,
Coiling about the world, till it was caught
And locked into your rocky fastnesses
Where it lives ever; and your mountain ribs
Ache with the imposition.

ACT II

[_The centre of the stage slowly opens, disclosing a sitting-room. A
writing-table covered with letters. Somewhere in the foreground a sofa
or low couch: An engraved portrait of George III. _Arnold_ is sitting
at the table, but his arm-chair is turned away. He is in a profound
reverie, gazing at the floor. He is dressed in the uniform of a
British officer. His hair is gray and his face worn. At the back of
the stage at one side of the door, sits _Treason_, somewhat in the
attitude of a sheriff's officer keeping guard._]

_Treason_. [_To_ Arnold.]
What are you muttering, comrade? Go to sleep!
And yet sleep not too sound; there's work ahead!
With all the world against us. What of that?
We ne'er were beaten yet. Get money first:
A fortune in your fist. With honest luck,
Your hand against the world! But money first.
[_Aside._] He breaks apace, and I await each day
The knock of Death--
[_Knocking_.] No, no, not yet, Sir Death!
There's life in him and, mayhap, years of grief.
Leave me to tousle him. He's strong as hemp
And bears his ragging well.
[_More knocking._] Not yet, not yet!

[_Enter_ Death.]

_Treason_. You are unjust to come before the time.

_Death_. The moment and myself are on the stroke.

_Treason_. Thou deemest that this man is soon to die?

_Death_. Death is already in him.

_Treason_. Yea, his body.--
His mind is brighter than it was before.

_Death_. My shadow lights his mind; but it is Death.

_Treason_. How hast thou entered him without a struggle?

_Death_. The struggle was thy work.

_Treason_. Give me some moments.

_Death_. [_Pointing to the door with great dignity._]
The man is mine. Hence! Silence! Obey!

[_Exit_ Treason. Death_ takes _Treason's_ place by the door._]

_Arnold_. [_Waking._] They deny me the opportunity of honorable death.
This is the twentieth year of sodden waiting.
Fighting by land and sea and soldier's work,
As hot as heart could wish,--boy generals,--
Wars on all hands, in Holland, France, and Spain,
With military honors falling thick;--
And I, a Tantalus set in a lake of thirst,
Up to my neck in battles all about,
Without the power to reach them!

[_Enter_ Mrs. Arnold. _