ACT II.

SCENE, _a Prison._

_ANDRE, discovered in a pensive posture, sitting at a table; a book by
him and candles: his dress neglected, his hair dishevelled: he rises
and comes forward._

ANDRE.

Kind heaven be thank'd for that I stand alone
In this sad hour of life's brief pilgrimage!
Single in misery; no one else involving,
In grief, in shame, and ruin. 'T is my comfort.
Thou, my thrice honour'd sire, in peace went'st down
Unto the tomb, nor knew to blush, nor knew
A pang for me! And thou, revered matron,
Couldst bless thy child, and yield thy breath in peace!
No wife shall weep, no child lament, my loss.
Thus may I consolation find in what
Was once my woe. I little thought to joy
In not possessing, as I erst possest,
Thy love, Honora! Andre's death, perhaps,
May cause a cloud pass o'er thy lovely face;
The pearly tear may steal from either eye;
For thou mayest feel a transient pang, nor wrong
A husband's rights: more than a transient pang
O mayest thou never feel! The morn draws nigh
To light me to my shame. Frail nature shrinks.--
And _is_ death then so fearful? I have brav'd
Him, fearless, in the field, and steel'd my breast
Against his thousand horrors; but his cool,
His sure approach, requires a fortitude
Which nought but conscious rectitude can give.

[_Retires, and sits leaning._

_Enter BLAND unperceived by ANDRE._

BLAND.

And is that Andre! Oh, how chang'd! Alas!
Where is that martial fire, that generous warmth,
Which glow'd his manly countenance throughout,
And gave to every look, to every act,
The tone of high chivalrous animation?--
Andre, my friend! look up.

ANDRE.

Who calls _me_ friend?

BLAND.

Young Arthur Bland.

ANDRE [_rising_].

That name sounds like a friend's. [_With emotion._
I have inquir'd for thee--wish'd much to see thee--
I prithee take no note of these fool's tears--
My heart was full--and seeing thee--

BLAND [_embracing him_].

O Andre!--
I have but now arrived from the south--
Nor heard--till now--of this--I cannot speak.
Is this a place?--Oh, thus to find my friend!

ANDRE.

Still dost thou call me friend? I, who dared act
Against my reason, my declared opinion;
Against my conscience, and a soldier's fame?
Oft in the generous heat of glowing youth,
Oft have I said how fully I despis'd
All bribery base, all tre