HENRY MORTON 
 
 -OR THE- 
 
 7WII ilOTlll 
 
 A. Drama in Foiar A.cts. 
 
 BY a. BEBNABD. 
 
 — =«=«^^^^*=»-= 
 
 % 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, in the office of 
 the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 BY G. BERNARD. 
 
HENRY MORTON 
 
 -OR THE- 
 
 f WII BlOf 11 
 
 m*i 
 
 -A. Drama in Four Acts, 
 
 I^r G. BERI<fART), 
 
 A 
 
 \: 
 
 X 
 
 1880: 
 
 FALL RIVER DAILY SUN PUBLLSMiNG CO., PRINTER^ 
 FALL RIVER, MASS. 
 
4" -r.% 
 
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 c^s^p m GnmM^m^- 
 
 Henry Mokton. Ellen Courtney 
 
 Ralph Morton. Cousin Julia. 
 
 Sir Philip Courtney. Mrs. jSTorton. 
 
 Captain Robinson. Jane Wilson. 
 
 Uncle Martin. 
 Bill Markham. 
 Jack Roberts. 
 Sam. Norton. 
 
 Peasants, Police and Fishermen. 
 
 C0STOJIE5. 
 
 Henry Morton. — Act First — dress suit. Act Second — a shabbj' and 
 torn suit. Act Third — First suit same as Second Act; second suit, naval 
 officer's. Act Fourth — Sea Captain's suit, and false whiskers. 
 
 Bali^h Morton. — First Act — first suit, tattered; second, dress suit. 
 Second Act — dress suit. Fourth Act — same as Second. 
 
 *Sir Philip. — First suit, dressing gown and powdered wig. Second, 
 ]'agged. 
 
 Uncle Martin. — Ordinary gentleman's dress. 
 
 Bill Markham. — A neat peasant's dress. 
 
 Jack Roberts. — A sailor's dress. 
 
 Sam Morton. — A peasant's dress. 
 
 Ellen Courtney. — Act First — ordinary lady's dress. Second — shabby 
 dress. Third Act — same as first. Fourth Act — first dress, same as 
 Third; second, ladies' evening dress. 
 
 Cousin Julia. — First and second same as Ellen Courtney in Act 
 Four. 
 
 Mrs. Norton. — Housewife's dress, 
 
 Ja7ie Wilson. — Same as Mrs. Norton. 
 
HENRY MORTON: OR THE TWIN BROTHERS. 
 
 ACT I.— SCENE I. 
 
 Scene Fihst.— A Sitting Room. Uncle Martin walldng too and 
 fro, bis bat upon tbe table. 
 
 ITxcLE Maktin. — Oh, to think that I shoiUd come to 
 this, to be scorned and insulted, and orderod to leave tlie ])rc- 
 mises, as if I was a common vagrant; and worse than all, to 
 stand and listen, to Richard my dead brother, being tei-med a 
 beggar and an upstart : a man that was all soid an'd honor, a 
 man who never knew an enemy: a man who was admired and 
 respected by all who knew him ; to be called an upstart I But 
 I told the proud Sir Philip Courtney, that his ai)pelhitions 
 w^ere false, and that Richard Morton while he lived, was a 
 wealthy and honorable gentleman. But it was wron<x, wrono- 
 indeed, that Henry should have formed a clandestine" engage- 
 ment with Sir Philip's daughter. But he is too young, far too 
 young, to gaze into the dei)ths of obstacles that must attend 
 such an alliance. But I knew from the time that I heard that 
 Henry was paying his addresses to Lady Ellen, that Sir Phili[) 
 would never sanction a union between Henry Morton and his 
 only child ; one that can trace her ancestral line for seven hun- 
 dred years. But I must speak with Henry and not only ad^ 
 vise him, but tell him he must break this engagement — Eingri 
 the bell. 
 
 Unter Servant^ R. C. 
 
 Uncle. Go and tell Henry I want him. {Exit Servant ) I 
 must be determined for it is Henry that I expect to bring cred- 
 it to his father's name. 
 
 Enter Henry., li. C\ 
 
 Hexry. You sent for me Uncle ? 
 
 UxcLE. I did, I have been as I told you I should, to S3e 
 Sir Philip Courtney upon the subject of our last interviev . 
 
 Henry. And what was his answer ? 
 
 Uncle. His answer was scorn and insult? " What ! 7, 
 Sir Philip Courtney, to allow my daughter to bestow her hand 
 upon a man, whose father was a beggar and an upstart! " And 
 when I told him that your father was none of those, he order 
 ed me from his house. 
 
Henry. Did you see Miss Ellen? 
 
 Uncle. No! I saw her father, and that was enough; 
 and now Henry, as your uncle and guardian, I Avish you to 
 break off this engagement, at once, and take a trip through 
 Europe for a few years, and when you come back, 'twill be 
 time enough to form an engagement, as at present you are 
 to young, hacking four months of your twenty-first jear. 
 What say you ? Would you like to travel ? 
 
 Henry. No ! I don't think I would. I'd rather stay at 
 home. 
 
 Uncle. And will you break the engagement? 
 
 Henry. I cannot promise you that. 
 
 Uncle. Well, now, Henry, listen to me, and I will relate 
 a story of which I believe you are ignorant. The night that 
 you and Ralph were born, the midwife unthinkingly placed you 
 l)0th in one crib, and when asked in the course of the night, 
 which child was born first, she had com])letely forgotten, and 
 as no one could clear the mystery, your father resolved that if 
 both children should live, he would do all in his power for the 
 advancement of both, and in manhood the one that proved 
 most worthy should inherit his estate, and when on his dying- 
 bed, he willed all his earthly riches to nie, with the under- 
 standing, that I should do as he would have done had he lived, 
 and now I wish you to cease this folly and |)romise me that 
 you will pay no more attention to Sir Philip's daughter. 
 
 Henry. Uncle I cannot promise you that. 
 
 Uncle. But I sny you must and 'twould be weh that 
 you should look to your own interest. This estate may never be 
 yours. 
 
 Henry. Than yon would insinuate that you have it in 
 your power to make me both homeless and penniless? 
 
 Uncle. I have. 
 
 Henry. Uncle Martin ! My father left this vast estate 
 free and unencumbered. He also left one hundred thousand 
 pounds. By every right between God and man half that 
 money and half this estate is mine. You have the power to 
 prtvent my inheritance, but had you the power to make me 
 the most degraded being on earth, I will make no such jjromise 
 as you desire and I will pay my attentions to Ellen Courtney 
 as long as she will receive them. 
 
 Uncle. Beware Henry Morton, the path of poA^erty is 
 dark and rugged, closely guarded by the abyss of crime, into 
 which by one false step you might be plunged so deeply that 
 the most dejected of mortals would pass you in disgust. 
 
 Henry. You have my answer. — A knock at the door. 
 
 Uncle. Come in. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Servant. A dispatch your honor. — Gives a note to uncle. 
 
 Uncle. Reads and turns to Henry. A dispatcli from 
 yOur Cousin George, in which he states he will be here on the 
 
5 
 
 two P. M. train, from Liverpool, and it is already after one — 
 turns to servant — tell James to get the carriage ready and 
 drive over to the station and enquire on the two o'clock train 
 for Captain Robinson. 
 
 Servant. Yes sir. — Exit Serv. R. 
 
 Uncle. And you sir I hope will try and behave more 
 like a gentleman in your cousin's presence than you have to- 
 day in mine, and I will send an invitation over to the Mart- 
 lands and Crosbys to come o\er here this evening, to enliven 
 us in the presence of my nephew. — Exit both It. C. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A Library, Enter Ralph Morton. First E. L. 
 
 Ralph. Well I'm a nice looking character just now. 
 But it was lucky I had Bill with me to-night, for I think if I 
 had been alone, those scoundrels would have murdered me, as 
 it was they gave us a pretty rough handling. But I'll come 
 square with then: yet. But what^s this ? — Looks off R. — Have 
 they got company ? They are coming this way. I must sec- 
 rete myself. I must not be seen in this attire. — Hides behind 
 the drapery. 
 
 Enter Capt. Robinson and Henry Morton., R, (7., 
 a7id sits near table. . 
 
 Capt. Henry are you not well ? You seem so dull and 
 despondent, so different from what you used to be. 
 
 Heney. Oh, I am quite well I assure you. 
 
 Capt. And you say it is a week since you saw Ralph ? 
 
 Henry. Yes! just a week to day. 
 
 Capt. And you know not where he is gone? 
 
 Henry. No ! I know very little of Ralph's business. 
 
 Capt. Well how people do change. I remember when 
 first you came t'Q college, you could scarcely bear to leave each 
 other's sight. But if it would not be an impertinent question, 
 what is the cause of this coolness? You have had no quarrd 
 I hope? 
 
 Henry. No ! a hastv word has not passed between us ; 
 but to be plain with you, Ralph is not now, what he use to be 
 when we went to college. Horse racing and gambling seem to 
 be his objects in life. He associates with the lowest company. 
 In a word he is a disgrace to the name he bears. 
 
 Capt. 1 am sorry for poor Ralph ! He was so kind and 
 good hearted. But does uncle seem to think of him. 
 
 Henry. Uncle so seldom goes from home, that he hears 
 very little of Ralph's earrings on and thinks he is only a little 
 wild. 
 
6 
 
 Capt. Well, no doubt but uncle is right. He can see 
 into matters a great deal better than we ; our imaginations are 
 so great 'that we are apt to magnify trifles and uncle I believe 
 is one of the wisest and best men living, and let us hope that 
 he may live to enjoy health and happiness and direct us by his 
 wise counsel for many a year to come. 
 
 Henry. As I am no hypocrite I must say that I wish 
 for no such thing. 
 
 Capt. Did I hear you aright that you wish for no such 
 thing. 
 
 Henry. That was what I said, and I care not how short 
 his life may be ; not that I expect to gain anything by his death, 
 as it was only to-day that he told me he had it in his power to 
 make me a beggar. 
 
 Capt. Henry if uncle used such language he must have 
 had good cause for it, and I am sorry to hear you express your- 
 self in such terms. Live as you should and I am sure that 
 neither you nor Ralph will have cause to complain when uncle's 
 will is read. 
 
 Henry. I care not how his will may read, nor how soon 
 it may be read. 
 
 Capt. I cannot listen to such language. Remember he 
 is my mother's brother, and you grieve me very much by your 
 words. — Hises and looks off M. — But come the guests are 
 arriving and uncle may want us, and let us drop this subject 
 forever, and I hope your mind will be changed in the morning. 
 —Exit both R. C\ 
 
 Ralph reappears from behind drapery. 
 
 Ralph. So, so my fine brother ! You have heard that 
 you may become a beggar, and you care not how soon uncle's 
 will may be read ! And you brother is a gagiibler and a dis- 
 grace to his name. You have tried to poison my cousin 
 George's mind against me, but with the cards you have dealt 
 mej if I cannot win the game I'm not half the gambler you 
 give me credit for. But I must dress and attend this party, I 
 can tell my cousin George that I have just returned from Lon- 
 don after a weeks visit there. — Exit L. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A Grove with Rocks and trees in Background. Enter Uncle 
 Captain and Ralph., First E. L. 
 
 Uncle. George, this is the spot that I spoke to you of. 
 What do you think of it ? 
 
 Capt. It is a splendid scene. 
 
 Uncle. I have visited this grove every evening that the 
 weather would permit for a good many years, and it seems 
 more beautiful every visit. 
 
Capt. There is no scene equal to nature. But is there a 
 well near here, I would like a drink of cold water. 
 
 Ralph. There is a splendid spring well a short distance 
 from here. Come ! let us go. I feel a little dry. Uncle will 
 remain here until we return. — Exit both JR. U. E. 
 
 Uncle. George is a fine young Lian, he resembles his 
 mother very much and I'm glad that he is going to stay with 
 us until Christmas. What — looks off H. — -is this Henry. He 
 has been to Sir Philip's again. What can I do to save this 
 boy's ruin ? 
 
 Enter Henry First E. B. 
 
 Uncle. What brings you from that direction? You 
 have been to Sir Philip Courtney's again. Did I not tell yau 
 to cease your visits there '? Did I not tell you ? 
 
 Hexry. Yes. 
 
 Uncle. And why don't you do as I bid you? 
 
 Henry. I have no such intentions. 
 
 Uncle. What! you rascal I'll make you. {Strikes and 
 knocks Henry'' s hat off loith his stick ; slips a^id falls himself 
 and Henry stands over him in a threatening manner J) 
 Enter Ralph and Captain^ R. U. E. 
 Ralph. What ! would you kill your uncle ? 
 Henry. No ! I would not kill my uncle. — Uncle rises. 
 
 Ralph. 'Tis well we were so near. 
 
 Uncle. Stop this ! 'twas all my fa;;lt, and I warn you 
 all not to mention a word of this to any one. Let us return 
 home. Come Henry. — Takes Henry'' s arm. 
 
 E'xit Ralph aud Capt. Uncle and Henry first E. L. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Room in a Public House. 
 Rill Markham sitting at table loith a glass before him. 
 Bill. He should be here it is past the time now and I'm 
 tired waiting. But here he comes. — A voice without.^ All right. 
 Enter Ralph, R. E. 
 Ralph. — Sits at table. — So here you are, you are always 
 on time. 
 
 Bill. Yes ! I always keep my word. 
 Ralph. Drink up, we'll have another glass. — Bill drinks 
 Ralph rings the bell. 
 
 Enter Waiter, R. 
 
 Ralph. Bring us two glasses of brandy — waiter takes 
 empty glass and exit R. — Did you inquire as you promised. 
 
 Bill. Yes ! he was there last night and he is to go again 
 on next Thursday night at seven o'clock. 
 
 Ralph. But how did you get this information ? 
 
Bill. You know old Parker at the cross roads? 
 Ralph. Yes. 
 
 Enter Waiter vnth tray and glasses upon it ; places it on 
 table^ exit. 
 
 Bill. Well, old Parker's daughter Jane is Lady Ellen's 
 maid and Jane and me have been on friendly terms this two 
 years, and Miss Ellen tells her everything and last night when 
 she returned to her room after leaving Henry, she told Jane 
 that he was coming again on next Thursday night. 
 
 Ralph. You are sure there is no mistake. 
 
 Bill. There is no fear of mistake, as I got all the inform- 
 ation I wanted, without her noticing any of my questions. 
 
 Ralph. That's good drink up — 'Ri)igs the bell both drink. 
 
 Enter Waiter. 
 
 Ralph. Replenish those glasses — Waiter takes tray and 
 exit R.^ — And now Bill I want you to do me n favor, it is a 
 great one, and you are the only man living I would ask it from. 
 
 Enter Waiter and places tray on table and exit. 
 
 Bill. Well, Mr. Ralph, you have been a good friend to 
 me, for since you began to notice me I never knew the want 
 of a shilling and anything that lies in my power ; say you 
 want it done, and I'll do it, I don't c.\ire what it is. 
 
 Ralph. As I said the favor Zwant is a great one, and I 
 don't want you to promise nnd not fulfill it. 
 
 Bill. — Drinks and shows signs oj intoxication — I swear 
 by this right hand that if it lies in my power Ell do it / don't 
 care what it is. 
 
 Ralph. I want you to kill a man. 
 
 Bill. No ! no ! Mr. Ralph ! you don't mean that? 
 
 Ralph. What ! after me confiding in you will break vour 
 oath ? 
 
 Bill. Mr. Ralph ! I thought you was going to •ask some- 
 thing great ; but I didn't think it would be so great as that. — 
 I have given my oath and I'll die before I break it. 
 
 Ralph. Don't be dov. n hearted. When I explain to you 
 it wont look so bad. And now I'll tell you why I asked you 
 to do this. To-day is Tuesday. Well just a week ago to-day 
 I was in lawyer Palmer's office. There was no one in the of- 
 fice but his son, Harry and I. Harry went and took from the 
 safe a copy of my uncle's will and it plainly stated, that all 
 the estate and half the money that my father left Avitli the in- 
 terest on the same, should be left to Henry, at my uncle's 
 death. I shall be as poor as poverty can make me, for all that 
 will be left to me, will scarcely pay vjny debts, and while my 
 brother is rolling in wealth I shall become a beggar. 
 
 Bill. Well, I don't think that's fair. 
 
9 
 
 Ralph. Neither do I, and that's what made me make 
 such a request of you. 
 
 Bill. And whom do you propose to put out of the 
 way. 
 
 Ralph. My uncle Martin ! 
 
 Bill. Your uncle Martin, and how would that help you ? 
 
 Ralph. Listen ! Henry goes next Thursday night to 
 visit Miss Courtney. He will have to return through the 
 rocky grove. Every evening my uncle takes a walk as far as 
 the grove, and on n\3xt Thursday afternoon I will send two or 
 three laborers down near the grove to cut wood ; about five 
 o'clock you can stroll into the wood take two or three bottles 
 of brandy with you, for which I will give you the money, ask 
 the men to sit down and take a drink. Those that I will send 
 will not refuse. Pass the bottle round freely, but do not 
 take much yourself. It will be dusk about half-past six. 
 Uncle will be down at the grove a little before dusk, place 
 yourself in such a position that you can see him enter the 
 grove ; then on some pretence leave the men for a few min- 
 utes, steal into the grove and before uncle is aware of your 
 presence, stab him to the heart. Do not miss your aim ! I 
 will furnish you with a dagger that cousin George gave to 
 Henry with his name inscribed upon it. After you have done 
 that, take the body and place it across the path. There will 
 no one pass that way after dusk but Henry. Then return to 
 the men make an excuse to bring them nearer the grove, so 
 that you can hear Henry's a]»proach. He will stumble over 
 the body, and, at the first alarm, call your companions, rush 
 out upon him and swear that you saw him strike the blow. 
 'Twill be easy to persuade your companions to swear as you do. 
 Do this and you will save me from beggary, and you ! shall 
 become rich. What do you say? Will you do it? 
 
 Bill. I'll do it to save you from beggary. 
 
 Ralph. Then give me your hand, and while I live you 
 shall never want a friend. And now we'll go and have anoth- 
 er glass at the bar. Come. — Exit B. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Rear Sir Philip Courtney's House. 
 
 (Porch leading from the house into a small garden, the same 
 fenced with a low fence and gate in the center.) 
 
 Enter Henry first E. L., stands and gives a low whistle. En- 
 ter Ellen R. U. E.» and both spproach the gate. 
 
 Henry. Why Ellen you are trembling. You look so 
 pale and frightened, has anything happened ? . 
 
 Ellen. Oh, Henry! our interview must be brief. My 
 father has heard of your visits here, and forbid me seeing 
 
10 
 
 you. I could not have left the house to-night, but he is enter- 
 taining a party of gentlemen. — Noise and laughing within. 
 
 Henry. Is that the room they are in. — Points to lighted 
 window. 
 
 Ellen. Yes, it is in that room he spends all his evenings 
 and entertains his gentlemen friends whenever they come to 
 visit him. 
 
 Henky. What did your father say to you ? 
 
 Ellen. He sent for me to come to his sitting room this 
 Morning, and after a few words he said: I understand that 
 Henry Morton is paying his addresses to you. Is that true ? 
 I did not speak, when he resumed. Now Ellen you know this 
 is wrong. You are too young, and I forbid your receiving 
 Henry Morton or any one else without my consent, and just 
 then his friends were announced, and the subject was dropped, 
 but I expect he will renew it when they go. 
 
 Henry. Well, my uncle is very desirous that I should 
 go travelling through Europe for a couple of years. I have 
 not given consent to go ; but if I did would you forget me? 
 
 Ellen. Oh, Henry ! why do you ask such a question ? 
 
 Henry. It may be as well that I should go, and in the 
 meantime the obstacles that are now in our path may be re- 
 moved. By that time your father may look more kindly upon 
 me. 
 
 Ellen. Oh, Henry ! it may be all for the best, but I 
 shall be so lonesome. 
 
 Henry. We must try and bear our trials for a little 
 while ; and hope for a happy future. But I would like to 
 write to you often. How could I communicate with you ? 
 
 Ellen. You can write to my maid, Jane Parker, she 
 will get the letters and bring them to me. And now Henry 
 we must part, for at any moment father may come out of that 
 door — points towards the porch — and I would not for the world 
 that he should see me, after what he said this morning. 
 
 Henry. Then this is to be our last interview until I re- 
 turn from abroad — takes Ellen^s hand., kisses it — Farewell 
 Ellen. 
 
 Ellen. Farewell ! — iceeping — Exit R. U. E. 
 
 Henry. Oh ! how haj^py I feel ; I wish all the world 
 were as happy as I ! With what a light heart I will go to 
 uncle, and tell him I am willing to travel. To-night I will beg 
 his pardon for all the trouble I have caused him, and promise 
 never to offend him again — looks toioards the house — farewell ! 
 farewell \— Exit first E. L. 
 
 SCENE VI. — Rocky Grove, dead body across the path. 
 Enter Henry., first E. R. 
 Henry. — Stumbles over the body., stoops and picks up a 
 dagger — What! murder! 
 
11 
 
 Enter Bill and drunken companions R. U. E. 
 
 Bill. — To Henry — Who is this you have murdered — 
 turns to one of his companions — Run as fast as you can and 
 find the police. Tell every one you meet that there has been 
 a murder committed — exit companions first L, — who is it that 
 is murdered, and who are you ? 
 
 Henry. I am Henry Morton but I know not who it is. 
 
 Bill. What, Mr. Henry ! Did I not hear you say you 
 would murder him. 
 
 Henry. What ! Me ? No ! I said no such thing, for 
 the body lay just as it is. I almost fell over it. 
 Enter NeigJibors^ first E. L. 
 
 Neighbor. Who has been murdered ? 
 
 Bill. I don't know who it is. 
 Enter drunken companions with tico Policemen^ first 'L. 
 
 Police. What is the matter here ? 
 
 Neighbor. There has been a murder. 
 
 Police. Who has been murdered, and where is the body ? 
 
 Several. See here is the body — point to the body. 
 
 Police. — Examines the body with his lantern — Why it is 
 Mr. Martin ISlorton. 
 
 Henry. My uncle ? Oh Heavens ! 
 
 Police — Casts his light upon Henry — But where is the 
 murderer. 
 
 Bill. — Points to Henry — He is there with the weapon 
 still in his hand. 
 
12 
 
 ACT IL 
 
 SCENE I. — Trees and Bushes and an Old Well. 
 Enter Bill first L. and leans against the well. 
 
 Bill. I wish the case was safely over. Those two fel- 
 lows are sure they saw him. 
 
 Enter Ralph first E. L, 
 
 Bill. 1 wish this case was safely over. But there 
 is no fear ; those two fellows are sure they saw him. 
 Enter Ralphs first E. L. 
 
 Ralph. Well, Bill, it is all right so far. You have 
 performed your part Veil, 
 
 Bill. Yes, but that confounded doctor is the worst 
 of all. 
 
 Ralph. It is to speak of him I sent for you. I am 
 afraid that he will cause trouble, if we don't look out. 
 
 Bill. What makes you think that? Those two 
 fellows swore they saw him stab him. 
 
 Ralph, Yes ! But he is so positive that the body 
 must have been dead over two hours when he saw it, and 
 he is the greatest physician in England. And if they 
 summon Ellen Courtney she can prove that Henry v/as 
 not there at that time, and I think, the safest plan would 
 be to remove her to some place of safety until the trial is 
 over. 
 
 Bill. But how can we do it ? 
 
 Ralph. I can imitate Henry's handwriting, and I 
 will write a note begging her to go and give her evidence 
 privately to the judge ; and, under the pretence of taking 
 her there, we could convey her to wherever we wanted. 
 
 Bill. But where could we take her? 
 
 Ralph. We must take her some distance from here, 
 as it would not be safe to conceal her about here ; for, 
 in case of a search, she might be found. Do you kuow of 
 any place we could take her to with safety ? 
 
 Bill. — Pauses. — I think I do. Youknow old Mrs. 
 Wilson, whose husband was transported ? 
 
 Ralph. I have seen her. Why ? 
 
 Bill. She left here about eight months ago, and 
 went down into Lancashire. I was in her house about 
 two months ago ; she lives in a very lonesome place, and 
 keeps poultry and sells eggs for a living. 
 
13 
 
 Ralph. Could we trust her. 
 
 Bill. Yes ! with our lives. And she has a grudge 
 against Sir Philip, as it was he that got her husband 
 transported. 
 
 Ralph. Then you must go at once to Lancashire, 
 and see this woman ; and make all necessary arrange- 
 ments. Tell her she shall be well paid ; and make no 
 delay until you return, as 1 will not write the note until 
 you come back ; as it is you that must take her away, you 
 can disguise yourself so that she wont know 3^ou. You 
 can meet her with the carriage, and I will prepare some- 
 thing for her that will make her sleep until she reaches 
 her destination. 
 
 Bill. I think that plan will act ver}' well, and I 
 will will start this afternoon for Lancashire. 
 
 Ralph. Do not delay, and make no mistake. (^Exit 
 first E.) 
 
 Bill. (Looking off R.) Well, Mr. Ralph ! yo i are 
 a deeper dog than I took you to be. But I must go ahead 
 now, for I'm too deep in the mire to turn back. (Exit 
 first X.) 
 
 SCENE II. Room ix Jane Wilson's Cottage. 
 Ellen Courtney sitting on chair ^ her head leaning on her hand. 
 
 Ellen. I wonder how long I am to remain here yet, 
 or who is the cause of keeping me here, for I'm sure this 
 woman is only acting under the instructions of others. 
 Enter Jane Wilson^ front E.^ show slight signs of intoxication. 
 Sits Upon a chair. 
 
 Jane. Well, dear! I thought that I'd come and 
 spend a couple of hours with you, being as it is Christmas 
 eve, and I hope you will not begin to cry or carry on same 
 as you always do ; and see, I've brought a little something 
 to enjoy ourselves with (pulls a bottle of brandy from her 
 pocket) and, considering that there is no one in the house 
 but you and me, I think we wont be lonesome. (Goes 
 into the next room and returns tvith two glasses, locks the door 
 on the inside and puts the key in her pocket ; takes her seat, 
 pours liquor into each glasse, pushes one toivard Ellen.) 
 Here, take a drop of this, it will cheer you. 
 
 Ellen. No, thank you. I never did like liquor. 
 
 Jane. What, not a little drop? It will do you no 
 harm . 
 
 Ellen. No, thank you. I couldn't drink it. 
 
14 ^ 
 
 Jane. Well ! I'm an old woman and I need a little 
 nourishment. (^Brinks off a glass.) Miss Ellen, I sup- 
 pose this is not quite as cheerful a Christmas as jou. have 
 l3een used to, but I hope that you will try and pass the 
 time as pleasantly as possible. — Dj-mks the other glass and 
 refills. 
 
 Ellen. I will try and I hope that you will have a 
 merry Christmas. 
 
 Jane. Well, now ! I'm glad to see that you are 
 becoming sensible, for you speak like a sensible girl, and 
 to show you that I'm not as bad as you think me, I'll make 
 you a present of this half-crown, — Offers her money — Here, 
 take it ; it may serve you yet. — Ellen takes it. 
 
 Ellen. Thank you. I shall remember your present 
 a long time. 
 
 Jane. Miss Ellen, how old are you now ? 
 
 Ellex. I was nineteen on the last day of August. 
 
 Jane. — Drinks and appears quite drunk— Yow are quite 
 a fine girl of your age, and now I'd hke you to just give us a 
 verse of a song. 
 
 Ellen. 1 can't sing and besides I don't know a song. 
 
 Jane. What nineteen years of age and don't know a 
 song. You ought to be ashamed to own it. When I was 
 nineteen you'd stand to your waist in snow Hstening to me 
 sing. — drinks. 
 
 Ellen. Coidd you tell me please, like a kind lady v hat 
 has become of Henry Morton ? 
 
 Jane. Well I should not tell you, but I don't think it 
 will do any harm. You remember the night before you left 
 your father's house? 
 
 Ellen. Yes. 
 
 Jane. That night Henry Morton escaped from prison 
 and nothing has been heard from him since. 
 
 Ellen. How far is it to my father's house from here ? 
 
 Jane. ^ Oh, about two hundred miles. 
 
 Ellen! And didn't my father make any search for me, 
 when he found I had left his house. 
 
 Jane. If you promise to be a good girl I'll tell you. 
 
 Ellen. I promise. 
 
 Jane. No your father didn't make a search though I 
 suppose he would have done ; but when it was found that 
 Henry Morton had escaped from prison and you were nowhere 
 to be found, somebody sent your father a note, saying that 
 Henry Morton went to see you, and you Avent away with him. 
 
 Ellen. And did my father believe it ? 
 
 Jane. At first he didn't seem to believe it but the story 
 soon spread ; and then there were some who said they saw 
 Henry Morton near your house that morning ; others said they 
 
15 
 
 had seen you together, and the story is now that you have 
 both left the country together — Drinks. 
 
 Elle:n^. Begins to sob. 
 
 Jane. Didn't you promise to be a good girl? You've 
 been here now two months, and you've done nothing but cry 
 all day long. — Begins to nod. — Now be a good girl will you ? 
 JVods and falls asleep. 
 
 Ellen. Books around. Oli, if I could escape ! May 
 God guide me for the best. Goes and takes the key from 
 Jane's pocket ; pi'^l^ o^^ <^^ cloak ; unlocks the door. Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— Sm Philip Courtney's Sitting Room. 
 Sir Philip seated on a chair. Tlamder and lightning outside. 
 Sir p. Oh ! what a horrid night for the last night of a 
 year ! Nay, the very elements seem enraged at its career, and 
 with all their fury seem to hurl it from existence. What ! did 
 I hear a knock at the door? Who in Heaven's name could be 
 out on such a night as this ? Goes and opens the door. 
 Enter Ellen ., pale., feehle and v^et. 
 
 Ellen. Oh, fatlier ! 
 
 Sir p. Draws hack. Who are you that calls me father ? 
 
 Ellen. Father! Father, do you not know me? 
 
 Sir p. Oh heavens ! Is it not enougli that the world 
 should gaze upon my disgrace,without my being confronted with 
 its origin ? What have I done that I should be so afflicted ? 
 Have I sinned, that it is the will of the Almighty that I should 
 pass the remainder of my days in shame and disgi'ace? Or is 
 it the work of some designing fiend, that has chosen you as 
 his agent, to harrass my soul, and make it crumble and decay 
 with the weight of mortification? 
 
 Ellen. Father, I am innocent of the crime you believe 
 me guilty of. I am still your own, your virtuous daughter. 
 
 Sir p. Lying wretch, you are not my daughter. The 
 daughter of Sir Philip Courtney, surrounded by the immoral- 
 ities of the universe, could never descend to the depths of 
 degradation that you have done. 
 
 Ellen. Father, you know not how false the charge is 
 that has been made against me ! I am as free from sin and 
 shame to-day as the day I was born ; and, to-night iny inno- 
 cence will bring tears of grief from my dear mother, who is in 
 heaven. 
 
 Sir p. Mention not that name again ! Mention not that 
 name ; or, by heavens, I yill complete n:y disgrace by stain- 
 ing my hands in your immoral blood. Arise, begone false 
 wretch ! Go back whence you came. Sir Philip Courtney 
 will bear his disgrace, but will never clierish it. — Points to the 
 door. — Begone ! — Ellen staggers to the door. Exit. SirP. falls 
 
16 
 
 into a chair ^ sighs several times ^ and pauses. — Oh ! Avoiild to 
 heaven that I had never seen this day. Would that I had 
 never been born ! — Pauses. — Oh ! what have I done ? What 
 have I done? To turn my own child from the door, and she 
 said she was innocent. And oh, upon such a night, when a 
 strange dog would not be turned from the door! Nay, hell 
 itself w^ould not cast forth one of its worst devils on such a 
 night as this ! I will follow and bring her back. Ever so 
 guilty, she shall stay one night, and to-morrow she shall go. 
 Puts on hat. Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. Enter Henry 3fort07i, first E. R. Thunder, 
 lightning and rain. 
 
 Henry. Once again do I stand upon this cherished spot. 
 I could not leave the country without once more beholding 
 and bidding adieu to the scenes of my brightest hopes ! Aye, 
 to night I will bid you farewell; bat with the encouragement 
 of hope, that I may yet return, and prove to the world that 1 
 am innocent of the crinre they now charge me with. Aye, 
 Sir Philip Courtney, again you are entertaining your aristo- 
 cratic friends ; I can hear your loud and merry voices above 
 the din of the storm. Little do you think, while you enjoy 
 the luxuries of the world, of the sufferings of those it may 
 call guilty. What a change! Not yet three months since I 
 stood upon this very spot, one of the happiest beings on earth ! 
 Not yet three months since I gazed into a future as bright and 
 spotless as the noonday sun. And now, to find that I am 
 tracked and hunted worse than a wild beast ; to find myself 
 crouching and hiding from the eye of mortal and the light of 
 heaven ; for it is only under the canopy of night that I crawl 
 from my retreat to move and gaze on the world around me. 
 Oh, heavens ! what a night ! But go on ye elements ; howl 
 and rage; for it is only under the fury of your darkness that 
 I feel secure. What a fate for an innocent man ! Aye, inno- 
 cent as she wlio sleeps there. Ah, little does she know of the 
 shallowness of this wicked world; little does she think, as she 
 reads the fate of the outcast, the cause of their misfortune. 
 Would that I could speak to her, and tell her hoAV false the 
 charge is against me ! Nay, I would care not though the 
 whole world accused me if she held me guiltless. But there, 
 she sleeps unheedf al of the storm that is raging without. Aye, 
 to-night, as you sleep upon your bed of down, smiling perhaps 
 at the pleasure of your dreams, with your childish imagina- 
 tions flitting through those heavenly 'regions where purity and 
 innocence reign supreme. Heaven grant that you may always 
 remain in such blissful happiness. Heaven grant that you 
 may never know the cruel deceit that holds sway in this treach- 
 
17 
 
 erous world. May you never know what it is to be falsely 
 accused. May^ the sigh of grief never escape your bosom"; 
 nor the tear of sadness sully your virgin cheek. May your 
 days be passed in the sunsliine'of happiness, and your dreams 
 be undisturbed by the shadow of darkness, to mar your simple 
 repose. Dream on ; dream on. — exit first L. 
 
 Enter Ellen through the garden, walks feebly through the gate. Exit 
 tiisL L. Enter two Policemen, first E. R. 
 
 1st p. It might not be him. 
 
 2d p. !• tell you it- is him. I could see him every time 
 the lightning flashed ; and I tell you we are in luck, for* if we 
 keep our aye on him we are sure to get the reward. 
 
 1st p. Which way did hs go. 
 
 2d p. I think ke went down there. Points ojf L. See, 
 there he is. 
 
 1st p. That looks like a woman. 
 
 2d p. a woman ; nonsense ? It's him, I tell you. 
 
 1st p. Where will he be going down thei'c ? 
 
 2d p. I think he will be going to rocky grove to And 
 shelter from the storm ; and, if we just watch wliej-e he goes, 
 we can nab him and get the rewai-d. Come, let us follow" hirn 
 cautiously. — exit first L. 
 
 Enter Sir Philip, tlirougli the garden gate, and looks around. 
 Sir p. Oh where has she gone V Which way did she o-c ? 
 — Looks of L. — What, there ! I saw a flo-ure ! It must be she. 
 Exit L. ' 
 
 SCENE V. ScEXE III IN First Act. 
 Enter Henry, first E. R. 
 Henrv. I will creep into the old cave until the storm 
 abates a little, and, in the meantime, make uj) my mind which 
 way to go. — exit under rock,. 
 
 Enter Ellen, first R. 
 Ellen. Oh, what shall I do? Yes, there is one friend yet 
 that I can go to for ju-otection, — my kind and faithful nurse; 
 and, though tlie whole world raised the lingei of scorn against 
 me, she will know I nm innocent. But it is so far, mo]-e tlnin a 
 hundred miles, and I am so weary nnd footsoi-e. Oh, kind 
 Heaven, be n:t too harsh ; do not condemn but pity the home- 
 less wanderer ! Oh, Father of Heaven, stretch forth thy hand 
 in this hour of need, and lighten the burden of my grief or my 
 heart will break. — Faints and falls behind a rock. 
 Enter flenry, from beneatli rock. 
 Henry. I thought I heard a voice. It sounded to me 
 as if some one was in great trouble, but it must have been 
 fancy, for no one could be out on such a night as this. But 
 what do I hear, footsteps'? 
 
 Enter Police, R. Successive Hashes of lightning. 
 
18 
 
 Police. Henry Morton, we come to arrest you in the 
 name of the king. 
 
 Enter Sir Philip, first R. 
 
 Sir p. Who are you going to arrest ? 
 
 Police. Henry Morton. 
 
 Sir P. Where is he? 
 
 Police. Points — There. 
 
 Sir p. Then she was as false as hell. — Breahs into a 
 loud laugh and runs ojf] L. 
 
 Henry. See ! — points — take care of Sir Plnlip Courtney, 
 he has gone mad. Did you not seethe wild glare of his eyes ? 
 See how he runs. 
 
 Police. Sir Philip Courtney, indeed ! What would he 
 be doing here ? 
 
 Henry. I tell you it is he. He has lost his reason. See 
 how he plunges into the stream! For Heaven's sake, follow 
 and protect him. 
 
 Police. We know well who it is. It is some accomplice 
 of yours, that wishes to give you a chance to escape. Come, 
 give yourself up ! — they go toward him. 
 
 Henry. Springs upon a rocJc^ and picks up a limh of a 
 tree. — The first one that dares to approach, I'll cleave his 
 skull. 
 
19 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. _ A ROOM IN A Public House. 
 
 A sailor seated at a table with a glass in front ot him. Enter Ilenrv 
 Afortou slov/]y. 
 
 Sailor. Hallo, friepcl ! come in and have a dass. Come 
 and sit dowii ; don't be afraid \~Henry sits doimi, and sailor 
 knocks on the taUe.—lUvQ waiter, come and brino- us two 
 glasses of gin. ^ 
 
 Heistry. I would rather have ale than c,nn. 
 ^ Sailor. Call for what you want, for von look iiretty well 
 tired out. " ^ -^ 
 
 Enter waiter, R. 
 ^ Sailor. Jiring us two pints of your best 'An.— Exit 
 vmiter. 2 urns to lfenry.~AvQ you on the road ? 
 Henry. What do you mean ? 
 
 Sailor. I mean, are you a stran^'er around here, or are 
 you out of work ? 
 
 Henry. Yes. I'm both a stranger here and out of work. 
 Enter waiter with two pints of ale, leaves them on table, sailor pays, 
 
 exit waitei-. 
 Sailor. Well, here's good luck— ^»o^A drink.— ]i\\% v. ay- 
 be you've had no dinner ; are you hungry ? 
 
 Henry. I have not tasted food for two days. 
 Sailor. Well, mate, I'm glad I came across you, for if 
 there s anything I like to do it is to help a man in distress ; for 
 1 ve seen hard times myself. Drink up your ,ale. 
 
 Both drink, Sailor knocks on the table ; enter w^aiter, R. 
 Sailor. Bring us two more pints of ale, and bring in 
 some bread and cheese.— Waiter takes pint pots ; exit. To 
 Henry— llnY^ you been long out of work. 
 Henry. About three months. 
 
 Sailor. It's a long time to be idle. Have you walked 
 far? -^ 
 
 Henry. I walked from near London. 
 Enter waiter with ale and bread and cheese, places them on table, and 
 
 exit. 
 
 Sailor. Nom^ here get some of that bread and cheese 
 into you; and drink that ale and call for another pint, I'll pay 
 for It, for as long as I've a shilling?, and you are in my com- 
 pany, you shall neither be dry nor hungry. 
 
 Henry. Eating.— AW that I can do for vour kindness at 
 present is, thank you. 
 
 Sailor. I want no thanks; you are hard up, and that's 
 enough; but you don't seem to have done much hard work. 
 You re hands look white and soft. 
 
20 
 
 I 
 
 Hexry. I liaven't done much hard v;ork. 
 
 Sailo]!. If it's 110 harm, mate, what do you do for a 
 living '? 
 
 Hexky. Ihe last work I did was to act as servant to a 
 gentleman, i)ut I got into a little trouble and had to leave. 
 
 Sailor. You will excuse me asking the question, I did 
 not mean anything by it. 
 
 Hexry. Oh, make no apology. 
 
 Sailor. sJio icing slight signs of intoxication. — Now to 
 prove that 1 <lidn't mean anything by it, I'll tell you a secret, 
 but you must keep it to yourself, and it's just this : — I came 
 from London, where I got into a little trouble, and, if I was 
 caught for it, twelve months wouldn't save me, and this is the 
 secret, — one niglit, in London, I was about three sheets in the 
 Avind and I went into a tavern and got inta a quarrel with a 
 couple of fellows there, the police came in to stop the row, and 
 one of them \\as trying to put the nippers on me, when I took 
 up a })ewtor pot and struck him a blow in the eye and knocked 
 his eye' out, Mild escaped; but I had to disguise myself to 
 get out of London, and only arrived here yesterday. 
 
 Hexrv. How did you disguise yourself? 
 
 Sailor. At the time of the trouble, I had on a })lain suit 
 of clothes, I made my way to my lodgings, put on my sailor's 
 clothes and lioiight this wdiisker — jnills off his lohiskers — but 
 I suppose I'll burn it now^, for there is no danger of being- 
 found out, as i will ship on the first vessel I can — goes to burn. 
 
 Hexry. JJon't burn it ; give it to me, for there is a war- 
 rant out for my arrest. 
 
 Sailor. Here, take it, and wx^lcome, — Henry takes >t — 
 no matter what your crime is, if you are not a murderer. 
 
 Hexry. i am no murderer. 
 Sailor, ^'ou. don't look like one. But what are you going 
 to do for a li\ ing? 
 
 Hexry. f don't know. 
 
 Sailor, ^\^ould you like to go to sea ? 
 
 Hexry. Ld like it well, if I could enlist. 
 
 Sailor. If you like, I'll ship for us both. 
 
 Hexry. I'd like it well ; but I have no idea of sailoring. 
 
 Sailor. When we get on board, I'll speak to a few of 
 the boys. Any of them will give you a hand. 
 
 Hexry. If you will get me on board, I shall always con- 
 sider myself under an obligation to you, and if ever I can re- 
 turn your kindness I will gladly do it. 
 
 Sailor. AVell, I see that you are hard up and in trouble, 
 and I hope I'll never live to see the day that Jack Roberts 
 will turn his back on an honest man that wants a friend. 
 
 Hexry. You will not say a word of this disguise ? 
 
 Sailor. If you knew me you would not ask that ques- 
 tion, for your secret is as safe with me as with Davy Jones. 
 But do you intend to wear it on board ! 
 
21 
 
 Henry. Yes. I would not go on board without some 
 disguise. 
 
 Sailor. Then keep your own counsel. Act on the 
 square, and I'll stand by you. 
 
 Henry. All that I can do is thank you. 
 
 Sailor. No thanks. Come, let us go and pay the dam- 
 age for this, and have another pint at the bar. 
 
 Henry. I don't want any more. 
 
 Sailor- Don't be downhearted ! we'll have a spree to 
 night, bid farewell to land and away to sea. {Exit both R- 
 
 SCENE II. Kitchen in Sam Norton's Cottage. 
 Mrs. Norton dusting. Enter Sam front E. 
 
 Sam. Halloa! all alone? Where is Miss Ellen ? 
 
 Mrs. N. She's gone to the post office. 
 
 Sam. I say, Ann, h(»w long is she going to stay here? 
 She has been here more than a year now, and there is no signs 
 of her going home. 
 
 Mrs. N. Are you tired of her ? 
 
 Sam. No. 
 
 Mrs. N. Then just let her stay as long as she likes. 
 
 Sam. I did not mean that; but the school teacher is go- 
 ing to leave, and I th'ought that — 
 
 Mrs. N. You had no right to think any such thing. 
 The daughter of Sir Philip Courtney to teacli school ! No ; 
 I'd wear ray fingers off first! The poor child that I nursed, 
 and loved more than my own life. 
 
 Sam. I didn't think there was anything wrong in it, for 
 I love that girl, and she is welcome to stay here as long as I 
 have a penny ; but isn't it strange they don't write to her. 
 
 Mrs. N. You talked so fast that 1 hadn't time to tell you 
 that she got a letter this morning. 
 
 Sam. a letter ! And what news? 
 
 Mrs. N. Oh, such strange news ! They have not r>een 
 or heard anything of xS'ir Philip these fourteen months. They 
 have advertised in all the papers throughout Europe, and his 
 secretary, Mr. Clarendon, has been to France and Itnly him- 
 self, and has heard nothing of him, and that is the reason she 
 got no answer to any of her letters, until Mr. Clarendon came 
 home and it states in the letter that there has been a report 
 that he went off his mind, and some thing has happened to him. 
 
 Sam. Well, that beats all ! and I pity the poor girl from 
 my heart. 
 
 Mrs. N. Oh, she did so cry when she read the letter. 
 Enter Ellen, front, takes off hat and cloak, and goes off R., and returns. 
 
 Sam. Ann has just told me that you got a letter this 
 morning, and I am sorry there was not better news in it ; but 
 
22 
 
 it may all come riglit yet. Sir Philip may be travelling, and 
 may not have seen any of the advertisements. 
 
 E^LLEN. I ho}De so. And, oh ]\rrs. Norton, as I was com- 
 ing home I saw a poor ragged, old man and a crowd of boys 
 chasing and shouting after him. They called him Crazy Tom. 
 It is sucli a [jiiy Co ^ee Lhe way tliey abused iiim. 
 
 Sam. Oh, it's Crazy Tom. He's a poor old man ; nobody 
 knows him. He has been about here now several months, they 
 say he sleeps in the woods, and lives upon turnips and apples, 
 or anything he can pick up. 
 
 Ellen. Oh, here they come chasing him — noise and 
 shouting outside — and the poor old man is trying to run. See, 
 he is all out of breath. Mr. Norton, please do not let them 
 hurt him. Turn back the boys. 
 
 Mrs. IST. Yes, and see he's almost falling! Bring him in 
 until he rests himself. 
 
 Sam goes out, shouts to the boys and brings in old man. Enter old man, 
 panting and leaning on Sam's anii, he is placed upon a lounge, and falls 
 
 back and faints. 
 Mrs. W. Oh, he has fainted, bring water quick ! 
 
 Ellen brings water, bathes his lips and hands. . 
 
 Sam. Ruhhhig old ma7i^s hands, — He will be all right 
 soon. He is coming to. 
 
 Old Man. Sitting up. Where am I ? 
 
 Sam. You're all right now, the boys are all gone. 
 
 Old Man. What boys ? 
 
 Sam. Those that were following you. 
 
 Old Man. Am I dreaming or awake ? 
 
 Mrs. N. Oh, his senses have returned : see, the wildness 
 has left his eyes. 
 
 Sam. Yes, he seems to have come to his senses. 
 
 Old Man. Oh, for Heaven's sake, where am I, or how 
 came I here in these tatters? Tell me, keep me not in 
 suspense. 
 
 Sam. I cannot answer your last question, but you are in 
 the town of Rugby in the county of Warwickshire. 
 
 Old Man. In the town of Rugby. How came I here ? 
 
 Sam. I don't know. You have been around here several 
 months. 
 
 Old Man. Several months ! What month is it now ? 
 
 Sam. It is the first of April to-day. 
 
 Old Man. Have I been sick ? The last I remember is 
 New Year's eve. 
 
 Sam. It can't be last New Year's eve you mean, for I 
 have seen you around here over six months ago, and I don't 
 think you have been sick. Your mind seemed a little out of 
 the way. I believe your brain has been affected somewhat, 
 but you seem all right now. 
 
 Old Man. Oh heavens, have I come to this ? 
 
23 
 
 Mrs. N. Brings wi?ie. — See, take a little of this wine ; it 
 will revive you. You are very weak. 
 
 Old Man. What ! That voice ! — looks up — Are not you 
 Ann Mason ? 
 
 Ellen. Rushes and embraces old man. — Father, father ! 
 
 Old Man. Tries to rise. What, wretch? You here? 
 Release that embrace ! — iLllen steps hack. — Is it not enough 
 that I should die in disgrace, without your coming to heap 
 misery upon my dej^arture ? Begone from my sight ! 
 Exit Ellen, R. 
 
 Sam. And are you Sir Philip Courtney ? 
 
 Old Man. I was once Sir Philip Courtney ? 
 
 Mrs. N. Oh, Sir Philip, you have done wrong ; you have 
 accused your daughter of a crime that she is innocent of, for 
 to-day she is as free from stain as the day I received her from 
 her motlnir, for there is not on 3 hour of her life, from that day 
 to the present minute, but I am acquainted with, and there is 
 not one of those hours but will bear as strict an investigation 
 as any one that ever bore the name of Courtney. I am sorry, 
 Sir Philip, that ever I lived to see this day. — Weeps. 
 
 Sam. Ann, go to Miss Ellen, I will attend Sir Philip, — 
 Exit Ann to right. Sam takes ivine from table. — Here, Sir 
 Philip, take a little wine, it will revolve you — offers wine. 
 
 Old Man. Shakes his head. — It cannot revive me. I 
 am dying. 
 
 Enter Ellen, R., dressed for a journey ; walks toward the door. 
 
 Old Man. Ellei), are you going to leave me ? 
 
 Ellen. Hushes to him. Oh, father, father ! how could 
 I leave you. 
 
 Old Man. Oh, my child ! my child ! have I wronged 
 you? Answer me as you will answer at the day of judgment. 
 Is the name of Courtney unsullied. 
 
 Ellen. By my mother, who is now looking down from 
 heaven upon me, I am as free from guilt or shame as she is. 
 
 Old Man. Oh, my child, how can I ex]iect forgiveness 
 for the wrong I have doae you ? how can I meet your mother 
 after the disgrace I have heaped upon her darling? Why did 
 I not listen to you when you came to me upon your bended 
 knees, and told me you vv^ere innocent ? Oh forgive Lie, my 
 child! forgive me ! Say that you will forgive me? 
 
 Ellen. Oh father, why do you ask me ? You know that 
 your darling could never have anything to forgive you. 
 
 Old Man. Ellen, I am dying. 
 
 Ellen. Father, do not say that ; you will be better when 
 you rest. 
 
 Old Man. Yes ! but it is not in this world I will rest. 
 
 Ellen. Mr. Norton, will you please go for a doctor? 
 Enter Mrs. Norton, R. 
 
 Mrs. N. Yes, do go for a doctor, he should have beer 
 sent for long ago. 
 
24 
 
 Old Man. No ! I forbid any one's going for a doctor, 
 for I am far beyond a doctor's skill. Listen to me, Ellen, and 
 do not interrupt me, for I have but a few minutes to stay, for 
 death is already upon me. When I am dead you must have 
 my body conveyed home and buried in the old vault beside 
 your mother ; my will is in the old safe, it is all in your favor, 
 everything is yours ; Lawyer Palmer will give you all the in- 
 formation you want. You must live in the old house, and try 
 in your future life to retrieve the name that I have so much 
 — falls back and dies. 
 
 Mrs. N. Oh, Sir Philip has fainted; bring the wine, rub 
 his hands. 
 
 Sam. Takes his haiid. — It is no use now, he is dead. 
 
 Ellen, Bends over her father. — Oh, don't say that! 
 Don't say that he is dead ! Father, father ! speak to me ! 
 speak to you own Ellen ! Dead ? dead, and I am alone. 
 Falls into Sara's arms. 
 
 SCENE III. Seashore, Noise of Storm and Waves. 
 
 Fishermen looking out to sea. 
 1st F. Can you make her out ? 
 
 2d F. No, I can't ; but she hasn t got a yard of canvas 
 nor a mast above her deck. 
 
 1st P. How she pitches and heaves. 
 
 2d F. She must have lost her lielm ; see how she rolls 
 and turns with the sea. 
 
 3d F. Then may the Lord have mercy on the souls on 
 board, for she is sure to strike the rocks. 
 
 1st F. Curses on the dastardly hand that set our boats 
 adrift, for we have nothing that we could give them any as- 
 sistance with. 
 
 Several. Oh! Another heave like that and she is lost. 
 
 2d F. Ay, they can see the land, but I am afraid there 
 are but few of them will ever reach it alive. 
 
 All. Oh ! There she goes against the rocks ! 
 
 1st F. Oh ! see them struggling in the water ! What a 
 sight ! what a sight ! 
 
 3d F. Some of them may escape. Some seem to be 
 heading their way towards shore. 
 
 1st F. Ah, he will make gallant struggle that ever 
 reaches shore. 
 
 2d F. See, do you see that man there ? — points, 
 
 IstF. Where? 
 
 2d F. See, there he is — points — here Jack — to one of the 
 men — run down and tell my wife to send up some of that 
 brandy ! if heaven should deliver any of them from the water, 
 let us do all we can for them on land. — exit Jack. M. 
 
25 
 
 1st F. Loohing toward the loater. — gtniggle on a little 
 more and yon will be snfe. 
 
 2d F. There he conies ! He is safe ! He is safe ! 
 Enter Jaek, R, with a bottle. 
 
 Jack. Here is the brandy. — Gives bottle to '2d F. 
 [Appear a man swimming in the water, a rope is thrown to 
 him and he is pnlled on shore.] 
 
 2d F. — To the rescued.— Here ! take a drink of this 
 brandy ! — rescued takes the bottle and dri7iks. —Awdi come 
 down to my honse and change your wet clothes; here Jim, 
 l^Vethi^ hoU\Q^— gives the botth to one of the meji — and if 
 any more should escape give them some. Come: — Exit rescued 
 and Second. — 
 
 1st F. Here comes the body of a woman ! A body ts 
 loashed on shore.— T-^VahQv and leavel her aside. — They carry 
 her off. 
 
 od F. Here comes another body! — They carry it off. 
 
 1st F. Oh! There comes another. It is one of the 
 Sailors. He will reach the shore, see how he swims ! 
 
 Another F. Here he comes safe on land, — a sailor a/> 
 pears swimming and reaches the shore without assista7ice. 
 
 FiSHER^EAN. — 7o sctilor — Here! Take a drink of this 
 l)randy. — -Sailor takes the bottle. 
 
 Sailor. Well, I hope all that are gone were prej)ared to 
 meet their Maker. — Drhiks and gives back the bottle-^T\\\\i-^ 
 about the hardest struggle I ever had. Am I the onlv one 
 that's escaped ? 
 
 1st F. No, there is another !—ZooA^m^ o/f'ii.— Here he 
 comes ! 
 
 Enter i-escued in different clothes. 
 
 Sailor. What ! Captain Robinson ! I'm glad to see 
 you safe. 
 
 Captain. Well, Roberts ! I'm glad that your aliveto 
 say so, I suppose poor Sims has gone. 
 
 Sailor. I'm afraid he has. He might have escaped liim- 
 self as he was a good swimmer. I was" standing beside him 
 before the vessel.struck, and the old lady on board came up to 
 him crying, and asked him to save her daughter, and he an- 
 swered; 4 will save her if I possibly can ! . " 
 
 Captain-. Then I suppose he has perished in the attem])t 
 — looks toward the water — for there is not a head above wa- 
 ter. 
 
 1st F. Yes! See ! There is one there— /)om^6'. 
 ^ 2d F. Yes ! . There is one? — All seem excited. 
 
 Captaix. Can we give no assistance? Have you not o-ot 
 a boat ? 
 
 1st F. We had plenty of boats, and it was only last 
 night that some mischievous fiend cut the moorings of everv 
 boat we had and let them all drift out to sea, Vehave nr't 
 one on the beach. 
 
26 
 
 2d F. There is a woman beside him. 
 
 Another F. He is holding her in his arm. 
 
 Sailor. He has two women with him. 
 
 1st F. Why don't he let thsm go and save himself ! He 
 cannot 'escape with them. 
 
 Sailor. Captain, it is Mr. Sims the mate ! 
 
 Captain. Oh, Heavens ! It is the old lady and her 
 danghter he is trying to save, and I'm afraid he has to mnch 
 to reach the shore. 
 
 1st F. See there ! He is nigh exhausted, see how he fal- 
 ters. 
 
 2d F. Oh, if we could give him any assistance ! 
 
 Sailor. Look out there, — runs and Jumps yrom a rock 
 info the tcater, cqj2^ear to view sailor Sims, and two loom.en 
 struggling in the icater, ropes are thrown to them and they 
 arep)ulled on shore. 
 
27 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. Sitting room. Ellen Coithtney seated. 
 J:inter Cousin Julia, L. C. 
 eft. .V"''* Goo^^ nioruing, dear coiLsiu I How did you rest 
 atter the party last iiiglit ? ^ 
 
 Ellen. Oli very well indeed ! How did you enioy tl.e 
 ga-ty Juha? Oh splejidid! I never enjoyed iliyself^bL 
 for rr '' M^f^' I ^^^Pff to enjoy myself even better, 
 
 be ver^ select "• "'^^ ''"' '' '^^'""'^^^ ^^''^^^ ^^^ ^^ - '^ 
 
 Ellen. Are you going? 
 
 Julia. Why, of course I'm going ! Are not you 
 Ellen. I don't think I will. 
 Julia. Why, dear cousin ? 
 
 JlTUA. Oh I'm so sorry ! Tliey inll be so disa.,i,oi„te,l, 
 r promised Captain Robinson that I would go, I didn' 
 thmk you would have any objections. 
 
 •i 
 
 £^ r • 1 ,-, . J: J ' ^^^^j » 111 ue so msain) 
 
 foi I promised Captain Kobinson that I would ^o I 
 think you would have any objections. "^ ' 
 
 Ellen. I noticed that Mr. Robinson paid a great deal of 
 attention to you last night. "^ 
 
 Julia. Oh, for sbame ! Ellen Courtney ! His attention' 
 was nothing but politeness, and I'm verry sony to di'apS 
 -"'tw' '" "'' ^"'"^^ ''''^''''' ''^'^^ NWll be^C a 
 
 Ellen. Well, as you have promised Mr. Robinson, ratli- 
 
 ^an you shall break your word, I'll change my mind and 
 
 '^itn you. 
 
 Julia. Oh! Thanks dear cousin ! I'm so glad ! 
 Ellen. But don't let Mr. Robinson exact any more 
 promises from you. -^ 
 
 will ivnpt* ^^^^''' "' "?. ^'''^^*- ^''^ ^'^^ ^^'"^'^'^ ^^^'- Sims 
 will exact one from you if you don't mind, for he did not 
 seem to take his eyes off you for one minute last niSit 
 
 Ellen. Don't be alarmed. Mr. Sims I thiid- h i^ fr 
 much sense to bother his head with ladies ' 
 
 Julia. What a strange story he has, hasn't he ? 
 
 few there. 
 Ellei 
 er than yo 
 go with you 
 
28 
 
 Julia. On our way home last night, Mr. Robinson told 
 it to me. He says the first time he saw him was abont five 
 years ago, after returning to his ship from a visit down here. 
 This man was on board engaged as a common sailor, and from 
 the first, Mr. Robinson look quite an interest in him, for he 
 seemed so different from the other sailors; and from being a 
 new hand, he became so adept, that at the end of six months 
 the second mate left the ship; and Mr. Sims was promoted to 
 that position, and he fulfilled his duty so well that before he 
 had been on board eighteen months, he was promoted to the 
 position of first mate, and on the second voyage after he had 
 been first mate, they sailed from Bombay, and during the 
 voyage, Mr. Sims became a general favorite with all on board, 
 especially with a rich ol<? lady, wlio had an only daughter. 
 Things went on very pleasantly, until one day when they Avei'e 
 of the coast of India, when a storm arose, oh so terrific, that 
 in spite of all they could do, it dashed their ship to pieces 
 against the rocks, they were about a mile from shore, and al- 
 most all on board were drowned. ^ J13ut while the storm was 
 raging, before the vessel struck the rocks, this rich old lady 
 came to Mr. Sims, and begged of him to save her daughter. 
 And after the vessel struck the rocks, Mr. Sims saw the moth- 
 er and daughter struggling in the water together. He swam 
 to and grasped them both with one arm, and began to swim 
 towards^ the shore, but it was a hard struggle, the storm was 
 so great; but at last by great exertioii, and some assistance 
 from one of the sailors, he reached the shore with both ladies. 
 But the young lady only lived half an hour, after reaching 
 shore. The mother "survived, but at the end of a month she 
 too took sick and died. But from the time that her daughter 
 died, she could scarcely bear to allow Mr. Sims to leave her 
 sight, and as ahe had no near relative, she left all her fortune 
 to Mr. Sims. 
 
 Ellen. What a strange story. And did he never tell 
 Mr. Robinson who or what he was before he enlisted as a sail- 
 or? 
 
 Julia. No 1 Mr. Robinson has often broached the sub- 
 ject, but he always avoids it. 
 
 Ellen. How strange ! But he follows the sea yet? 
 
 Julia. Yes. After the old lad}^ was buried he 
 bought two ships, one he is captain of himself, and the 
 other he gave as a present to a Mr. Roberts, who had 
 several times befriended him. 
 
 Ellen. Well ! I'm sure that he don't belong to the 
 poor class, for his manner is that of a perfect gentleman- 
 But let us go and take breakfast and we will talk after. 
 (^Exit both B.) 
 
29 
 SCENE II. Same as Scene II in First Act. 
 
 Enter Mr. Sims L. C. 
 
 Sims. Well, after all my vigilance, all that I have 
 found out is, that Bill Markhara the principal witness 
 against me, is in his service, and often accompanies him 
 out of town. But this suspense is getting too great I can- 
 not bear it m ch longer. — rlooks off By — Xh ! But here he 
 comes. I must not let him see me. — hides hehind drapery. 
 Enter Ralpli Morton, R. 'C. Sits at table. 
 
 Ralph. I wonder shall 1 be allowed to finish this 
 note without being intruded upon by Mr. Sims, — Pro- 
 duces paper and lays it on the table. — or as I should call 
 him Mr. Strange, for one cannot tell what part of the house 
 they'll meet him in, and he is always sure to turn up 
 when least expected or desired. Robinson says he is the 
 finest fellow in all the world, but I believe he is half 
 crazy. I wish I had arraijged this party for som^ other 
 night. But I must see Bill to-night by all means, so here 
 goes. — begins to write and repeats the words as he writes them. 
 Bill, I want you to meet me to-night at eight o'clock, at 
 the old well in the grove. Do not fail to be there. And 
 now I must prepare for the party, as it is already five 
 o'clock and the guests will begin to arrive shortly. — U^it 
 
 B. a 
 
 Henry. — Comes from behind d: apery — An^ I also will 
 prepare for the party. Ay, Ralph Morton ! Mr. Strange 
 will be sure to turn up when least expected or desired. I 
 will be at the old well at eight o'clock. And I will pre- 
 pare everything for that pa^ly. To-night I will cast the 
 die, win or lose. I can bear this no longer. — Exit R. C. 
 
 SCENE III. Drawing Room. 
 
 Guests seated around conversing and laughing. Enter Ral])li front. 
 
 Ralph. Well, Mr. Robinson I I will ask a favor of 
 you if you will grant it. 
 
 Capt. What is it. 
 
 Ralph. I have been unexpectedly called to attend 
 to a little urgent business, but it will not delay me anore 
 than an hour, and during my absence I wish } ou to act as 
 host in my stead. And if my guests will excuse me, I 
 promise to be back within the hour. 
 
 (^apt. I will answer for them; you are quite excus- 
 able. We will enjoy ourselves while you are gone. 
 
80 
 
 Ralph. Thank you; you was always equal to the 
 emergency. — Exit front. 
 
 Sims. — aside — What a mountain of crime can be cov- 
 ered by the small mask of hypocricy. 
 
 Capt. — to one of the ladies — Well, Miss Lawton will 
 you please oblige with a little harmony. 
 
 Mi«s L. I cannot sing, thank you. 
 
 A Guest. Miss Lawton, I think could sing but she is 
 a little shy before the gentlemen. 
 
 Miss L. No, really ! I am no singer, and I know 
 very little of music. 
 
 Capt. Will Miss Trafton oblige? 
 
 Julia. I, like Miss Lawton, must decline, as I never 
 do sing. 
 
 Sims. As it is a beautiful moonlight night and we are 
 distressing the ladies, 1 propose a walk in the grove as far 
 as the old well and back again. 
 
 Gent. What an idea ! 
 
 Sims. Nay ! /ask you to come and I promise you 
 that it will be interesting. 
 
 Capt. Well then /second the motion, if the ladies 
 will make no amendment. 
 
 Ladies. Oh, not in the least I 
 
 Capt. /beg leave to be Miss Trafton's escort in the 
 promenade. — each gentleman secures a lady., Sims takes El- 
 len Courtney. — And now Mr. Sims, as you proposed the 
 walk, please take the lead. 
 
 Lady. We had better put on our cloaks. — Exit la- 
 dies i., and reaffcar with hats and cloaks. 
 
 Sims. Now come along, it will not take us long to 
 reach the old well. — Sims gives his arm to Ellen and leads 
 off front. AUfoUotv, 
 
 SCENE /v. Old Well in Grove. Tbees, Bushes 
 AND Shrubbery. 
 Ejiter two policemen^ R. U. E. 
 1st P, Now after all it may be only a wild goose 
 chase. 
 
 2nd p. There is no fear for he was a regular gen- 
 tleman for he gave me a sovereign, but of course I'll give 
 you half when /get the change. 
 
 1st p. Are you sure he only gave you one. 
 
31 
 
 2nd p. If he gave me more don't you think I'd tell 
 you ? You ought to know me better than that. 
 
 2nd p. Tt's because J know you so well that Jasked 
 you. 
 
 2nd p. There is somebody coming, — Looks off F 
 why, there is a whole body of them, let us step aside.— 
 Go hehiwd hushes. 
 
 Enter ladies and gentlemen, talking and laughing. 
 Sims looks around and sees the policemen, gives them some in- 
 structions, exit police, R. U. E. 
 Capt. What does this mean ? 
 
 Sims. I ]»romised you the walk should be interestino-, and 
 to some of us at least it will be so, and we are not much to 
 soon, for already I hear footsteps aproaching. Come, hide 
 quick, and as you value the life of an innocent man, do not 
 move or speak until I give you leave. 
 
 Capt. But what does all this mean ? 
 Sijvfs. For merc\'s sake let us hide, I will explain after. 
 — All hide behind bushes. 
 Enter Bill Markham, First. E. L. leans against the well^ 
 and looks around. 
 Bill. I wonder what he wants now I wish I had nev- 
 er known him. How much better I should have been, if I had 
 worked honestly for a living. Wliat a fool I have been, but I 
 must come to an understanding with him to-night, for I cannot 
 live in this state, I am getting so that I sJiudder at the sound 
 of my own voice. — The clock strikes eight-— therein is eight 
 o'clock ! He must be here soon, ah ! I hear foot-steps it must 
 be he. 
 
 Enter Balph. First E. E. 
 Ralph. Oh! So you are here. Have you looked to see 
 that there is no one around ? 
 
 Bill. There is no one here but you and I. 
 Ralph. Well, Bill you have served me faitliiully now 
 for some time, and I have a little job for you to do, and I think 
 this will be the last I will ask you to do, for I think after this 
 I will be able to settle down myself, and place you upon a well 
 stocked farm. 
 
 Bill. And what is the job you want me to do ? 
 Ralph. Well, this morning as I v/as passing by the Black 
 Lion, old Pete the blacksmith, came staggering out, and as 
 soon as soon as he saw me he cried out, "Halloo there, Ralph ! 
 How do you enjoy your brothers fortune ? Your not half as 
 honest as you pretend to be. I know more than you think I 
 do about tlie death of Martin Morton. I could tell a story 
 that would make somebody dangle from the gallows, and it 
 wouldn't be Henry Morton either, and I'll t(3ll it before long.' 
 And then he went back into the public house again. 
 
32 
 
 Bill. And what do you want me to do ? 
 
 Ralph. Well, I don't think its safe to have hira at large; 
 I think he knows to much, and for a long time now I have no- 
 ticed that whenever I passed him on the road, he would look 
 closely at me, and then turn round and look after me. I did 
 not pay much attention to it, but now I think he must have 
 had some reason for it, and I think the best thing for us to do 
 is to get him out of the way, for I'm sure he knows our secret. 
 
 Bill. He might have had no object in his words, maybe 
 speaking at random as drunken men often do. 
 
 Ralph. Oh, no ! Random words would not come like 
 that, I tell you he knows too much; and he must be got out of 
 the way. 
 
 Bill. How is it to be done ? 
 
 Ralph. You know he lives all alone behind the 
 forge, and as he is often drunk, it would not be a great 
 wonder, for him to be found drowned in the pond some 
 morning. He has to pass that way home, and it would 
 not seem strange that he should fall in some night. 
 
 Bill. In plain words you mean that he should be 
 pushed into the pond and drowned? 
 
 Ralph. That is just what /mean. 
 
 Bill. And w^ho must push him in ? 
 
 Ralph. Did he not say that by opening his mouth,' 
 he could have somebody dangling from the gallows? 
 Who should push him in but you ? 
 
 Bill. Mr. Ralph do you know that he is my uncle? 
 
 Ralph. Yes ! But what of that ? 
 
 Bill. He is my mother's brother, and when she was 
 sick, and me roving through the country, not thinking or 
 caring for her, he was the one that stood by and attend- 
 ed to her, for the place is so lonesome that no woman in 
 the village would go and wait upon her, and for the last 
 week that she was sick; for seven days and nights, 
 he stood and watched her, and gave her a drink whenever 
 she was dry, and when she died and me still away, it was 
 he that closed her eyes, and now would you have me turn 
 round and murder him. No, Mr. Ralph ! Bad as I am 
 I cannot, and will not do that ! 
 
 Ralph. Beware Bill, if he speaks who will dangle 
 from the gallows ? 
 
 Bill It is I, but I will swing a thousand times from 
 the gallows rather than raise my hand to harm one grey 
 hair of that old man's head. 
 
 Ralph. I did not think that you was such a cow- 
 ard. 
 
33 
 
 Bill. I have been a coward, but not the sort of a 
 coward you mean. I was a coward the night that I 
 plunged the dagger in your uncle's heart. I was still a 
 greater coward the day that I went into court and swore 
 on my oath that I saw your innocent brother murder his 
 uncle. I was a coward the day that I took Miss Ellen 
 Courtney from her hqme and placed her in confinement, and 
 then to say that I saw her leaving the country in company 
 with your brother. I am a coward but who made me one ? It 
 was you Ralph Morton ! It was you that brought me to what 
 I am ! I was once a simple and harmless lad, but you trans- 
 formed me into a walking devil. But I will be so no longer, 
 for this very night I will go and give myself up, and proclaim 
 to the world that I am a murderer, and that Henry Morton is 
 an innocent man. 
 
 Ralph. What ! Would you rob me of all I possess ? 
 
 Bill. Ay, rob you, as you have robbed me ! 
 
 Ralph. What ! Villian,- — rushes cmd struggles with Bill. 
 
 Sims. — Runs from behind hushes. — Out and seize those 
 men ! — Two policemen rush on and seize the two men^ all the 
 company rush out excited, — Take care and do net let him es- 
 cape ! — Points to Bill — and you Ralph Morton ! You who 
 are a shame and disgrace to all^ belonging to you, go and take 
 what belongs to you, and leave the country, and never let 
 your face be seen in England again. 
 
 Ralph. Who are you that assumes such authority ! 
 Who are you that commands me to leave the country ? 
 
 Sims.. — Throws off his disguise — I am your brother, 
 Henry Morton, lawful owner of these estates. 
 
 Ellen. — Bushes to him and he grasps both her hands 
 — Henry. 
 
 Sims. Ellen. 
 
 Captain. — Takes Sims hand — Mr. Sims, right glad am 
 I, to find that you are my cousin, and I'm sure there is not one 
 that ever knew you, but will be glad to hear of the innocence 
 of Henry Morton. 
 
.er Corp 
 pH 8.5 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS