Act 2 — Scene V.

A parlour in the homestead. Enter Dame Bargrove.

Mrs Bar. Well, I wonder whether Mr Bargrove intends to come home to-day. I never knew a man work so hard for his employer. He is an honest man, I will say that, and there are not many wives who are in their husband's secrets can say the same. Aye, and he's no poor man either. His own property to nurse, and twenty years' service with a liberal master have made him independent, and our boy and girl will be none the worse for it. Well, it has been fairly and honourably earned, and there are few who can count so much and say the same. I wish Peter were not so idle and thoughtless. It frets his father very much. Here he comes, and I'll try if I can't reason with him.

Enter Peter Bargrove with great consequence.

Mrs Bar. Well, Peter, have you seen your father?

Peter. I have not yet communicated the important intelligence.

Mrs Bar. Why, what's the matter with the boy? important intelligence!

Peter. I had forgot. She is still unaware of my discovery. Hem! (walking up to his mother.) good woman! look me full in the face.

Mrs Bar. Good woman! Mercy on us, Peter! Is it thus you address your mother?

Peter. My mother! I tell you to look in my face.

Mrs Bar. Look in your face? Well, sir, I do look in your face; and a very foolish face you're making of it. Are you mad?

Peter. Mad! no, Mrs Bargrove, I'm not mad, but I've discovered all.

Mrs Bar. All!

Peter. Yes, all. Down on your knees and confess.

Mrs Bar. Confess! confess what? Down on my knees too? Why, you ungracious boy, what do you mean?

Enter Mr Bargrove, unperceived, who stands aside.

Peter. What do I mean? Confess your enormous guilt—the wicked trick that you played me in my infancy.

Mrs Bar. Dear me, dear me, my child is out of his senses.

Peter. Madam, I am in my senses, but I am not your child. Woman, you know it.

Mrs Bar. (weeping). O dear, O dear!

Peter. Tell me, will you confess at once, thou infamous——

[Old Bargrove comes forward, and knocks Peter down with his cudgel.

Old Bar. I can't stand it any longer. What do you mean, you rascal, by calling your mother infamous?

Peter (rubbing his head, and getting up slowly). 'Tis well—'tis very well I had resolved before to turn you away; now you may expect the severest chastisement. Take warning this moment, you old——

Old Bar. (lifting up his cudgel). You old what?

Peter. I'll swear the peace against you. Take care what you are about. This is a violent assault, you know; and you don't know him you are beating.

Old Bar. Don't I?

Peter. No, you don't—but I'll tell you. This woman changed me at nurse, and I can prove it. I—yes—I, humble as I stand here, with my head broken also—am no less than Peter Etheridge—the young Squire!

Old Bar. Look at the almanac, dame. Is the harvest moon at full? He's mad, indeed!

Peter. I am not. Mrs Bargrove, where is your accomplice, Nelly Armstrong? You see I know all. (Mrs Bargrove weeps, but makes no answer.) I say again confess all, and then, perhaps, I may pardon you, and let your husband keep his place.

Old Bar. Keep my place, and so you are Peter Etheridge, are you?

Peter. I am, and she knows it well.

Old Bar. Well, but I don't. I only know you as my foolish son, Peter Bargrove, and so long as you are so supposed to be, I shall not permit you to insult your mother. So, Mr Peter, I'll just take the liberty of giving you a little wholesome chastisement, which I hope may prove beneficial.

[Old Bargrove beats Peter round the room, while Mrs Bargrove tries to prevent him.

Peter. I'll tell my mother, Lady Etheridge! that I will. I'll go directly.

[Peter runs off. Mr and Mrs Bargrove sit down. Mrs Bargrove sobbing.

Old Bar. (panting). The scoundrel!

Enter Lucy, in her bonnet, from walking.

Lucy. Good Heavens, father, what was all that noise? Mother, why, what is the matter?

Old Bar. Matter enough; here's your brother Peter gone out of his senses. But I have rubbed him well down with this cudgel.

Mrs Bar. (crying). He's mad, Lucy, quite mad! Called me an infamous old woman, and said that I changed him at nurse. He will have it, that he is Peter Etheridge.

Lucy (confounded). Good heavens! how strange! (Aside) I hardly know what to think. That gipsy's knowledge—and now my brother—where could he have obtained similar information?—yet it cannot be, she is too good a woman.

Old Bar. What do you say, Lucy?

Lucy. Nothing, father.

Old Bar. Did you ever hear of such conduct?

Lucy. He must have been told so, or he never would have been so violent.

Old Bar. So violent! who could have told him such a falsehood? or who would have believed it for a moment, but a fool like him?

Mrs Bar. How could he have known anything about Nelly Armstrong?

Lucy. Nelly Armstrong! Did he mention her name?

Mrs Bar. Yes; he asked me where she was, and says, that she was my accomplice.

[Lucy remains in thought.

Old Bar. Lucy, why don't you comfort your mother? One would think you were leagued with Peter.

Lucy. I, father!

Old Bar. Yes, you—you are not yourself. Pray have you heard anything of this before? (Lucy silent.) Answer me, girl, I say, have you before heard anything of this?

Lucy. I have.

Old Bar. And pray from whom?

Lucy. From a strange quarter, and most strangely told. I am not well, father. [Lucy bursts into tears, and Exit.

Old Bar. (after a pause, looking his wife earnestly in the face). Why, Dame Bargrove, how is this? Lucy is not a fool, and she is evidently of the same opinion as Peter. (Walks up and down the room, and betrays much agitation.) Dame, dame, if, for foolish love of thine own children, and I see that thou lovest the other two, as well, if not better than, these—if, I say, thou hast done this great wrong, down on thy knees, and confess it! Guilt can never prosper, and reparation must be made.

Mrs Bar. (throwing herself on her knees before her husband). On my knees, husband, I swear to you, before God, that these children, Peter and Lucy, were born to me, and are the fruits of our marriage. May I never prosper in this world, and lose all hope of mercy in the next, if I speak not now the truth.

Old Bar. (taking up his wife and kissing her). I do believe thee, dame, thou hast ever been honest; but there is mischief brewing, and we must find out who are the authors of this report. Come, cheer up! All will be discovered, and all will be well.

[Exeunt ambo; Old Bargrove leading off and caressing Mrs Bargrove.