A Lady of England: The Life and Letters of Charlotte Maria Tucker. Agnes Giberne
has burst on my intellect!
Sophia. His noble air; his wan features. …
Horatia. A fugitive. …
Sophia. A wanderer. …
Horatia. His sudden alarm. …
Sophia. [Rushing into her arms.] O Ratty, Ratty, what a day! what an honour! what a surprise!
Barbara. How now, what’s the matter?
Horatia. Brain of adamant! could not instinct direct you to the feet of your adored Prince?
Barbara. The Prince! Is it possible?
Sophia. Charlie! Charlie! O! what a moment!
Horatia. Did you not hear him describe the ruin of his army. …
Sophia. Did you not hear ‘Charles Stew—’ upon his noble tongue. …
Horatia. How he started when he recollected himself. …
Sophia. And O, how exquisitely pathetic, how touchingly appropriate, the name he gave instead! Dapple; to signify how his fortunes are chequered—Dapple. …
Barbara. How the Jacobites were running in his head when he even. …
Sophia. Little reason had he to fear us. If Daresby had been here. …
Barbara. And this vile Colonel: no wonder he started off!
Sophia. What shall we do to get rid of him?
Horatia. All that woman ever attempted I am ready to perform.
Sophia. I would die for him.
Barbara. And I too.
Sophia. The handsome, brave, dear, darling young Prince! And to think that Daresby’s a Whig!
Enter Mrs. Judith and Col. Stumply.
Col. Good evening, young Ladies, good evening. I have just returned from the North, where we are everywhere triumphant, and our laurels should ensure us a welcome from beauty. ‘None but the brave, none but the brave deserve the fair,’ you know. Hey, Miss Sophy?
Sophia. [Aside.] Monster!
Horatia. [Aside.] Traitor!
Barbara. [Aside.] Butcher!
Col. What, all silent and aghast? I shall begin to fear myself unwelcome. Hey, Mrs. Judith? But my Regiment is quartered for the night in the village, and I was sure that I might throw myself on the hospitality of an old friend.
Mrs. Jud. We are delighted to see you.
Col. Is your little room unoccupied to-night?
Mrs. Jud. To tell the truth there is a young. …
Horatia. [Aside.] I could beat her! [Aloud.] It is quite unoccupied, Sir, except—except in this cold weather we keep the pigs there.
Col. The pigs!
Mrs. Jud. Why, Ratty. …
Horatia. Oh, it is not fit to receive you, Sir. The chimney tumbled in during the last gale. …
Mrs. Jud. Why, Ratty. …
Horatia. And every pane of glass is broken.
Sophia. [Aside to Barbara.] O Bab, such lying can never thrive.
Mrs. Jud. What strange non. …
Horatia. [Aside.] How on earth can I stop her tongue? [Aloud.] Aunt, Aunt, is there any supper prepared for the Colonel?
Col. Anything; anything; the cold ride has sharpened my appetite; but a good blaze like this cheers the heart, and gives me courage to face even the pigs, Miss Ratty!
Mrs. Jud. The pigs! why. …
Horatia. Would you like to see that everything is comfortable yourself, Aunt? [Aside.] I am in a fever!
Col. Turn out the pigs, hey, Mrs. Judith?
Mrs. Jud. If I ever. …
Horatia. Go, dear Aunt, precious Aunt, do go.
Sophia. A nice little dish of your own making would be so acceptable.
Barbara. We’ll take care of the Colonel.
Mrs. Jud. I cannot com—pre—hend—I—— [The girls half lead, half push her out.]
Col. You will excuse me, young ladies; I always make a point of looking after my horse myself. [Exit.]
Horatia. [Sinking on a chair.] I am exhausted. Stupid sticks, why did you not assist me?
Sophia. I tried, but. …
Barbara. What shall we do now?
Sophia. My heart beats so, I shall expire.
Barbara. The Colonel will stay in spite of the pigs.
Sophia. Where can we hide the Prince?
Horatia. [Starting up.] A thought has struck me.
Sophia. What, what?
Horatia. You shall hear—it has been done before. You will aid me in the execution of it.
Sophia. [Throwing herself into her arms.] O my Ratty!
Horatia. We will save him.
Barbara. We will, we will!
Horatia. Or perish with him.
Sophia. We will.
Horatia. Come, come, no time is to be lost; let us fly to his succour.
‘Come weal, come woe,
We’ll gather and go,
And live or die wi’ Charlie!’
SCENE III.
A CHURCHYARD BY MOONLIGHT.
Enter Charles, Sophia, Barbara, and Horatia.
Charles. Where on earth are you taking me?
Sophia. To safety, to safety.
Barbara. We know all.
Charles. You know all?
Horatia. Your name, your situation. …
Charles. Then you must know that the coming of the Colonel is hangably inconvenient to me.
Sophia. We tremble at your danger.
Horatia. We will defend you with our lives.
Charles. Excessively kind, but it is not quite come to that yet. A kick or a caning. …
Sophia. You make us shudder.
Charles. But I do not like promenading at this hour in winter! Is it a country fashion? I am very cold, and tired, and sleepy, and I would rather retire to rest.
Horatia. Here then we have arrived at the spot. Descend, and you will find a bed prepared for you.
Charles. Descend! why, hang me if it isn’t a vault!
Sophia. If it would please you to descend. …
Charles. Please me, you barbarous witches! would it please any one to be buried alive? What on earth do you mean?
Barbara. The only way to preserve your rights. …
Charles. Rites, do you call these rites? They are very inhuman rites. Anything but the rites of hospitality. To offer a stranger the shelter of your roof, and then make his bed in a vault! This is your spare-room, is it? If I had guessed what you meant to do with your guest, I would not have troubled you with my company.
Horatia.