And then we shall leave off this nasty black. 
 Kate. Yes. 
 
 Rose. I do love papa. He is so merry. 
 Kate. Rose; I was not always sad. [Aside.) How 
 cruel are the young. 
 
 Rose. Don't cry, mamma. I love yon too. 
 
 [Enter Rydeb with a tray.) 
 
 Rtdeb. Mistress Rose, your dinner is ready. 
 
 Kate. Go, love. [Kisses her.) (Exit Rose.) 
 
 Rydeb. You, yourself, would be the better for some 
 nourishment. Indeed, madam, you pray too much, and 
 eat too little. Father Francis says so. At least pnt this 
 to your lips. 
 
 Kate. Since you have taken the trouble to bring it me, 
 I must. [Pats the wine to her lips.) 
 
| WWI ! W\^t'"yV ' ",' ! ' '! ^' ! ' ' J B * '* ? ■■' '"■'"'•'t'^'''^' " ' ' ' '' ' '' '" •*'*''■'" 
 
 Act 2.] KATE PEYTON. 61 
 
 Btbeb. {With emotion.) Forgive me, madam; bnt this , 
 gloomy place will be your death. 
 
 Kate. 'Tis a fit place for devotion ; and, therefore, fit 
 for me. See these tall pillars, how calm, how reverend. 
 I tell yon 'tis a temple not made with hands. 
 
 Rydeb. Ay, but I don't mean that. 
 
 Kate. Yon mean that here I was foully insulted, I was ; 
 and for months I could not bear the sight of the place. 
 But now see, I have set up a cross at the very spot, and 
 there I kneel, and humble myself, and see my own faults, 
 and excuse the faults of others. 
 
 Bydeb. a hard religion yours, madam. 
 
 Kate. All religions are hard to practise ; easy to preach. 
 Leave me to my devotions. (Rydeb moves away.) But I 
 thank you for your sympathy : thank you sincerely. 
 
 Rydeb. (Nearly crying.) Sorrowful, but brave; proud, 
 but grateful. How I should love this woman — if I were a 
 man. (Emt.) 
 
 Kate. (EneeU and eyes the Cross.) 
 
 Music. 
 
 Oh anima Christiana, respice vulnera patientis, sangninem 
 morientis, pretium Redemptionis nostrse, &c. 
 
 {She sinks forward and applies her lips to the shadow of the 
 cross.) 
 
 Appbopbiate Mnsio. 
 
 {Enter Gedtith Gaunt : he leans a/jainst a tree at side, 
 L.H., back of stage.) . 
 
 Gaunt. I thought I could look calmly on that guilty 
 pair, ijut now I am here, I feel I must not. How to 
 see her alone ? A woman ! All in black ? — Who is dead ? 
 — It is my little Rose. — Taken from this wretched world. 
 {Leans against a tree. — Faintly. — I'll speak to this woman. 
 {He comes forward.) 
 
 Kate. {Lifting her head.) That step 1 
 
 3aunt. Can you tell me, my good dame — (Kate itartt 
 to her feet.) Oh ! 
 
 Kate. Ahl 
 
62 
 
 KATE PETTON. 
 
 [Act 2. 
 
 h 
 
 ;.'■ 
 
 {They gaze at one another. — Long silence.) 
 Gaunt. (In a whisper.) In black ! 
 Kate. For thee. For thee. 
 (She flings her arms round his neck. He shudders visibly, 
 and gently, hut coldly, detaches her arms, and withdraws 
 a step.) 
 
 Gaunt. {Gently, hut doggedly.) The day ia gone by 
 for that. — Think you I came here to play the crednlouB 
 hnsband ? 
 
 Kate. What, come back here, and not sorry for what 
 you have done ? not the least sorry ? 
 
 Gaunt. For what / have done ! — There, you are but a 
 woman ; and I didn't come to quarrel with you. , 
 
 Kate. Thank Heaven for that. Oh, sir; the sight of 
 you; the thought of what you were to me once — till 
 jealousy blinded you ! — Lend me your arm, if you are a 
 man; my limbs do fail me. 
 
 Gaunt puts out his arm — she leans on it, and trembles 
 hysterically. {Patise.) 
 
 Gaunt, {sadly.) Come, come, you needn't tremble so. 
 I'm cured of my jealousy. 'Tis gone along with my love. 
 I am come hither for my own, my two thousand pounds, 
 and for nothing more. 
 
 Kate. Oh I you are here for money, and not for me ? 
 
 Gaunt. For money, and not for you — of course. ' 
 
 Kate. Then money you shall have, and nought of me 
 but my contempt. Come, follow me, and you shall have all 
 the money in the house. {Going out, she lifts her hand to 
 Heaven.) Oh, how little I knew this man. {Exit.) 
 
 Gaunt. Cursed money ; you cost me dear. {Exit.) 
 
 Scene III. — A Lane near Emshaw Castle. 
 
 Music. 
 
 {Enter Mercy Vint.) 
 
 Mercy. He is gone into that great house. But I 
 always knew he was a man of worship ; and would mate 
 below him if he wedded me. Why did I come here ? 
 
\ 
 
 Act 2.] • KATE PETTON, 58 
 
 Why did I play the spy upon my husband that is to be ? 
 He was always good to me. Something tells me I had 
 better have stayed at home, and asked no questions. How 
 lonely and weak I feel : poor Lancashire lass, all alone 
 in Cumberland 1 (Weeps.) 
 
 [Enter on tip-toe Paul Cabbice,) 
 
 Paul. Who is all alone ? 
 
 Mercy. Oh, Paul I Didn't I tell you not to come 
 with me ? 
 
 Paul. Ay ! and so I rode behind you all the way ; and 
 if your courage had held out, I wouldn't have troubled 
 you : but when you tied your horse to a gate, and then 
 sat down, and began to greet, says I, "Oh dear ! Here's 
 a man wanted alongside of these here petticoats," quoth 
 Paul Carrick. 
 
 Mebcy. Good, kind Paul; indeed, I lack a friend and an 
 adviser. He is gone into that great house. What shall I do ? 
 
 Paul. I'll tell ye. You shall go to the village inn, and 
 break your fast, and lie down a bit. I'll make the landlord 
 talk, and learn what house this is , and who owns it. 
 Then I'll run back here, and watch the house all night, and 
 tell ye if I see aught. 
 
 Mekcy. Thank you, Paul. Bless you. (Going. Turns 
 at the side.) A friend in need is a friend indeed. 
 
 (Exit, followed by Carbiok.) 
 
 Scene IV. — A Sitting Room in Eimshaw Castle, with an 
 oriel window, through which a portion of the mere is seen. 
 
 (Enter Kate slowly, and with feMe steps — she sinis on a 
 couch and moans faintly. Enter Gaunt, following Kate.) 
 
 Gaunt. You are ill, madam. 
 
 Kate. No, sir ; only a little overcome. Be pleased to 
 call my maid. 
 
 Gaunt. Who waits ? 
 (Ryder runs in, and at sight of Gaunt utters a scream.) 
 
 Kate. Ay, child ; he has come home. His body, but 
 not his heart. (Holds out her hand for ^tdti. Bydbr 
 puts them to her nose. — In a whisper.) Euu for Father 
 Francis. He is out in the garden. (Exit Bydeb hastily.) 
 
 
r 
 
 54 KATE PEYTON. " [Aor 2. 
 
 Gaunt. (Doggedly.) Now, dame, are you better? 
 
 Kate. Ay, I thank yon. 
 
 Gaunt. Then listen to me. When yon and I set np 
 together, I had two thousand pounds. I spent them all 
 on this honse. Now the house is yours. You told me 80, 
 one day, you know. 
 
 Kate. Ah, you can remember my faults. 
 
 Gaunt. I remember all, Kate. 
 
 Kate. Thank yon, at least, for calling me Kate. Well, 
 Griffith, since you abandoned us, I thought, and thought, 
 and thought, of all that might befall you; and I said, 
 *' What will he do for money ?" So I reduced my ex- 
 penses three-fourths at least, and I put by some money for . 
 your need. 
 
 Gaunt. (Amazed.) For my need ? 
 
 Kate. For whose else ? I'll go fetch it. But first I 
 have a favour to ask yon. 
 
 Gaunt. What is that ? 
 
 Kate. Justice! If you value money, I value my good 
 name. 
 
 Gaunt. (With calm sternness.) Mistress, be advised. 
 Bouse not my sleeping wrath. Let bygones be bygones. 
 
 Katk. So be it, sir. I will make no conditions what- 
 ever,' but fetch you the one thing you came for. (Jixit.) 
 
 Gaunt. Mercy, my deaf, I doubt this will be a dear 
 penny to me. Oh, if I was alone in the world, I'd take 
 her money, and fling it in the mere. 
 
 Mvsio—" Little Bo-Peep." 
 (A door opens softly, and Rose peeps in.) 
 
 Rose. It is ! it is I (She comes running and dancing, 
 and jumps on his hiee, and flings her arms round his neck.) 
 Papa ! papa ! Oh, my dear, dear, dear, darling papa I 
 
 Gaunt. My pretty angel ! my lamb 1 
 
 Rose. How your heart beats: don't cry, dear 
 papa. Nobody is dead ; only we thought you were. I'm 
 80 glad you're come home alive. Now we can take off this 
 nasty black. I hate it. 
 
 Gaunt. What, 'tis for me you wear it, pretty one ? 
 
"1 
 
 Act 2.] KATE PEYTON. 66 
 
 BosB. Ay, mamma made ns. Poor mamma has been 
 80 unhappy. And that reminds me : yon are a wicked man, 
 papa. But I love you all the better. It is eo dull when 
 everybody is good, like mamma; and she makes me dread- 
 fully good too ; bat now you are come back, there will be 
 a little, little wicknedness again it is to be hoped. Aren't 
 yon glad you are not dead, and are come home instead ? 
 I am. 
 
 Gaunt. My young mistress, when did yon see Father 
 Leonard last ? 
 
 Ross. How can I tell ? Why, it was miles ago ; when 
 I was a mere girl. You kpow he went away when yon 
 did. Did he go along with yon ? 
 
 Gaunt. That is strange I (They are not so hardened 
 as I thought.) 
 
 Rose. Ah ! Oh, what a comfort. They have got out 
 of that nasty black. 
 
 (Enter Rtdeb in colours, and places a money bag on the 
 table. Enter Mes. Gaunt.) 
 
 Eate. Is she not grown ? Is she not lovely ? And 
 more and more like you every day. Surely yon will never 
 desert her again. 
 
 Gaunt. 'Twas not her I deserted, but her mother, and 
 she had played me false with her accursed priest. 
 
 Rate. [Drawing -back wiih horror.) This, before my 
 girl ? — Griffith Gaunt, you he ! 
 
 Gaunt. Ah I ■ 
 
 Kate. Oh, that I were a man I This insult shonld be 
 the last. I'd lay you dead at her feet and mine. 
 
 Gaunt. But, as you are not a. man, and I'm not a 
 woman, we can't settle it. that way. So I give yon the last 
 word, and good day. 
 
 Kate. Yes, take your money, and begone. I loathe 
 the sight of you, and corse the hour I ever knew you. 
 
 Rose. {Weeping) Oh, mamma, don't scold poor papa! 
 Oh, papa, don't quarrel with poor manmia I {Runs from one 
 to the other.) 
 
 Gaunt. {Hanging his head.) No, my Iamb, we twain 
 
«« KATE PEYTON. [Act 2. 
 
 mast not qnarrel before thee. We will part in silence, as 
 becomes two gentlefolks, that once were dear, and have thee 
 to show for't. Good bye, my little Eose. 
 
 {He kitses her. She runs to her mother, who takes her on 
 ! her knee. ) 
 
 Madam, I am in sore want of money ; but I find I cannot 
 pay the price. (Takes a step towards door.) I wish you 
 health, happiness, and oblivion. Adieu. (As he is going out' 
 
 Enter Father Francis, meeting him.) 
 Fran. A word with me, first. 
 Gaunt. Welcome, thou one honest priest, welcome I 
 Fran. Welcome, my long-lost son. Madam, I desire 
 some private talk with you and your husband. 
 
 (At a signal from Mrs. Gaunt, Ryder takes Rose out.) 
 My daughter, and you my friend. I am here to do justice 
 between you, and to show you both your faults. I pray 
 R ' you sit — one on each side of me. (They ait.) Catherine 
 
 Gaunt, you began the mischief by encouraging another man 
 to interfere between yoiir husband and yon. 
 
 Kate. (Distressed) But, sir, he was my director, my 
 priest, my father. 
 
 Fban. Ay, your spiritual father ; but not your temporal 
 father. You withdrew firom society, and avoided your 
 husband's friends in your own house. In a word, you 
 bereaved your husband of his companion and his fi^end. 
 , The error was Leonard's, but the fault was yours. You 
 
 ^' were five years older than Leonard, and a woman of sense 
 
 and experience ; he but a boy by comparison. What right 
 had you to surrender your understanding, in a matter of 
 this kind, to a poor silly priest, fresh from his seminary, 
 and as manifestly without a grain of common sense as he 
 was full of piety ? 
 
 Gaunt. Ay, that is how it all began. Would it had , 
 ended there. . - 
 
 Fran. Yet when she found you were unhappy, she was 
 nneasy, and sent for me. I said " Leonard must go " — she ■ 
 assented. I went to Leonard, and he is a saint ^Gacnt 
 
Aoi 2.] KATE PEYTON. 57 
 
 starts,) though a silly one ; he hewed his head to me, a 
 man infinitely his inferior in spiritual gifts ; and obeyed me 
 in all humility. He consented to bid Mrs. Gaunt farewell, 
 and sail for Ireland. 
 
 Gaunt. Did you bid him meet my wife in the Grove ? 
 
 Fban. No, my son. But, remember; you had just 
 
 given your people an order to drag this poor pious priest 
 
 - throu^ your horsepond. Was that well done ? Was that 
 
 like Griffith Gaunt, the brave, the generous ? To keep his 
 
 word with me, Leonard came as near the house as he dared. 
 
 Gaunt. But how came my wife's glove in his house ? 
 
 Eate. My glove in Father Leonard's house. Nonsense. 
 
 Gaunt It was found there, and brought to me. 
 
 Eate. Whoever found it there had dropped it there. 
 Yon have been imposed on. I never was in Leonard's 
 house in my life. I always confessed to him in the sacristy. 
 Father, I appeal to you. 
 
 Fhan. My son, this is so. I begin to think that some 
 fpnl slanderer has been poisoning you. 
 
 Gaunt. (Have I been a dupe ?) No, no I my own eye* 
 
 ' have shown me what she is. She can be sick to one man, 
 
 but well to another. 1 left her, unable to walk, by her 
 
 way of it ; I came back, and found her on that priest's arm, 
 
 springing along like a greyhound. 
 
 Fean. (A little severely.) How do you account for that ? 
 
 ELate., I'll tell you, Father, because you love me. I do 
 not speak to you, sir ; for you never loved me. 
 
 Gaunt. I could give thee the lie : but 'tis not worth 
 while. Know, sir, that within twenty-four hours after I 
 caught her with that villain, I lay a dying for her sake ; 
 and lost my wits ; and, when I came to, they were making 
 my shroud in the very room where I lay. No matter ; no 
 matter; I never loved her. (Sobs.) 
 
 Eate. Alas ! poor soul I would I had died ere I 
 brought thee to that I (Sobs.) 
 
 Fean. (with tenderness.) Ay, poor fools, neither of ye 
 lov^d t'other ; that is plain. So now let us have youi 
 explanation. 
 
 Eate. I lay on my bed weak enough, I assure you. 
 2 
 
F: 
 
 68 KATE PEYTON. [Aot 2. 
 
 But suddenly I thonght to myself — oh if I conld but settle 
 it all against he comes back from his ride. So, I got up, 
 and crept out, and I saw Leonard at a distance in the 
 Grove. Good Father, you know what women are ; ex- 
 citement lends us strength. With me thinking that our 
 nnhappinesB was ended — that in half-an-hour I should fling 
 my arm round my husband's neck, and tell him I had re- 
 moved the cause of his misery, and so of mine — I seamed 
 to have wings ; and I did walk with Leonard, and talked 
 with rapture of the good he was to do in Ireland, and how 
 he was to be a mitred abbot one day (for he is a great man), 
 and how we were all to be happy together in heaven. This 
 was our discourse ; and I was just putting the money for 
 his journey into his hand, and bidding him God-speed, 
 when he — for whom I fought against my woman's nature, 
 and took this trying task upon me — broke in upon us, with 
 the face of a fiend ; trampled on the poor good priest, that 
 deserved veneration and consolation ; and raised his hand 
 to me ; and was not man enough to kill me, after all ; but 
 miscalled me — ask him what he called me— see if he dares 
 to say it again before you ; and then ran away, like a 
 coward, from the lady he had defiled with his rude tongue, 
 and the heart he had broken. Forgive him ? That I never 
 will, never ; never. 
 
 Fean. Who asked you to forgive him ? your own heart. 
 Come, look at him. 
 
 Kate. (Irresolutely.) Not I: he is nought to me. (Sh« 
 steals a look at him.) 
 
 ('Gaunt has his hand on his brow, and his eyes fixed with 
 horror and remorse.) 
 
 Gaunt. Something tells me she has spoken the truth. 
 But if so— oh God, what have I done ?— What shall I do ? 
 
 Fran. Why, fall at thy wife's knees and ask her to 
 forgive thee. 
 
 (Q AWT falls on his knees; Mrs. Gaunt leans her head on 
 Francis's shoulder, and puts out her hand to Mb. Gaunt; — 
 at this moment enter Ryder with a tray, and stands transfixed.) 
 
 INS OF ACT II. 
 
p^l ^p yj i j ii WHJ iW j i yl M H i H l l. nipB W IWW^^y^iil 
 
 Act 8.] KATE PEYTON. 69 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SoENB I. — A Lane near Emshaw. Evening. 
 
 Music. 
 
 Paijl Cabbioe discovered walking slowly across the scene and 
 back again more than once, like a sentinel, then retires 
 cautiously. 
 
 "(Enter Cabolinb Eyder. .She knits her brows, and ap- 
 pears to meditate profoundly.) 
 
 Bydeb. It seems to me there are two things in tUs 
 world : Passion and Peace. And the two are opposites. 
 And men and women are such fools, they mn after Passion, 
 and run away from P^ace. For twelve months I have been 
 at peace. My mistress is a noble creature, and has borne 
 her sorrow like a man. I had learned to admire her ; I 
 was getting almost to love her : I thought I was cured. 
 But now, at the very sight of that man, the calm is over, 
 and the storm begins again. They will love one another 
 better than ever. I clenched my teeth, and tried to look 
 on their reconciliation. But I couldn't; I was fain to mn 
 out of the house. Here I can breathe : here I can think. 
 What shqll I do ? 
 
 {Enter Jane Bannjsteb.) 
 
 Janf. Oh, here you are, Mrs. Ryder. I've been 
 hunting for yon high and low. 
 
 Bydeb. Indeed 1 What for ? 
 
 Jane. Well, you did me a good turn twelve months 
 ago. So now I thought I'd give you a warning. There's 
 something up about a glove. Father Francis did question 
 me whether our Dame had two gloves that day or only 
 one. " She had the pair," says I ; " for I did notice them, 
 being new." Quoth he, " Then how could Mrs. Ryder 
 find one of them at Leonard's lodgings ? I shall look 
 
 tfttMAttdtt/ 
 
:;^3 
 
 
 60 ■ KATE PEYTON. [Act 3. 
 
 into this," says he. So I thought I would tell you. 
 Forewarned, forearmed, they say 
 
 Ryder. (Chravely.) I am much obliged to you. 
 
 Jane. No, y'are not, or you'd give me a kiss for't. 
 
 Rydeb. Ab many as you like. 
 
 Jake. I take you at your word. 
 
 (Jane kisses her violently, and then runs out. Rydee 
 quietly wipes her mouth with her handkerchief.) 
 
 Ryder. That old priest is very keen. He is on my 
 track. He will get me turned out of this house with a 
 bad character. I shall be ruined for ever. What in the 
 world shall I do ? 
 
 (Enter Tom Leicester, j 
 
 Tom. Good evening, mistress. 
 
 Ryder. Tom Leicester 1 How you startled me ! Wel- 
 come to Emshaw once more. 
 
 ToM. I am in luck. You are the one I came to see, 
 and you are the first I meet. That bodes well. 
 
 Ryder. Bodes well — for what ? 
 
 Tom. For my suit. 
 
 Rydeb. (Why not ? Here's a way out of it all.) La, 
 Tom, do you still think of me in that way ? 
 
 Tom. Why not ? especially now. Come, mistress, 
 every dog has his day : the only man that stood between 
 you and me, he is out of the play. Squire Gaunt will 
 never show his face in Cumberland again : he daren't. 
 
 Ryder. (Satirically.) Indeed I And suppose I were 
 to tell you he is in Cumberland, now ? 
 
 Tom. Then I'd tell you 'tis a lie. He is too well off 
 where he is. 
 
 Rydeb. Humph I How do you know where he is ? 
 
 Tom. I've seen the place. I've seen the little inn he 
 keeps. I've seen his picture hanging up in it — and — 
 come a bit nearer — this is between you and me — I've seen 
 his wife. (She must have been his wife.) 
 
 Ryder, What? 
 
"1 
 
 Act 8.] KATE PEYTON. ' ' 61 
 
 (A Paute.) 
 
 Tom. Ah, yon may well stare. Bat I tell yon he has 
 taken a little wayside inn in Lancashire, and married a 
 pretty dove-eyed woman (Mercy Vint they call her), 
 and ta'en his leave of Cumberland for ever. He won't 
 come here to be burnt in the hand for a felon ; and he a 
 justice of the peace: and so I am come post haste to tell 
 you. 
 
 Rydeb. (Clenching her teeth.) Oh I if this is true, he 
 shall smart for it. (To Tom. j Such a tale is not to be 
 believed at a word. I must have more particulars. ' 
 
 Tom. Swear to be secret, and I'll tell you all I know. 
 
 Byder. Then suppose you come and sup with me in 
 my room. Will you ? 
 
 Tom. Thou kaow'st I'd rather sup with thee than with 
 the king. 
 
 Rydeb. Would you ? Then follow me. Oh ! 
 
 • , (Exit, followed by lov.) 
 
 (Be-enter Paul Cabbick.^ 
 
 Paul. Why, sure I can't be mistaken. That is the 
 pedlar, the true Thomas Leicester. 
 
 Lights obadually lowered. 
 
 He has walked fifty miles in a day-and-a-half. He is going , 
 
 into the house. Mercy must know this at once. | 
 
 (Exit luutily.) 
 
 Scene II. — The Sitting Boom in Emshaw Castle, lighted 
 by candles. A wood fire burning. Twilight outdde. 
 
 Mrs. Gaunt seated working and smiling. Rose seated on 
 a stool, working in imitation. 
 
 Rose. (Looking up.) Mamma, you are prettier than 
 ever to-day. I declare you are prettier than my baby. 
 (Looks from Mrs. G. to her doll.) 
 
 Kate. (Bowing.) Oh, madam, yon flatter me too 
 
62 KATE PEYTON. [Act 8. 
 
 much. What mortal face could vie with those exquisite 
 features that call you their parent ? 
 
 Rose. (Examines the doll and lays it on her lap.) 
 Well, mamma, at least you are very nearly as pretty. 
 
 Kate. Now you are reasonable. 
 
 (Enter Jane.^ 
 
 Rose. (Pointing to Jane, j Now look at that ! I'm to 
 be torn off to bed in the middle of a most interesting con- 
 versation. 
 
 Eate. Yes ; but then if you don't go to bed early, yon 
 will never be as beautiful as your offspring. 
 
 Rose. (Shaking her head solemnly.) Oh, that would 
 never do. Good night, dear mamma. 
 
 (Exeunt Jane and RosB.^ 
 
 Kate. How long they stay at the table. I hope he will 
 not be led into excess. Oh, no ; Father Francis would 
 check him. 
 
 (Enter Fatheb Fbancis, who beckons her.) 
 
 Fban. Madam, Mr. Gaunt makes me uneasy. There 
 is something about him very strange. One moment he is 
 depressed, the next moment he is boisterous. 
 
 Kate. Then pray do not leave us to-night. 
 
 Fban. I am not my own master. I am sent for to 
 Underbill's wife, now at the point of death. 
 
 Eate. Then I say no more. Let me put you on your 
 way. The bridge, they say, is hardly safe. 
 
 (She puts her handkerchief over her head while speaking, and 
 steps out of the window with Fatheb Fbancis, just as 
 Rydeb enters rapidly and agitated. N.B. — The window, 
 being open, reveals a powerful moonlight.) 
 
 Rtdeb. Ah I Those two together. (Looks after them.) 
 No matter; all the priests in England will not turn me out 
 of this house now. I'll sit here, and wait for her. (She 
 crosses her knees, and doubles herself up, like an old woman, 
 
m 
 
 1 
 
 Act 8.] KATE PEYTON. , 63 
 
 looking venomous. — A poMie.) I think there ia bat one 
 passion left under my skin : Revenge. - fA pcaite.) 
 
 ^Gaunt's voice it heard, tinging a stave. Rtdkb listens 
 mthout moving.) 
 
 Ay, sing, ye blind sot, and drink what little brains ye have 
 away. I'll sober ye. I'll teach you to reject my love, and 
 then go and give yourself to a stranger. 
 
 (Re-enter Extv.) 
 
 Eate. (Aside.) Why, what is she mattering aboat? 
 (Comes and lays her hand on Btdeb.^ What is the matter, 
 my good Byder ? 
 
 ^YDER turns her head, and looJesfull at her.) 
 
 Oh, what a look I Good Heavens, what has happened ? 
 
 Rtdeb. (Gravely.) I have just heard something. 
 
 Sj^TE. 'Tis about him. 
 
 Ryder. I don't know whether to tell yoa or not. (Poor 
 woman 1) 
 
 Kate. What have I not borne ? What cannot I bear ? 
 Tell me the truth. 
 
 Rydgb. He has got — a wife — in Lancashire — and no 
 doubt been deceiving her as he has us. 
 
 Kate. A wife I Are you mad ? 
 
 Ryder. No. Her name is Mercy Vint. Thomas 
 Leicester, that is in our kitchen now, saw her, and saw his 
 picture hanging aside hers on the wall. And he has taken 
 the name of Thomas Leicester: that was what made Tom 
 go into the inn, seeing his own name on the sign-board. 
 Nay, Dame, never give way like that, lean on me; so. He 
 is a villain, a false, jeatons, donble-fiaced villain. 
 
 (Gaunt heard singing outside.) 
 
 " For wine inspires ns, and fires as — " 
 
 ^Enter Gaunt singing, and half inebriated, with a bottle 
 and glass in his hand.) 
 
 Gaxtnt. Oh, here you are, Dame : yoa are all traitors 
 
 ■ ^..t.».M^-,., , , ■■ .. ■.^.. - I .} !,! , f^ i '.,,... ...M. ,,, „ |,^ 
 
 J 
 
64 " KATE PETTON. [Act 8. 
 
 in this honse ; you desert the bottle. Yon slipped ofif at 
 the third glass. (A pause — To Ryder.) She can't deny 
 it. And even that jolly old blade, Francis, that can put 
 three bottles under his girdle and never vrink, hag run 
 away from good liquor. 
 
 {The women's eyes are bent on him with stem contempt^ 
 
 What's the consequence ? The bottle is indignant, and 
 runs after you? Here, Mistress Ryder, let's you and I 
 - ■ drink to this happy day. - 
 
 (Rtdeb turns her back on him, and goes up.-:— A pause.) 
 
 (Beginning to be uneasy.) This is a freezing reception. 
 
 Kate. Too good for you, you heartless creature ! 
 Thomas Leicester is here, and I know all. 
 
 Gaunt. You know nothing. Would yon believe that 
 mischief-making knave ? What has he told yon ? 
 
 Ryder. (Coming down.) If you please, Dame, there 
 '{T. is a young woman wants to see you : her name is Mercy 
 
 Vint. 
 
 Gaunt. (Drops the bottle.) Then I am undone. 
 
 Eate. Go back to her 1 Me you can deceive and pil- 
 lage no more. So this was your jealousy I False and 
 1., • forsworn yourself, you dared to suspect and insult me. 
 
 Ah I and yon think I am the woman to endure this ? - I'll 
 have your life for it I I'll have your life I Give me a 
 knife, and I'll drive it into his heart. 
 
 Gaunt. (Humbly.) Here is a pistol. 'Twill do as well. 
 ('Kate recoils.) Nay, I would thank anyone to kill me. 
 I h^ve wronged two honest women, and I am in despair. 
 Two I have wronged : yet I never loved but one, and that 
 was you, Kate. 
 
 Kate. I'll soon be rid of you and your — love. The 
 constables shall come for you in the morning. You have 
 seen how I can love : yon shall learn how I can hate. 
 You have seen how I can endure: you shall know how I 
 can revenge. 
 
 r , 
 
wwwiwwr^"r7rw7"'w^M 
 
 AoT'3.| KATE PEYTON. 66 
 
 Gaunt. Yon are revenged already. (Sinks into a chair, 
 and covers his face.) 
 Kate. Send Thomas Leicester to me on the terrace. 
 
 (Exit RYDEB.y 
 
 I cannot breathe the same air with him. {Leans against 
 the windme.) 
 
 {Re-enter Btdeb.) 
 
 And don't let me see that yillain here when I come back : 
 take him to the bachelor's room if he is mean enough to 
 lie in my house ; my house it is, thank God 1 
 
 {Exit by the window.) 
 
 Ryder. {Coming down to Gaunt after watching him.) 
 Well, sir, this is a sorry business. Don't you think yon 
 had better havp set up your inn with me, than have, gone and 
 broken the law ? 
 
 Gaunt. (Feebly.) Much better. vVonld to Heaven I 
 had. Poor Mercy ! 
 
 Rtdeb. What d'ye mean to do now ? You know the 
 saying: between two stools — 
 
 Gaunt. I shall trouble neither. I can't look my wife 
 in the face ; and, far less, Mercy Vint : I am not the hardened 
 villain I seem. I lay at the point of death. She nursed me ; 
 she saved my life. I was going away ; but I found her crying ; 
 the reason was plain. I thought to show her my gratitude, 
 and I thought Kate was dead — to me. But oh, how black 
 it looks now. ^Groans. J And my shame is to be public. 
 The constables are to come for me to-morrow. I am to be 
 accused. - 
 
 Rydee. Come, come, you mustn't believe every word 
 an angry woman says. There, take my advice. Keep 
 out of her way for a few days, and you'll see a change. 
 Come, I'U show you to your room. 
 
 {Exit. Gaunt follows her, sighing, and hanging his head 
 dejectedly. Enter on tip-toe, JaJje Bannister.) 
 
 Jane. Where is shtf, I wonder ? Oh, out o'doors, be- 
 like, for here's the window open. (Steps out.) 
 
66 - KATE PEYTON. [Act 3. 
 
 {Bg-enter Rtdeb, who knits her brows and reflects.) 
 Bydeb. He cannot look either of them in the fiice, eh ? 
 ^Re-enter jAHE.y 
 
 Jane. Oh, here you be. Mrs. Ryder, do tell me the 
 news. What is up now ? For I hear they have had high 
 words again. 
 
 Ryder. Higher than ever. But all on one side. You 
 should have heard her miscall him. Why, if you'll believe 
 me, she threatened his life. 
 
 Jane. Alas I poor soul: and him only just come back 
 to her. 
 
 Rydee. If you pity him, take a basket of wood up to 
 his rbom ; 'tis the little north room they call the bachelor's ; 
 and make him a good fire ; for the room has not been used 
 these three months. 
 
 Jane. That I will; and say you sent it. (Exit.) 
 
 Rydeb. And what a time she is — with that Tom 
 Leicester. fOoes to window.) Where have they got to, 
 I wonder ? they are not on the terrace. Humph ! to-night 
 has opened my eyes. This woman, that seems so cold, 
 her passions are more violent than my own. She made 
 me tremble. As for me, my revenge is cool. He says he 
 cannot bear the sight of either of them. My chance is 
 better than ever. I'U act accordingly. 
 
 Music. 
 
 {He-enter Jane.) 
 
 Jane. Oh, Mrs. Ryder I oh, Mrs. Ryder ! He is gone. 
 The window is open and master is gone. 
 
 Rydeb. Good heavens 1 who would have thought of 
 that ? Oh, the miserable tongues of women ! Well, 
 Jane, now I believe we shall never see him again. Stay, 
 Dick the groom is your sweetheart ; bid him mount and 
 ride south after him, and tell him the mistress says she 
 will forgive him if he comes back directly. 
 
 Jane. I'll do't: I'll do't. (Runs out.) 
 
~"^ 
 
 Act 8.] KATE PEYTON. 67 
 
 Ryder. Will she never come in ? I'll go after her, 
 and tell her what she has done. ' (Ooet towards window.) 
 
 (A F.UNT CBT IS ksABD.) 
 
 What is that ? 
 
 (Anotheb get.) 
 
 Cries for help by oar mere I 
 
 Gaumt'b voice heard crying — Help f murder ! help I 
 
 A Pistol IS FiBED AT A msTANOE, 
 
 andQAXJsr'avoice heard again, crying — Help! mnrderl helpl 
 
 Btdeb screams vioUntly, and darts out of the window. 
 
 Her screams are heard outside. 
 
 (Pausb.) 
 
 Then a murmur and confused cries are heard — Hcbbt— 
 pattering of feet irutide and outside. Ths Alabm Bell of 
 the house is rung. Several forms are seen to rush by the 
 window; then ti torch or two seen waving, and Sorme 
 
 CLOSES. 
 
 Scene IH. — The Lane near Emshaw Castle. 
 
 Music, Hubbt, continued, piano, during dialogue. 
 
 Several rustics cross the stage rapidly, one after another, 
 bearing torches. 
 
 (Enter Paul Cabbiok and Mebot.) 
 
 Mebct. What is the matt<^r, I wonder ? 
 
 {Enter Ja.vk and Rtoeb, meeting.) 
 
 Byseb. Is Dick gone to the jostice ? 
 
 Jake. Oh yes I long ago ; full gallop. (Exit Rtsib.) 
 
 Meboy. What is the matter, my good woman ? 
 
 Jane. The matter, quo' she. Why, there has been 
 foul play done not far from where you stand. Our master's 
 voice was heard ciying murder by the water- side. 
 
 [A man crosses the stage with the drags.) 
 
 See I see I they are going to drag the water for him. Oh I 
 is it come to this ? {Exit, hurriedly.) 
 
68 KATE PEYTON, [Act S. - 
 
 {Enter Majob Bickabos and a Conntable.) 
 
 BioK. Good people, is it true that Mr. Oannt was heard 
 to cry for help and a pistol shot fired ? 
 
 Paui,. Nay, sir, we know not ; we are strangers. 
 
 Bice. Strangers I and out so late I Then you mnst 
 go with me. 
 
 Paul. And willingly, your worship. 
 
 Mebct. Mr. Gaunt I (Exeunt.) 
 
 ScENR IV. — By the side of the mere. The water glitter* 
 with the moonlight, and is reddened in places by torches. 
 Boats with torches are seen moving at a distance in various 
 directions. 
 
 Men discovered on the hanlc holding out torches; confuted 
 murmurs on the water. Mes. Bydeb discovered. Enter 
 Majob Biokabds and Constable. 
 
 MUSIO 0EA8ES. 
 
 BioK. Which is Mrs. Bydec ? , ' . 
 
 I Bydbb. {Steps forward.) Here »m I, sir. 
 
 {Enter Mebct and Paul Cabbick.) 
 
 Bice. Are yon sure it was Mr. Gannt's voice yon heard 
 c^ for help ? 
 
 Bybeb. I'd take my Bible oath of it. 
 
 Bice. Do you suspect anyone ? 
 
 Bvseb. No, sir. But Mrs. Gaunt had threatened his 
 life just before. 
 ^■■' " Bice. Take care what you say. Where is she ? 
 
 Bydeb. She is not in the house ; and she has never 
 been seen since. 
 
 BicK. Was the quarrel very serious ? What was it ' 
 about? 
 
 Bydeb. Oh, sir, it is no secret now. Mr. Gaunt had 
 committed bigamy. He had married a publican's daughter 
 down in Lancashire. 
 
 t^ 
 
 i 
 
1 
 
 AOT 8.] KATE PEYTON. ■ 69 
 
 (Mebcy starts violently.) 
 
 My mistresB discovered it this day, and vowed to take his 
 life. 
 
 (BiCKABDS tales notes.) 
 
 BiOK. Where was she seen last ? 
 
 Btder. On the terrace in company with Thomas 
 Leicester; and, sir, neither she nor Leicester have been 
 seen since then. 
 
 (RiOKABDS takes notes.) 
 
 Merot. Oh, PanllPauIl (Trembles.) 
 
 Rtbeb. My poor master felt his danger and fled from 
 the house. He fled, but met his death. 
 
 Rick. You go too fast. ' Time to say that if we find 
 his body. . ' 
 
 Mebot. (He has fl^d to us. He little knows what I 
 have learned. Miserable man I Oh, woe is me this day. 
 Woe is me.) 
 
 (A CBT IS HEABD ON THE MEBE.) 
 
 RiOK. (In a whisper.) Hash t They have found some- 
 thing. 
 
 (The oby becomes loudeb. Music. Torches are held 
 out. A boat comes ashore. A group is instantly formed 
 round it, from which, however, men speedily retire horror- 
 stricken. RioKABDS and Paul CabriOk go up, Paul 
 comes away, and stops Mebcy, who is tottoring towards 
 the spot.) 
 
 Paul. No, no. It is not a sight for any woman to 
 look on. {In a whisper.) The fish have toi^n all the flesh 
 off the poor creature's bones. Oh, horrible I horrible I 
 
 Mebcy. (Clutching at him.) Is it he ? 
 
 Paul. How can I tell ? There is not a feature ^ft, 
 nor a limb to swear by. 
 
 (A cry is heard.) " Look here I The mole I the Gaunt 
 mole I" 
 
 Rick. Ay, the mole. There is no mistaking that. ^ 
 
 This is all that is left of Griffith Gaunt. 
 
.- 
 
 / 
 
 70 KATE PEYTON. [Act 3. 
 
 {Silence. — Meboy looks at Iter lumdherchief with dilating 
 eyes.) 
 
 Good people, he was the best neighbonr, the merriest 
 companion, the braveBt adversary, the staunchest friend. 
 [Puts his handkerchief to his eyes.) 
 
 Sorrowful murmurs.) 
 
 Silence now. Here she comes. I'll question her on the spot. 
 
 [The people part, and discover a form hidden by a cloak, all 
 
 but one hobnailed shoe, which protrudes at the aame time.) 
 
 Enter Kate Gaunt, and takes a portion, e.o. 
 Eate. (In a whisper.) What is the matter ? 
 Rick. Madam, where is Thomas Leicester ? 
 Kate. I know not. He left me hours ago. 
 BicK. {To Constable.) I'll sign a warrant for his arrest. 
 {To Me8. Gaunt.) And where have you been since ? 
 Kate. In the Grove, praying. 
 
 {The people groan.) 
 
 Kate. Have you no sins, good people, or no futh, that 
 you jeer at prayer ? 
 
 Rick. (Hypocrite.) Catherine Gaunt — 
 
 Mebct. (Kate I) 
 
 Rick. It is my painful duty to commit you for trial. 
 
 Kate. Charged with what offence ? 
 
 Rick. With the murder of your husband, Grmth 
 Gaunt. 
 (Kate's business is as follows, in three clear movements: — 
 
 At.theword " trial," s/i« turns her head haughtily, unthout 
 
 moving her body. At " Griffith Gaunt," she draws back 
 
 and lifts her hands with horror and dismay. Then crosses 
 
 her hands over her bosom, and lifts her eyes to Heaven. 
 
 Mebcy Vint darts forward, l.c, and with clenched hands, 
 
 scant her face eagerly.) 
 
 ■HD or ACT m. 
 
f> 
 
 AjDT 4.] KATE PKTrON. 71 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — A Room in the Prison connected ivith the 
 Amze Court. 
 
 Musio Plaintive. 
 (And then enter Jane Bannisteb, meeting a Jjulob.) 
 
 Jane. Oh, sir, how does it go with the p(5or lady ? 
 
 Jailob. (Shakes his head.) Badly. She had a chance 
 till the last witness was sworn. Bat this Caroline Ryder 
 has hnng her : so they all say. 
 
 Jans. Oh I who would have believed it of Mrs. Ryder ? 
 
 Jailob. And then her being a Papist is against her with ' 
 a Cumbrian jury. Why, there's a talk of the Pretender 
 making a landing on this coast. 
 
 Jane. Alas I poor Dame, is that her fault ? They told 
 me I should see her here. 
 
 Jailob. So you will, and shortly. . The last witness for 
 the Crown is up, and then the judges will go to dinner, and 
 the prisoner will get an hour to breathe. 
 
 Jane. How can they have the heart to eat such a time ? 
 
 Jailob. Why not, young woman ? Their consciences 
 are clear. 
 
 (Enter another Jailob, who makes a sign, and retires.) 
 There, the court is rising. {He goes out and fetches a chair.) 
 Mnsio. • 
 
 {Enter Mes. Gaunt, very vale, leaning on the other Jailor's 
 arm.. They seat her in the chair, and exeunt. She hol4s 
 up her cross, and gazes at it.) 
 
 Jane. Oh, madam. Be of good heart. 
 
 Kate, Oh, nngovemed temper t nngovemed tongue t 
 Ye have brought my Griffith to death, and me to shame. 
 (Jailob re-enters, and beckons Jane, who goes out.) 
 Ihe gallows I and thousands looking on and hooting me, 
 
 — ^■'* ■ 
 
72 KATE PEYTON. [Act 4. 
 
 and crying " Mnrderesg and Papist," as they did when I 
 was brought here. Oh that I could die before the trial 
 begins again, 
 
 - [Re-enter Jane.) 
 
 Jane. (With meaning.) If you please, Dame, there is 
 a young woman to speak with you. 
 Kate. 'I can see no one. 
 
 (Jane goes out, but returns almost immediately.) 
 
 Jane, Dame, if I were you I'd let her come in. 'Tis 
 the honestest face ; and tears in her soft eyes, at yon 
 denying her. "Oh, dear! dear !" said she. "Tell her I 
 have come fifty miles to serve her." 
 Kate. Let me know her name. 
 
 (Exit Jane.) 
 A woman come fifty miles to serve poor Kate Gaunt ? Ah; 
 I am not so fiiendless as I thought. 
 '. (Re-enter Jane.) 
 
 Jane. Madam — if you please — her name it is Mercy 
 Vint. 
 
 Kate. Mercy Vint I— How dare she ? And how dare 
 ■ you? 
 
 Jane. Oh, Dame ! your proud stomach it will be your 
 ruin. Why should you fear her, if she doesn't fear you ? 
 
 Kate. I fear her not. Only my flesh creeps at her 
 name. But you are right. Dare she come all this way to 
 see me ; and shall I shrink from her ? Tell Mistress 
 Mercy Vint, Mistress Gaunt will receive her. 
 
 [Exit Jane.) 
 [" [A long silence). 
 
 (Re-enter Jane, who draws hack, and ushers in Meecy Vint 
 in a hood and travelling cloak. Kate and Mercy look 
 one another all over in a minute. Kate curtsies stijffly, 
 Metlcy curtsies ; but never takes her eyes off Kate. Kate 
 dismisses Jane by an expressive gesture. Eadt Jane.^ 
 
 V Kate. May I enquire, madam, to what I owe this visit ? 
 
 MxBCT. Why I have come ? To serve you, madam. 
 
 •1 
 1 
 
 :i 
 
 J 
 
r 
 
 (!», 
 
 ^'^ *•] KATE PEYTON. 73 
 
 Katb. (CoUly.) Indeed? 
 
 Mekcy. Alas I 'Tis hard to be received so, and me 
 come all the way from Lancashire, with a heart like lead, 
 to do my duty, God willing. 
 
 Kate. Excuse me if I seem discourteous ; but you and 
 I ought not to be in one room a moment. You do not see 
 this, apparently. But at least I have a right to insist that 
 such an interview shall be very brief, and to the purpose. 
 Oblige me, then, by telling me in plain terms why you 
 have come hither. 
 
 Mekcy. Madam, to be your witness at the trial. 
 ,.Kate. You to be my witness ? 
 
 Mercy. Why not ? If I can clear you ? What, would 
 you rather be condemned for murder, than let me show 
 them you are innocent ? Alas, how you must hate me. 
 
 Kate. Hate you, child ? Of course I hate you. We 
 are both of us flesh and blood, and hate one another. And 
 one of us is honest enough, and (with some compunction) 
 uncivil enough, to say so. 
 
 Mercy. Speak for yourself. Dame : for I hate you not ; 
 and I thank God for it. To hate is to be miserable— I'd 
 liever be hated than to hate. 
 
 Kate. Your words are goodly and wise, your face is 
 honest ; and your eyes are like a very dove's. But, for 
 all that, madam, yon hate me quietly, with all your heart ; 
 as I do you. Human nature is human nature.' 
 
 Mercy. Ay, but grace is grace. I'll not deny that I 
 did hate you for a time, when I first learned the man I loved 
 had a wife, and you were she. But I have worn out 
 my hate. I wrestled in prayer, and prayer did quench 
 my most unreasonable hate. For 'twas the man deceived 
 me ; you never wronged me, nor I you. But, you are 
 right, madam ; 'tis true that nature without grace is black 
 as pitch : the devil he was busy at my ear, and whispered 
 me, " If the fools in Cumberland hang her, what fault 
 o'thine ? Thou wilt be his lawful wife." But, by Heaven's 
 grace, I did defy him. And I do defy him. Said I, " Get 
 thee behind me, Satan. I tell thee the hangman shall 
 never have her innocent body, nor thou my soul." 
 
 D 
 
 J 
 
7* , KATE PEYTON. [Act 4. 
 
 Kate. (Aside.) Is this an hypocrite ? or an angel ? 
 
 Mercy. So take this paper, madam. fKATE takes it 
 with some rehictance.) 'Tis well studied. Build yonr 
 defence on what I have there set down, and no twelve men 
 m Cumberland will ever agree to hang you. 
 
 BLatk. Ah! — and yon think? — 
 
 Mercy. I do think so. 
 
 Kate. Bless the tongue that has come fifty miles to tell 
 me that. Bless you eternally, Mercy Vint. 
 
 Mekcy. Oh, the good that has done me — from her lips ! 
 
 Kate. Nonsense ! What are words, to repay such an 
 act as this ? What can I do for you, if I live ? (With 
 great emotion. J Pray, pray tell me what can I do for 
 yon. 
 
 Mercy. Nothing. fA pause. ) Yes, there is something. 
 But, before I ask it, 'tis fit you should know my heart. Of 
 course I'll not deny I loved him, loved him dearly. But, 
 madam, when I found how basely he had deceived me , my heart 
 tnmed against the man, and now 'tis ice to him. Only, 
 wiieu love goes, it leaves the heart aching and yearning ; and 
 what I seem to pine for most, in place of what I have lost, 
 is a few kind words and looks from yon that have been 
 wronged as well as me ; from you that are innocent and 
 unhappy like myself, and that I vow to clear from shame. 
 You are gentle and I am simple; but we are both one flesh and 
 blood, and youi" lovely wet eyes do prove it this moment. 
 Dame Gaunt— Kate — I never was ten miles from' home 
 before, aild I am come all this weary way to save you from 
 peril and shame. Oh, give me the one thing that can do 
 me good in this world, a little of your love. 
 
 ('Mrs. Gaunt catches her round tlie neck, and they kiss one 
 anotlwr, and rock gently together in a close embrace) 
 
 Solemn Music. 
 
 {lie-enter Jailors.) ' ' , 
 
 Jailor. (In n low voice.) Madam, the judge is jtist 
 coming into courts, Excuse me — ' •■ ■ ' ■ ■ ' 
 
Act 4.] KAtB PBTTOV. 75 
 
 Kate. I am ready. (Moves away, then suddenly turns.y 
 When shall I see yon af^ain ? 
 Meboy. [Shakes her heail.) In this world — never. 
 
 (Eatb returns, and throws herself once more into Mebcy's 
 arms. Exeunt Eats and Jailob.) 
 
 Jailob. You are her witness, my good lass. I'll take 
 you in quietly through the grand jury room. 
 
 Exeunt. 
 
 SoENG II. — The Assize Court of Carlisle. The Court as- 
 sembled —the audience on the otiier side of a partition with 
 iron spikes. Mbs. Gaunt, dressed in black, in the dock. 
 
 Chobds. 
 
 The Cbieb. [Speaking to Mnsio.) Oyez. Oyez. Oyez. 
 His Majesty's jnetioes do strictly command all manner of 
 persons to keep silence, on pain of imprisonment. 
 
 The Judge. Prisoner, this is the last witness for the 
 Crown. You can question her, if you think proper. 
 
 Kate. I thank your Lordship. I will put her a ques- 
 tion or two. 
 
 (Rtdeb and Eate eye one another.) 
 
 Kate. [Very dvilly.) You have sworn that I threatened 
 my husband on the 15th October. (Bydeb assents.) How 
 did you understand my threat about the constables ? 
 
 Rydeb. Constables ! I never heard you say anything 
 about them. I remember you threatened his life more than 
 once, and bade me fetch a knife. 
 
 Kate. (She has sworn my death.) 
 
 Bydeb. And 'twas his life master, feared for, when he 
 fled in the middle of the night like that. He wasn't the 
 man to run from constables. 
 
 Kate. Had not my husband, to your knowledge, a 
 reason for absconding so suddenly : I mean, had he not a 
 something to fear, quite different from what I am charged 
 with ? 
 
 Rydeb. [Affecting to be puzzled.) You know best, 
 
 /I 
 
t . \ 
 
 76 KATE PEYTON. [Act 4. . 
 
 madam. I would gladly serve you ; but I can't see what 
 you are driving at. (Kate siijhs.) 
 
 Kate. On the 15th October yon were in company with 
 two men, Mr. Gannt and Thomas Leicester ? (Rydeb 
 assents.) Tell the Court what each of those men had upon 
 his feet. 
 
 Ryder. [Pertly) How can I do that ? I don't take so 
 much notice of men's dress as you seem to do. 
 
 Kate. (Impreisively.) Witness, a gentlewoman whose 
 bread you have eaten, and who is now defending her life, 
 is a very unfit subject of incivility. , , ' 
 
 (MuiTnurs of applause- amongst the Barristers. Rn>EB bites 
 her lip, but replies obsequiously.) 
 
 RvsER. Madam, I am very sorry my reply offends you. 
 But, alas ! I must tell the truth. 
 
 Kate. On the contrary, you have just refused to tell the 
 truth. Well, did my husband come to Emshav? on .foot 
 or on horseback ? 
 
 Ryder. He came on horseback. 
 
 Kate. And yet you pretend you don't know whether 
 he had boots on, or hobnailed shoes. 
 
 Wiltshire. She does not contradict you, madam ; she 
 only says she did not notice these minute particulars. 
 
 Katk. Then she forswears herself. The particulars of 
 dress never escape t woman's eye Show this slippery 
 witness the shoes that were found on the dead body. - 
 
 Ryder. Slippery witness ! If you please, my lord, am 
 I to be mis-called — by a murderess ? 
 
 ^Kate utters a faint cry, puts her hand to her heart, and 
 leans against tlie bar. J 
 
 Kate. My Lord, may I sit down a moment ? 
 
 Judge. By all means, madam. And you must not rxfn 
 before the Court. How do we know what evidence she will 
 produce ? At present we have only heard one side. 
 
 Kate. ^Rising. J My Lord, I welcome the insult that 
 has won me theBe good words of comfort. 
 
 Wilts. {_Aside.) This is an able woman. 
 
 ^^ 
 
Acr 4.] KATE PETTO IT. 77 
 
 . Kate. Since you refuse to recollect that the gentleman 
 wore boots, and the pedlar wore hobnailed shoes, let us go 
 to another matter. Had Thomas Leicester a mole on his 
 temple ? 
 
 Bydbr. Not that I know of. 
 
 Kate. Why, he was your lover. Yoa must know 
 whether he had a mole or not. 
 
 Rydeb. You are right, madam ; I think I should have 
 noticed it, if he had. 
 
 Kate. Swear one way or the other. Had your sweet- 
 heart, Tom Leicester, a mole on his left temple, or had he 
 not? 
 
 Ryder. Madam, he wore his hair low : and, if he had 
 a mole, I never saw it. I hope you won't be offended, but 
 a virtuous woman can have an admirer, yet not know so 
 much about him as you seem to think she ought. 
 
 {Pause.) 
 
 Kate. Oh, you are a virtuous woman, are you ? You 
 will swear to that ? 
 
 Ryder. Ay, madam ; as virtuous as yourself. 
 
 Kate. (Carelessly.) Married or single ? 
 
 Ryder. Single, and like to be. 
 
 Kate. Yes, if I remember right, I made a. point of that 
 before I engaged you ; and here is the answer in your 
 handwriting. {Shows her letter.) Is not that your hand- 
 writing ? _ _ ' 
 
 Ryder. (After inspecting it.) It is. ' 
 
 Kate. You came highly recommended by your last 
 mistress, a certain Mrs. Hamilton. Here is her letter, 
 describing you as a model. 
 
 Ryder. I have given satisfaction to all my mistresses, 
 Mrs. Hamilton among the rest. My character does not 
 rest on her word only, I hope. 
 
 Kate. Excuse me ; I engaged you on her word alone. 
 Now, who is this Mrs. Hamilton ? 
 
 Ryder. A worshiplul lady I served for eight months 
 before I came to you. bha went abroad, or I should be 
 with her now. 
 d2 
 
78 KATE PEYTON. [Act 4. 
 
 Kate. Now cast your eye over this paper. (Paper is 
 handed to Rydeb.) My Lord, it is a copy of a marriage 
 certificate between Thomas Edwards and Caroline Plankett. 
 "Who is this CaroUne Plunkett ? 
 
 (Rydee it a^tated, and makes no reply.) 
 
 I ask yon who is this Caroline Plunkett ? 
 
 Rydbe. (Faintly. J Myself. 
 
 Kate, Why, you swore you were single. 
 
 Rydee. So I am : as good as single. My husband and 
 me we parted eight years ago, and I have never seen him 
 since. 
 
 Kate. Was it quite eight years ago ? 
 
 Rydee. Nearly, 'twas in May, 1743. 
 
 Kate. But you have lived with him since. 
 
 Rydeb. Never, upon my soul. 
 
 Kate. When was your child bom ? 
 
 Rydee. My child ! I have none. 
 
 Kate. In January, 1747, you left a baby at Biggleswade, 
 with a woman called Church — did you not ? 
 
 Rydee. {Fwitiwj.) Of course I did. It was my sister's. 
 
 Kate. Do you mean to call God to witness that child 
 was not yours ? 
 
 Rydee. My Lord, have pity on me ; I was betrayed, 
 abandoned. Why am I so tormented ? I have not com- 
 K. mitted murder. 
 
 ?f" Kate. What, to swear away an innocent life, is not 
 
 that murder? 
 
 Judge. Prisoner, we make allowances for your sex, and 
 your great peril. Examine as severely as you will ; but 
 you must abstain from comment till you address the jury 
 on your defence. 
 
 Kate. (Buws respectfully.) Witness, be so good as to 
 examine Mrs. Hamilton's letter, and compare it with your 
 own. The " y's" and the " s's" are peculiar in both, and 
 yet the same. Come, confess ; Mrs. Hamilton's letter is a 
 forgery. You wrote it. Be pleased to hand both letters 
 Dp to my Lord to compare ; the disguise is but thin. 
 
 Rydlb. Forgery there was none ; for there is no Mrs. 
 
 m 
 
 .r 
 
 
r 
 
 Act 4.] KATE PEYTON. jg 
 
 Hamilton. {BumU into tcari.) I had my child to provide 
 for, and no man to help me I What was I to do ? A 
 servant must live. Oh ! oh I oh I oh ! 
 
 (She hangi upon the edge of the lax, and weept, Katk 
 heatowa a glahce of lofty contempt on Iter, and titi down.) 
 
 Wilts. (Riset.) Were you and the prisoner on good 
 terms before this unhappy business ? 
 
 Rydks. On the best of terms. She was always a good 
 and liberal mistress to me, and I'd give my right hand if I 
 could clear her. 
 
 Wilts. I will not prolong your most unme^ted tortures ; 
 yon can go dovm. (Bydkb movet to go down.) 
 
 Judge. But you will not leave the Court till the case is 
 ended. Officer, keep jour eye on that vritness, Prisoner, 
 that is the last witness for the Crown : you have done much 
 to shake her credit. But there is still a terrible weight of 
 evidence against you. The Court will now hear you on 
 your evidence. 
 
 Cbieb. Oyez ! oyez ! oyez 1 Keep strict silence, good 
 people, for the prisoner is about tiO speak on her defence. 
 
 Kate. May it please your Lordship (cuitdes), and you, 
 gentlemen of the jury (curtties), I cannot compete in the 
 arts of eloquence with the learned counsel for the Crown ; 
 and therefore I will not waste your time attempting it. I 
 will comment on the evidence ; but first I propose to call 
 an honest witness or two : and I think, when you hear' 
 them, you will see why that false witness for the Crown 
 could not be got to answer certain questions. Of which 
 my Lord, I hope, has takeu a note. (Juooe nods astent. } 
 Swear Mercy Vint. 
 
 (MxBCT Vint enters the box.) 
 
 (The book it given her, and the oath administered in the 
 usual Jorm.) 
 
 Kate. Where do you live ? 
 
 Mebcy. At the " Pack-horse," near Allerton, io Lan- 
 cashire. 
 
 1 
 
; \ 
 
 ■ fiO-, KATE PEYTON. [Act 4. 
 
 Kate. Do you know Mr. Griffith Gaunt ? • "■•-.jJ 
 
 Mercy. Madam, I do. • ' "1 
 
 Kate. Was he at your place in October last ? 
 
 Mercy. Yes, madam, on the 14th of October. On 
 that day he left for Cumberland. ! 
 
 Kate. On foot, or on horseback ? ■: . ' j 
 
 Mkbcy. On horseback, ' '1 
 
 Kate. With boots on, or shoes ? 
 '. Mkbcy. He had a pair of new boots on. 
 
 Kate. Do you know a pedlar called Thomas Leicester ? 
 
 Mebcy. Yes, madam, he was at our house that same day. i 
 
 I Kate. Do you know whether he had a mole on his brow ? 
 
 Wilts. {Popjnng up ) Madam, you must not lead the 
 witness. 
 
 Kate. Let the question be put in any form you like. 
 
 Mebcy My Lord, the truth is, that the pedlar did put 
 back his hair, and show Paul Carrick and me a black mole 
 that was on his temple. . . . . 
 
 Judge. What made him do that ? 
 
 Mebcy. 'Twas to prove himself a-kin to Mr. Gaunt, 
 whose picture he saw hanging on the wall. 
 
 Kate. How was this Thomas Leicester shod ? ' < 
 
 Mebcy. He had hobnailed shoes on. 
 
 Kate. Where were you when the body was found in 
 I Emshaw Mere ? 
 
 , ,. Mebcy. Madam, I was by the water-side. Paul Carrick 
 
 and I, with scores of folk besides 
 
 Kate. Did you see the body brought ashore ? 
 
 Mebcy. I did. And 1 examined the remains that very 
 night. * 
 
 Kate. You knew Mr. Gaunt well. Did yon recognize 
 those remains for his ? 
 
 Mebcy. Madam, I did not. There was little to go by 
 but the mole, and that methought was a trifie larger than 
 Mr. Gaunt's. And then it had hobnailed shoes on, poorthing. 
 
 Kate. Show her the hobnailed shoes. (Mebcy ex- 
 amines them.) Are those the same shoes the pedlar wore ? 
 
 Mercy. Nay, madam, I'll not swear that. They are 
 the very same sort of shoes ; that I will swear. 
 
Act i.] KATE PEYTON. 81 
 
 Kate. Have yon ever' seen Thomas Leicester since ? 
 (Mercy shakes her head.) Nor heard any news of him in 
 li.e ? 
 
 Mkeoy. None whatever. 
 
 Kate. Nor of Mr. Gaunt ? 
 
 Mercy. Nor ol Mr. Gaunt neither. 
 
 [A slight buzz.) 
 
 But something was done at the " Pack-horse " that looks 
 hke the hving hand of Mr Gaunt. 
 
 Wilts Oh, this will not do. You must not argue the 
 case. Confine yourself to facts. 
 
 Mercy. I will try, sir. [Turning to the Judge.) You 
 shall understand that on the 14th of October Mr. Gaunt 
 became bondsman for the debts of my father, Harry Vint, 
 and undertook to pay them in seven days. Indeed, 'twas 
 to get the money he went into Cumberland. Well, on the 
 20th of October, in the dead of night, something heavy was 
 flung through my father's bedroom window. He struck a 
 light, and found 'twas a bag of money — four hundred and 
 fifty guineas. My father read this as I do, and paid his 
 debts with his bondsman's moneys. 
 (^fur7nur8.) 
 (Kate sits down. Wiltshire rises.) 
 
 Wilts. What made you notice that pedlar had hob- 
 nailed shoes on ? 
 
 Mercy. I heard them clatter on my floor. 
 
 Wilts. That was a pretty story about the bag. Of 
 course you have brought the bag with you. 
 
 Mercy. Here it is. 
 
 Wilts. Let me see it. (It is handed to him.) Why, 
 these are not the Gaunt arms embroidered here. 
 
 Kate. They are the Peyton arms. 
 
 Wilts. So I suspected. Now, witness, the money 
 vou have received came from the prisoner, not from poot 
 Mr. Gaunt? 
 
 Mkrcy. I can't think that, sir. 
 
 Wilts. Don't tell me. The thing speaks for itself. 
 
 J 
 

 82 f'^ _ KATE PEYTON. [Act i. 
 
 This bag is hers, and the contents were the price of your 
 evidence. When and where were you last in the prisoner's 
 company ? 
 
 MtBCY. In the gaol, an hour ago. 
 
 Wilts. I thought so. And there yon two concerted 
 this ingenious defence. 
 
 Mfecy. Nay, sir. She concerted nought. To be sure 
 I told her what I have told here, and did oflfer to be her 
 witness. 
 
 Wilts. For how much ? 
 
 (Mks. Gaunt half rises, but commandi herself.) 
 
 Mercy. Oh, sir 1 For no money nor reward, if that is 
 what you mean. Why, 'tis a joy beyond money to clear 
 an innocent body, and save her life ; and that satisfaction 
 ia mine this day. 
 
 Wilts. These are very fine sentiments for a person in 
 your condition. Confess that Mrs. Gaunt primed you with 
 all that. 
 
 Mercy. Nay, sir, I left home in that mind ; or else I 
 had not come at all. And, sir, if you please, I'll tell you 
 something I have not told her. I was by the water- side 
 when they first accused her. It fell on her like a thunder- 
 bolt ; but she showed no guilt. I ran up to her that 
 moment and read her face, as none but a woman can read 
 a woman'b face ; but no guilt could I read there. 
 
 Wilts. You seem to have been mighty intimate with 
 Mr. Gaunt down in Lancashire. Pray what was the nature 
 of your connection with him ? (Mercy is silent.) I must 
 press for a reply, that we may know what value to set on 
 your extraordinary evidence. Come, you were his mistress ? 
 
 Mbrcy. No, sir ; I have nought to reproach myself 
 with in that kind. 
 
 Wilts. You had better tell us that you were his wife. 
 
 Mkrcy. (Casts a piteous look at Katb.) No, sir ; I do 
 not say that I was his wife. 
 
 Kate. Not married ! I 
 
 M£Rcy. No, Madam. Heaven spared him that crime. 
 
/* •• 
 
 Act 4.] KATE PEYTON. ' .^* 83 
 
 But I shonld have been — if — Alas ! what ill have I done ? 
 I am a poor, deceived, unhappy creature. 
 
 Eatb. Hush ! The woman you insult is as pure as 
 your own mother or mine. Know, my Lord, that my 
 miserable husband deceived her, and would haver married 
 her under the false name he l^ad taken : and they told me 
 he had married her. My Lord, this Mercy Vint is more 
 an angel than a woman. I am her rival after a manner ; 
 yet out of the goodness and greatness of her noble heart, 
 she came all that way to save me from an unjust death. 
 And is such a woman to be insulted? I blush for the 
 hired advocate who cannot see his superior in this incor- 
 ruptible witness I 
 
 Wilts. Madam, the good taste of these remarks I leave 
 the Court to decide on. But you cannot be allowed to 
 give evidence in your own defence. However, I will not 
 torment your witness as you did mine. The good sense of 
 the jury will revolt against this romance without any farther 
 help from me I {Siti douti.) 
 
 Judge. Call the next witness. 
 
 Mercy. (Piteously.) What, have not I cleared her ? 
 
 Kate. 'Tis no use my calling other witnesses. If you 
 don't believe this one you would not believe an angel from 
 Heaven. What is all this farce of Justice, and calling of 
 witnesses, who are only believed when they lie. Do you 
 want my life ? Then take it. It is worth nought to me, 
 for he I lived for has deserted me and abandons me to the 
 scaffold. 
 
 {Voice of Gaunt at a dutance.) 
 
 Gatjnt. (In agony.) Ye lie, Kate Gaunt, ye lie. 
 
 (Katb and Mkecy scream. — Great confution.) 
 
 Kate. His voice 1 his voice I 
 
 (Qaunt seen stniffgling through the crowd, and heating the 
 air widlly with his hands.) 
 
 Gaunt. Let me cotce! Let me come! I was on 
 board ship when I heard. 
 
 1 
 
P^MIWMI n*|l(H|JIW| UilVlili 
 
 . • 
 
 KATE PEYTON. 
 
 [Act ♦. 
 
 {He ipriniji into the dock beside Katb, and putt hit arm 
 round her neck, drawing her a little behind him: the leans 
 half fainting on him, but mutt on no account embrace him.) 
 
 Gaunt. {Turning defiantly.) Now, then, ye fools — what 
 has the done ? 
 
 BUBST OF APPLAUSE ON STAOE. 
 
 Wilts. It is the man. I know bim. (Throws his brief 
 into the air.) 
 
 Judge. Your verdict on the case ? 
 JuBY Not Guilty. 
 
 {Caps are thrown up, <fc. The Barristers waice their 
 handkerchief I ) 
 
 
 CURTAIN ! 
 
 k. 
 
 {On the Curtain rising again, the action is advanced a uteji, 
 Mercy Vint is leaving the witnest box, with her hand in 
 Paul Cabrick's. Gaunt and Kate einbraie. The 
 Judge points to Rydkr, who is on her knees, and ihe 
 Ojjicer's hand upon her shoulder.) 
 
 •;: 
 
 ■ 'iV' 
 
 ©^e (ffntr. 
 
 ^ -. 
 
 ■.^- 'r ■ 
 
 ?M144