is a strange letter this!--You saw her write it?

OSWALD And saw the tears with which she blotted it.

MARMADUKE And nothing less would satisfy him?

OSWALD No less;
For that another in his Child's affection
Should hold a place, as if 'twere robbery,
He seemed to quarrel with the very thought.
Besides, I know not what strange prejudice
Is rooted in his mind; this Band of ours,
Which you've collected for the noblest ends,
Along the confines of the Esk and Tweed
To guard the Innocent--he calls us "Outlaws";
And, for yourself, in plain terms he asserts
This garb was taken up that indolence
Might want no cover, and rapacity
Be better fed.

MARMADUKE Ne'er may I own the heart
That cannot feel for one, helpless as he is.

OSWALD Thou know'st me for a Man not easily moved,
Yet was I grievously provoked to think
Of what I witnessed.

MARMADUKE This day will suffice
To end her wrongs.

OSWALD But if the blind Man's tale
Should _yet_ be true?

MARMADUKE Would it were possible!
Did not the Soldier tell thee that himself,
And others who survived the wreck, beheld
The Baron Herbert perish in the waves
Upon the coast of Cyprus?

OSWALD Yes, even so,
And I had heard the like before: in sooth
The tale of this his quondam Barony
Is cunningly devised; and, on the back
Of his forlorn appearance, could not fail
To make the proud and vain his tributaries,
And stir the pulse of lazy charity.
The seignories of Herbert are in Devon;
We, neighbours of the Esk and Tweed; 'tis much
The Arch-Impostor--

MARMADUKE Treat him gently, Oswald:
Though I have never seen his face, methinks,
There cannot come a day when I shall cease
To love him. I remember, when a Boy
Of scarcely seven years' growth, beneath the Elm
That casts it