MARMADUKE Enough.

OSWALD We’ve solved the riddle—­Miscreant!

MARMADUKE Do you,
              Good Dame, repair to Liddesdale and wait
              For my return; be sure you shall have justice.

OSWALD A lucky woman!—­go, you have done good service.
          
                                               [Aside.]

MARMADUKE (to himself)
              Eternal praises on the power that saved her!—­

OSWALD (gives her money)
              Here’s for your little boy—­and when you christen him
              I’ll be his Godfather.

BEGGAR O Sir, you are merry with me. 
              In grange or farm this Hundred scarcely owns
              A dog that does not know me.—­These good Folks,
              For love of God, I must not pass their doors;
              But I’ll be back with my best speed:  for you—­
              God bless and thank you both, my gentle Masters.

[Exit Beggar.]

MARMADUKE (to himself)
              The cruel Viper!—­Poor devoted Maid,
              Now I do love thee.

OSWALD I am thunderstruck.

MARMADUKE Where is she—­holla!
    [Calling to the Beggar, who returns; he looks at her stedfastly.]
              You are Idonea’s Mother?—­
              Nay, be not terrified—­it does me good
              To look upon you.

OSWALD (interrupting)
                                In a peasant’s dress
              You saw, who was it?

BEGGAR Nay, I dare not speak;
              He is a man, if it should come to his ears
              I never shall be heard of more.

OSWALD Lord Clifford?

BEGGAR What can I do? believe me, gentle Sirs,
              I love her, though I dare not call her daughter.

OSWALD Lord Clifford—­did you see him talk with Herbert?

BEGGAR Yes, to my sorrow—­under the great oak
              At Herbert’s door—­and when he stood beside
              The blind Man—­at the silent Girl he looked
              With such a look—­it makes me tremble, Sir,
              To think of it.

OSWALD Enough! you may depart.

MARMADUKE (to himself)
              Father!—­to God himself we cannot give
              A holier name; and, under such a mask,
              To lead a Spirit, spotless as the blessed,
              To that abhorred den of brutish vice!—­
              Oswald, the firm foundation of my life
              Is going from under me; these strange discoveries—­
              Looked at from every point of fear or hope,
              Duty, or love—­involve, I feel, my ruin.