MARIAN.-Monster!-[Starting upon her feet, aud pushing him suddenly from her with such force that he tumbles over the log.-Monster! dread my vengeance if you again approach me.

HARRY FAWKES.-[Gets up.] This is an unpleasant kind of courtship, I'm d-d if it is not, but I'll stand no nonsense-have her I will-[he advances towards her]-come, no more trifling. [He is about laying hold of her, when she rushes to the side of the stage, and laying hold of a pistol belonging to Fawkes, fires it at him, and misses him.]

HARRY FAWKES.-Oh! that's the way you treat me, is it-now you have done your worst, I'll do mine. [Snatches hold of his musket in a great rage, and is about levelling it, when he hears a "coo-ee" not very distant.] What's that?-[Frightened.]—(To Marian.)-You are safe for a minute only. [The native chief is seen dodging at the back of the stage-Fawkes sees him, presents his piece-native hides behind a tree-Fawkes fires-misses him.]

HARRY FAWKES.-I must join Fellows and Hoodwink-they'll want my assistance. [Exit in a hurry.]

(Native beckoning to some one outside.)

MARIAN.-[Aside.] What am I to understand by this?-it must be a rescue. [Enter Frederick armed.] Oh! gracious Heaven-[they clasp each other in their arms]-rush, Frederick, to my father, the bushrangers are murdering him-leave me, I will follow, I know my way home.

FREDERICK.-Murdering your father, Marian!

MARIAN.-Delay not, Frederick, they are gone to the house to murder him-they are murdering him. [Exeunt Frederick and native.] Oh! that I were a man, that I could assist them.

[Exit.] SCENE 3. Same as ACT I. SCENE 1. Evening-light on tableMr. Norwood, thoughtfully-been travelling.

MR. NORWOOD.-[Walks across the Stage two or three times.] All my exertions are useless-I cannot discover the least trace of my daughter! I have examined every hill and dale in the neighbourhood-my men are yet on the search, oh! gracious Heaven, may they be more successful. The whole country is alarmed, but what matters, my daughter's ruin is accomplished-her bleeding corpse, perhaps, will be all that her agonized father will again see of her. Oh! unhappy man that I am-that I should have lived to see this day! Had gracious Heaven deprived me of my child in her infancy, I would not have murmured-I would have bowed with submission to the will of Providence, but to be thus deprived of my only treasure, by a band of villains who will add violence to murder, it is too much for man to bear. [Crossing agitated.] I am in need of rest, sleep I never can again, but in the long deep slumber of death I shall find repose, and not till then! Oh Marian! my daughter Marian, 'twas but last night you clung your arms around my neck, and asked me

for a father's blessing, before you retired to rest [very agitated]—there is the chamber door you entered, and as your hand hung on the fastning, the words" good night, father!" struck like music upon my ear. I cannot bear the thought-[turning away from looking at the chamber door, at which he had been gazing]—Marian! Marian! these flowers too! [looking at the mantlepiece] whereever I look, Marian is still fleeting before my eyes, and she, poor girl, perhaps weltering in her blood-perhaps being embraced by the villains previous to her murder. Oh! horrid thought. [Crosses and silence.] Marian! yes! I wronged your Frederick, but what matters, it cannot now be help'd. [Pauses.] Age overcomes my strength, I must repose till break of day, then to renew my search. I cannot go to bed, I will lie down here. [Lies down on the sofa, restlessly, after putting out the light.] Marian! Marian! [lost in thought, music, and about one minutes' silence.]

LAST SCENE. (Dark as it can be made.) The window at the back of the Stage is very gently opened, and Fellows is seen coming in-hears a slight noise without.

BILL FELLOWS.-[Whispers.] Who's that; what's that? HARRY HODOWINK.-[Heard answering, whisper.] It's Fawkes, what's the matter?

HARRY FAWKES.-[Heard outside, whispers.] I have been surprised. The woman is in the hands of a party in search of her, and

you have no time to lose. I hurried here to assist you, what you do,

must be done directly; you will never have another chance. Is old Norwood in?

BILL FELLOWS.-[Whispers.] Yes! silence! silence! [Fellows then gets in at the window, and is followed by Fawkes and Hoodwink all keep on the opposite side of the Stage to the sofa.]

BILL FELLOWS.-[Whispers.] Where does the old fool sleep? CHARLEY HOODWINK.-[Whispers.] This is the way. [Exeunt Hoodwink and Fellows.]

MR. NORWOOD.-[Aside.] Marian! my poor daughter Marian!

(A slight noise is heard outside.)

HARRY FAWKES.-[Whispers.] Is that you Hoodwink? [no answer-is that you Fellows where the devil are you, why don't you speak?

(At this time the native chief is seen at the window, he listens with his head to the cil of the window, and beckons to some one outside; he enters, very cautiously, armed with his waddy; Frederick follows him.)

FREDERICK.-[Aside.] Where are they, I cannot hear them! NATIVE.-[Aside.] Pooh! [Holding Frederick back.]

(A slight noise; enter Fellows and Hoodwink from the adjoining room.)

BILL FELLOWS.[Aloud.] The bird's flown! The old fellow has cheated us at last.

MR. NORWOOD.-[Aloud, jumping on his feet.] What's thatwho's that? Did I hear some one speak?

HARRY FAWKES.-[Half voice.] Silence!

He's here.

(Fawkes, in seeking Norwood, runs against the Native, who in a
moment grasps hold of him by the throat, throws him on the
floor, and strikes him on the head with the waddy; during this,
Norwood rushes forward towards where the two bushrangers
were standing, and fires. A general mellée follows. The two
bushrangers fire ineffectually. Fellows falls from a shot, when
Ellen and servants enter with lights. Hoodwink kneels for
mercy, and is secured by the men; during which time Marian
rushes on the Stage, and sinks almost breathless in her father's
arms.)

MR. NORWOOD.-Oh! Marian, Marian, my daughter.
MARIAN.-Father, Father-[She cannot speak for joy.]
MR. NORWOOD.-Happy moment!

[Frederich comes forward, and the native is seen kneeling beside his victim, who appears dead.]

NATIVE. No more murder gin-no more murder piccaniny. [Looking close to Fawkes's face, and glorying in his revenge.]

MR. NORWOOD.-Marian! there is the preserver of both our lives. [She leaves her father, and the two embrace each other in front of the stage-coup de theatre-the father joins their hands.] Such perseverance deserves this recompense-gratitude deserves more, I cannot give.

ELLEN.-Happiness to the inhabitants of Norwood Vale. [Curtain drops.]

but more

ROB THE RED-HAND.

CHAP. V.

Dark, perplexing, and impatient, were the emotions, which agitated Reginald's bosom, as he returned hurriedly to Glanwern. He had heard tidings of his best beloved ;-he had been given to understand that his mysterious and inexplicable kinsman knew of her destination; and he was compelled to curb his anxiety and his haste, in obedience to a mandate, which recent events had rendered imperative. What, then, were his feelings, when he entered the court-yard of Glanwern? He was bound to utter secrecy, and knew, or, rather,

had good reason to believe, that any disclosure would be attended with failure and disappointment. He half resolved to turn backbut whither could he go? Pride forbade him to return to Maengwyn, and, although, any person in the district would gladly and readily receive him as a guest, his mind was too agitated, and his frame too wearied to induce him to wander farther. He entered the house, therefore, and proceeded at once to the apartment, usually occupied by the family.

Here he found them, as before, mournfully assembled, with the exception of the bereaved mother, who had been persuaded to retire to her chamber, to seek in sleep a temporary oblivion from her sorrows. As Reginald entered the room, the young men pressed eagerly forward to enquire the success of his mission, when he told them at once the obligation imposed by the Red-Hand: he ventured, however, so far to relieve their anxiety, as to inform them of his engagement to meet his kinsman at night, when he hoped to rescue Janet from her thraldom; and while the youngest son hastened to carry the tidings to his poor afflicted mother, the father threw himself upon Reginald's neck, and fervently wept his joyful gratitude. That most salutary and encouraging of all feelings, Hope

which draws towards itself,

The flame with which it kindles,"

now animated the bosoms of the family; and a portion of the customary hospitable bustle, for which Glanwern was so renowned, once more stirred through the house. The servants, who, as is customary in a Welsh Laird's" establishment, had been bred and born in the family, shared the glad feelings, which Reginald's report had communicated; and the good old housekeeper (herself a distant relation of Mr. Meredith) would kiss "the brave lad," as she called Reginald, and bless him for his courage.

In the midst of this favourable revulsion, the heavy and formal equipage of Sir Reginald Owen was descried slowly ascending the hill, upon which Glanwern was situated. An exclamation of surprise burst from every mouth, and many were the conjectures as to the cause of this untimely visit. While the cavalcade, (for there was an avant-courier, as well as four other outriders, each correctly equipped in the livery of the baronet,) was yet at some distance, the carriage halted, and the avant-courier was dispatched at a quicker pace towards the mansion, leaving the lumbering coach to follow more leisurely. The man rode up to the entrance, and delivered a message from Sir Reginald, to the effect, that, if Mr. Meredith was not too much indisposed to see him, he had some information of importance to communicate. Mr. Meredith, of course, expressed his pleasure at Sir Reginald's visit; and, after some short time was occupied in marshalling the attendants, the baronet entered the room, our hero having previously withdrawn, for fear of the enactment of a

scene, which might prove any thing but agreeable, under the existing circumstances of the family.

With a bow, which would have been worthy of the most illustrious Noodle, Sir Reginald opened his address. He had heard, he said, with inexpressible sorrow and indignation, of the outrage, which had been perpetrated upon his daughter, and, as a magistrate, he had come to offer all the assistance in his power, in order to effect a discovery of the villains. And this he now freely offered, notwithstanding certain strong suspicions (here he grew more energetic) attached to more than one member of his own family, as being principally implicated in this horrible transaction—“ Yes, Mr. Meredith!" continued the baronet, his voice and whole frame quivering with passion; I grieve to say, that everything conspires to fix the guilt of this great-this unheard-of enormity upon my rash and wretched son, in the first place, and upon his diabolical abettor and coadjutor, Robert Owen, commonly called the Red-Hand, in the second. God forbid, Sir! that, in the just performance of my duties to the community, I should shield, or attempt to shield, either of these unhappy, but wicked men from the punishment so justly due to their crimes : I have already issued warrants for their apprehension; and entrusted their execution to men, who well know their haunts-so that before sun-rise to-morrow, I hope to have possession of both their bodies, when they shall be treated as they deserve, with the utmost rigour of the law!"

Anxious and sorrowful as Mr. Meredith was, he could scarcely refrain from smiling at the baronet's suspicion of the culprits; and he proceeded at once to convince him, at least, of Reginald's entire innocence. Nay, he went so far as to say, that the youth had been most sedulous and indefatigable, both in the discovery of his daughter's concealment, as well as in the detection of the real criminals; and, farther, that he had sanguine hopes of success: as to the RedHand, he would not say so much for him; as nobody was acquainted with the part he had taken in the transaction.

The majority of parents would have exceedingly rejoiced at such an establishment of a suspected son's innocence of a crime so atrocious but Sir Reginald Owen was very unlike the majority of parents, and, instead of feeling pleased, he actually felt nettled-that any contradiction should be made to an opinion, he had so decidedly, and so dogmatically formed.

It is kind and considerate of you, Sir," he stiffly replied, "thus to extenuate my son's conduct; but, permit me to inform you, that I possess the best means of intelligence; and that I know he is guilty of this crime. From what you tell me, I fear, he can add the most artful dissimulation to his other sins, and I grieve that he should so disgrace his family."

Mr. Meredith knew his neighbour's strange, and conceited disposition, and was in no humour to argue with him; he, therefore, contented himself with the expression of a hope, that the baronet might