BEGGAR And he is dead!—­that Moor—­how shall I cross it? 
              By night, by day, never shall I be able
              To travel half a mile alone.—­Good Lady! 
              Forgive me!—­Saints forgive me.  Had I thought
              It would have come to this!—­

IDONEA What brings you hither? speak!

BEGGAR (pointing to MARMADUKE)
              This innocent Gentleman.  Sweet heavens!  I told him
              Such tales of your dead Father!—­God is my judge,
              I thought there was no harm:  but that bad Man,
              He bribed me with his gold, and looked so fierce. 
              Mercy!  I said I know not what—­oh pity me—­
              I said, sweet Lady, you were not his Daughter—­
              Pity me, I am haunted;—­thrice this day
              My conscience made me wish to be struck blind;
              And then I would have prayed, and had no voice.

IDONEA (to MARMADUKE)
              Was it my Father?—­no, no, no, for he
              Was meek and patient, feeble, old and blind,
              Helpless, and loved me dearer than his life
             —­But hear me.  For one question, I have a heart
              That will sustain me.  Did you murder him?

MARMADUKE No, not by stroke of arm.  But learn the process: 
              Proof after proof was pressed upon me; guilt
              Made evident, as seemed, by blacker guilt,
              Whose impious folds enwrapped even thee; and truth
              And innocence, embodied in his looks,
              His words and tones and gestures, did but serve
              With me to aggravate his crimes, and heaped
              Ruin upon the cause for which they pleaded. 
              Then pity crossed the path of my resolve: 
              Confounded, I looked up to Heaven, and cast,
              Idonea! thy blind Father, on the Ordeal
              Of the bleak Waste—­left him—­and so he died!—­

[IDONEA sinks senseless; Beggar, ELEANOR, etc., crowd round, and bear her off.]

Why may we speak these things, and do no more; Why should a thrust of the arm have such a power, And words that tell these things be heard in vain? She is not dead.  Why!—­if I loved this Woman, I would take care she never woke again; But she WILL wake, and she will weep for me, And say, no blame was mine—­and so, poor fool, Will waste her curses on another name.

[He walks about distractedly.]

[Enter OSWALD.]

OSWALD (to himself)
              Strong to o’erturn, strong also to build up.
       [To MARMADUKE.]
              The starts and sallies of our last encounter
              Were natural enough; but that, I trust,
              Is all gone by.  You have cast off the chains
              That fettered your nobility of mind—­
              Delivered heart and head! 
                  Let us to Palestine;
              This is a paltry field for enterprise.