⁠Here, Madam, you can remain concealed from every body, and see the execution distinctly from the window. ⁠Yes; this is what I want. And you must let no creature come here, on any account. Keep your promise upon this point, I charge you. ⁠Trust me, Madam, nobody shall enter this room, though they carried a bag of gold in their hand. I have refused a large sum for the use of that window; and excepting some schoolboys and apprentices who have climbed up to the roof of the house, there is not a creature in the tenement, but Grizeld Bane and Black Bawldy, each in their place of confinement. ⁠I thank thee. Landlord, and will reward thee ​well: thou shalt be no loser for the money thou hast refused on my account. What is the hour? ⁠The abbey church struck eight, as I reckon, half an hour ago. ⁠Longer than that—much longer. The time should be close at hand for leading out the criminals. (Going to the window.) What a concourse of people are assembled! and such a deep silence through the whole! ⁠Ay; in the day of doom they will scarcely stand closer and quieter. ⁠Hold thy tongue: we know nothing of such matters. ⁠But what the holy book reveals to us. ⁠Leave me, I pray thee. I would be alone. [Landlord retires.] Half an hour! no half hour was ever of such a length.—Landlord! ho! Landlord! ⁠What is your pleasure, Madam? ​ ⁠Art thou sure that no reprieve has arrived? It must be past the hour. (Bell tolls.) Ha! the time is true. ⁠That awful sound! It gives notice that the prisoners will soon be led forth. Lord have mercy on their sinful souls! on all sinful souls! ⁠Thou may'st go: I would be alone.

⁠[Exit Landlord.

⁠Now comes the fearful consummation! Her arts, her allurements, her seeming beauty, her glamour, and her power,—what will they all amount to when the noon of this day shall be past? a few black ashes, and a few scorched bones.—Fye upon these cowardly thoughts,—this sinking confidence! Revenge is sweet; revenge is noble; revenge is natural; what price is too dear for revenge?—Why this tormenting commotion? To procure false evidence for the conviction of one whom we know or believe to be guilty,—is this a sin past redemption? No; it is but the sacrifice of truth for right and useful ends. I know it is; reason says it is; and I will be firm and bold, in spite of human infirmity. ​ ⁠Yes, dearest; thou art very bold. There is not a cloven foot, nor a horned head of them all, wickeder and bolder than thou art. ⁠What brings thee here? ⁠To be in such noble company. ⁠What dost thou mean by that? ⁠Every word hath its meaning, Lady, though every meaning hath not its word, as thou very well knowest. I am great; thou art great; but the greatest of all stands yonder. (Pointing to the farther corner of the room.) ⁠What dost thou point at? I see nothing. ⁠But thou wilt soon, dearest. The master we both serve is standing near us. His stature is lofty; his robe is princely; his eyes are two flames of fire. And one stands behind him, like a chieftain of elrich degree.—But why is he thus? ​Can no power undo that hateful noose? It wavers before my eyes so distractingly! ⁠Thou art, indeed, distracted and visionary. There is nobody here but ourselves. ⁠The master of us all is waiting yonder; and he will not sink to his nether court again till the fair lady is with him. ⁠O! I understand thy moody fancy now. The master thou meanest is waiting for Violet Murrey. ⁠Yes, dearest, if he can get her. If not, he will have some one else, who is worthy to bear him company. He must have his meed and his mate: he will not return empty-handed, when a fair lady is to be had. ⁠Heaven forfend! (The bell now sounds quicker.) That bell sounds differently: they are now leading them forth. ⁠Come, come here, darling: here is a sight to ​make the eyes flash, and the heart's blood stir in its core. Here is a brave sight for thee!

The Market-place prepared for the Execution, with two Stakes, and faggots heaped round them, erected in the middle, but nearer the bottom than the front of the Stage. A great Crowd of people are discovered. The Bell tolls rapidly, and then stops.

Enter the Sheriff and Magistrates, and Mary Macmurren, supported by a Clergyman, and guarded.

⁠Now, prisoner, may God be merciful to thee! Make use of the few moments of life that remain, by making confession before these good people of the wickedness thou hast committed, and the justice of the sentence that condemns thee. It is all the reparation now in thy power; and may God accept it of thee! ⁠Oh, hone! oh, hone! ​ ⁠Dost thou not understand what I say? Make confession. ⁠Oh, hone! oh, hone! ⁠Dost thou hear me, woman? Make confession. ⁠Confession? ⁠Yes, confession, woman. ⁠Tell me what it is, an' I'll say 't. ⁠How cunning she is to the last! ⁠Didst thou not confess on thy trial that thou wert a witch, and hadst tryste-meetings and dealings with the devil? ⁠Lord hae mercy on me: I said what I thought, and I thought as ye bade me. The Lord hae mercy on a wicked woman! for that, I know, I am. ⁠How cunning she is again! She calls herself wicked, but will not call herself witch. ​ ⁠Mary Macmurren, make confession ere you die, and God will be more merciful to you. ⁠Oh, hone! oh, hone! miserable wretch that I am! Do ye mak confession for me, Sir, and I'll say 't after you, as weel as I dow. Oh, hone! oh, hone!

⁠There is no making any thing of her now, miserable wretch! Lead her on to the stake, and make her pray with you there, if the Evil One hath not got the entire mastery over her to the very last. (The Clergyman leads Mary Macmurren to the stake.) And now there is a sadder duty to perform; the fair, the young, and the gentle must be brought forth to shame and to punishment.

⁠Now, Madam, it is time that I should receive from you any commands you may wish to entrust me with: they shall be faithfully obeyed. ⁠I thank you, Mr. Sheriff. What may be ​allowed for mitigating my sufferings, I know you have already ordered: have you also given similar directions in behalf of my miserable companion? ⁠I have, Madam. ⁠Thanks for your mercy! My passage to a better state will be short: and of God's mercy there I have no misgivings; for of the crime laid to my charge I am as innocent as the child newly born; as you yourself, worthy Sir, or this good man on whose arm I now lean. ⁠If this be so, Lady, woe to the witnesses, the judges, and the jury by whom you are condemned!

⁠Say not so. I am condemned by what honest, though erring men, believed to be the truth. What God alone knows to be the truth, is not for man's direction.—(To Rutherford.) Weep not for me, my kind friend. You had good cause to believe that you had seen me in company with a creature not of this world, and you were compelled to declare it.

⁠I wish I had died, ere that evidence had been given! ​ ⁠Be comforted! be comforted! for you make me good amends, in that your heart refuses, in spite of such belief, to think me guilty of the crime for which I am to suffer. There is another—you know whom I mean—who thinks me innocent. When I am gone, ye will be often together, and speak and think of Violet Murrey. This is the memory I shall leave behind me: my evil fame with others is of little moment. And yet I needs must weep to think of it; 't is human weakness. ⁠God bless and strengthen thee, my daughter, in this thy last extremity! ⁠Fear not for that: I am strengthened. You have prayed for me fervently, and I have prayed for myself; and think ye I shall not be supported? (Looking round on the crowd.) And these good people, too, some of them, I trust, will pray for me. They will one day know that I am innocent. ⁠We know it already.—She must be so.—She is innocent. ​ ⁠I command silence!—Mr. Sheriff, your duty calls upon you. ⁠Madam. (Turns away.) ⁠You speak, and turn from me: I understand you. ⁠I am compelled to say, though most unwillingly, our time is run.

⁠And I am ready.—(Turning to Rutherford.) The last fearful step of my unhappy course only remains: you have gone far enough, my good Sir. Receive my dying thanks for all your kindness, and let us part. Farewell! till we meet in a better world!

⁠Nay, nay; I will be with thee till all is over, cost what it may,—though it should kill me. ⁠Most generous man! thou art as a parent to me, and, woe the day! thy heart will be wrung as though thou wert so in truth. ⁠Why so dilatory? Proceed to the place of execution. ​ ⁠Not so hasty, Sir! The psalm must first be sung. ⁠It will be sung when she is at the stake. ⁠Would thou wert there in her stead, heartless bigot!—(Aloud.) Raise the psalm here. ⁠You are very humane, good Sheriff, but we shall, if you please, proceed to the place appointed. ⁠Stop! stop! stop the execution. ⁠She is innocent! she is innocent! Ye shall not murder the innocent! ⁠Who art thou, who wouldst stop the completion of the law? ⁠One whom you have known; whom you have looked on often. ​ ⁠The holy faith preserve us! art thou a living man? ⁠Murrey of Torwood! doth the grave give up its dead, when the sun is shining in the sky? ⁠Look to the lady, she is in a swoon. ⁠My dear, my noble child! thine own misery thou couldst sustain, but mine has overwhelmed thee: dear, dear child! ⁠Dungarren broke from prison, in defiance of the law!

⁠In defiance of all earthly things. (Pushing the Baillie aside, and rushing on to Violet.) Who art thou? (Looking sternly at Murrey.) What right hast thou to support Violet Murrey?

⁠The right of a father; a miserable father. ⁠Her father is dead. ​ ⁠Not so, Dungarren: I would I were dead, if it could save her life. ⁠This good man, whose word is truth itself laid Murrey of Torwood in the grave with his own hands. ⁠Did he examine the face of the corse which he so piously interred? I had changed clothes with my faithful servant.—— But it is a story tedious to tell; and can ye doubt his claims to identity, who, in the very act of making them, subjects his own life to the forfeit of the law? ⁠By my faith! he is a condemned murderer, and will be required of our hands; keep well on the watch, that he may not escape.

⁠She seems to revive; she will soon recover. (To Murrey.) And it was you who were with her on the heath, and in the cave?

⁠It was I, Dungarren. ⁠No apparition, no clandestine lover, but her own father! ​ ⁠Call him not father! I own him not! Send him away, send him away, dear Robert! ⁠My generous child! the strength of thy affection is wonderful, but it is all vain: I here submit myself willingly to the authority of the law, though innocent of the crime for which I am condemned—the wilful murder of a worthy gentleman. And now, Mr. Sheriff, you cannot refuse to reprieve her, who is mainly convicted for that, in being seen with me, she seemed to hold intercourse with apparitions, or beings of another world. ⁠You speak reason: God be praised for it! ⁠God be praised, she is safe! ⁠There be other proofs against her besides that. ⁠Be they what they may, they are false! ⁠Hear, my Lord Sheriff,—hear me, your honour ​—hear me, Dungarren;—hear me, a' present! She's innocent;—I stole it, I stole it mysel: the Lady Annabel tempted me, and I stole it. ⁠Simple fool! it is not for theft she is condemned. ⁠I ken that weel, your honour. She's condemned for being a witch, and she's nae witch: I stole it mysel and gied it to the Lady Annabel, wha cuttet the hole i' the sleeve o't, I'll be sworn. Little did I think what wicked purpose she was after. ⁠Yes, yes, my callant! I comprehend thee now: it is that gown which was produced in Court, thou art talking of. Thou stole it for the Lady Annabel, and she cut a piece out of it, which she pretended to have found in the sick-chamber? ⁠E'en sae, your honour. Whip me, banish me, or hang me, an' it man be sae, but let the innocent leddy abee.

⁠Well, well; I'll take the punishing of thee into my own hands, knave. What shrieks are these? [Repeated shrieks are heard from the window of a house, and two figures are seen ​indistinctly within, struggling: a dull stifled sound succeeds, and then a sudden silence.] There is mischief going on in that house.

⁠Let me enter: I charge you within, whoever ye be, to open the door. No answer! (Knocks again.) Still no answer! Open the door, or it shall be forced open. ⁠Ha, ha! what want ye, good Mr. Magistrate? ⁠Some body has suffered violence in this house; open the door immediately. ⁠And what would you have from the house that ye are so impatient to enter? There be corses enow in the churchyard, I trow; ye need not come here for them. ⁠She is a mad woman, and has murdered somebody. ⁠Mad, your honour! she's the witch we ha' been seeking in vain to apprehend, and the blackest, chiefest hag o' them a'. ​ ⁠By my faith, we mun deal cannily wi' her, or she'll mak her escape fra' us again through the air. ⁠Open the door, woman, and you sha' n't be forced; we want to enter peaceably. Who is with you, there? Who was it that shrieked so fearfully? ⁠Never trouble thy head about that, Mr. Magistrate; she'll never disturb you more. ⁠Who is it you have with you? ⁠Know ye that token? It was a fair lady who owned it, but she has no need of it now: hand me up a winding sheet. ⁠The cursed hag has destroyed some lady.—Officers, enter by force, and do your duty. Witch or no witch, she cannot injure strong men like you, in the open light of day. ​ ⁠Stand back, every one of you, and leave clear room round the body. It is the Lady Annabella. She has been strangled:—she has struggled fearfully; her features are swollen, and her eyes starting from her head; she has struggled fearfully.——Stand back, I say; retire to your places, every one of you, or I'll deal with you as breakers of the peace. ⁠Be not so angry with them, good Baillie: they must have some frightful sight to stare at, and they will be disappointed of that which they came for. ⁠Disappointed, sheriff! You do not mean, I hope, to reprieve that foul witch at the other stake: is not one execution enough for them? It makes me sick to see such blood-thirsting in a Christian land. ⁠Ay, you say true; that poor wretch had gone out of my head. ⁠Wretch enough, good sooth! the blackest witch in Renfrewshire, Grizeld Bane excepted. ​ ⁠But we need not burn her now: her evidence may he wanted to convict the other. ⁠Not a whit! we have evidence at command to burn her twenty times over. A bird in hand is a wise proverb. If we spare her now, she may be in Norway or Lapland when we want her again for the stake. ⁠And this is thy fearful end, most miserable woman! It wrings my heart to think of what thou wert, and what thou mightst have been. ⁠Your authority having, on these undoubted proofs of her innocence, reprieved her, may I request that she be now withdrawn from the public gaze? It is not fit that she should be further exposed. ⁠True, Torwood; you shall lead her back to prison, where she shall only remain till safe and commodious apartments are prepared for her. As for yourself, I am sorry to say, we have no power to lodge you otherwise than as a condemned man, obnoxious to the last punishment of the law. ​ ⁠O say not so, dear Sir! He had made his escape, he was safe, he was free, and he surrendered himself into your hands to save the life of his child. Will ye take advantage of that? it were cruel and ungenerous. ⁠We act, lady, under authority, and must not be guided by private opinions and affections. ⁠Most assuredly! it is our duty to obey the law and to make it be obeyed, without fear or favour. ⁠On my knees, I beseech you! (Kneeling and catching hold of the Baillie and Sheriff.) I beseech you for an innocent man! Royal mercy may be obtained if ye will grant the time—time to save the life of the innocent—innocent, I mean, of intentional murder. ⁠Has he further proof of such innocence to produce than was shown on his trial? ⁠If he has not, all application for mercy were vain. He slew the man with whom he had a quarrel, without witnesses. If he is innocent, it ​is to God and his own conscience, but the law must deem him guilty. ⁠He did it not without witnesses, but he who was present is dead. Alas, alas! if Fatheringham had been alive, he had been justified. ⁠Forbear to urge that plea, lady: that the only person who was present at the quarrel or combat is dead or disappeared, throws a greater shade of darkness on the transaction. ⁠These are hard words, Baillie, and unnecessary. ⁠You may think so, Sheriff, but if you yield on this point, I entirely dissent from it; ay, from granting any delay to the execution of his sentence. Shall a man be made gainer for having defied the law and broken from his prison? ⁠I am afraid we can do nothing for you. You must prepare for the worst.

⁠I came here so prepared, worthy Sir: I knew you could do nothing for me. (To Violet, who again kneels imploringly). Forbear, dearest ​child! thou humblest thyself in vain. I will meet fate as a man: do not add to my suffering by giving way to such frantic humiliation. (Raising her from the ground.) Dungarren, I commit her to your protection. You will be her honourable friend.

⁠Ay, and her devoted husband, also, if you esteem me worthy to be so. ⁠Worthy to be her husband, were she the daughter of a king, my noble Robert Kennedy. But thou must not be the son-in-law of such a one as I am,—one whose life has been terminated by—— ⁠I despise the prejudice!

⁠But I do not! O! I cannot despise it! If my father must suffer, I will never marry thee, and I will never marry another.—My fate is sealed. Thou and this good man (pointing to Rutherford) will be my friends, and Heaven will, in pity, make my earthly course a short one. A creature so stricken with sorrow and disgrace has nothing to do in this world but to wait, in humble patience, till God in his mercy takes her out of it. ​

⁠Come from this hateful spot, my sweet child! Cruel as our lot is, we shall be, for what remains of this day, together. ⁠Ay, there she comes, and the deel raging within her.—The blackest witch of a'.—Let her be brunt at the stake that was meant for the leddy.—Hurra! hurra! mair faggots and a fiercer fire for Grizeld!—Hurra! and defiance to Satan and his agents!

[A trumpet sounds without, and the tumult increases, till a company of Soldiers appears under arms, and enter an Officer, accompanied by Fatheringham.]

⁠You will please, Mr. Sheriff, to make the contents of this paper public. ⁠I charge every one here, at his peril, to be silent. (Reading.)

"Be it known unto all men, that the King's Majesty, with the Lords and Commons in ​Parliamant assembled, have decreed that the law punishing what has been called the crime of witchcraft as a felonious offence be repealed; and it is therefore repealed accordingly. Henceforth there shall no person be prosecuted at law as a wizard or witch, throughout these realms; and any person or persons who shall offer injury to any one, as being guilty of the supposed crime of witchcraft, shall be punished for such aggression. God save the King!"

⁠My certes! the dee has been better represented in the house of Parliament than a' the braid shires in the kingdom.—Sic a decree as that in a Christian land!—To mak Satan triumphant!—There 'll be fine gambols on moors and in kirkyards for this, I trow.—Parliament, forsooth! we hae sent bonnie members there, indeed, gin thae be the laws they mak.—And will Mary Macmurren escape after a'?—Out upon 't! She may be brunt at ony rate, for she is condemned by the gude auld law of our forefathers.—Ay, so she may; that stands to reason. ​ ⁠Desist, I say, or the soldiers shall disperse you forthwith. ⁠Would they burn the miserable creature for an imaginary crime; one may say, for a pastime!

⁠No, good Sir; not imaginary. She is a witch by her own confession. And that woman (pointing to Grizeld Bane) is also, by her own words, convicted of consorting and colleaguing with Satan,—an awful and mischievous witch.

⁠Is she so? ⁠Who says otherwise? The sun shines now, and that makes thee bold; but my time of power is coming. ⁠Is this you, Grizeld Bane? What brought you to this part of the country? ⁠The prince of the power of the air. ⁠There, Sir! you hear her confess it. And who is she? for you seem to know her. ⁠A miserable woman whose husband was hanged ​for murder, at Inverness, some years ago, and who thereupon became distracted. She was, when I left that country, kept in close custody. But she has, no doubt, escaped from her keepers, who may not be very anxious to reclaim her. ⁠We must secure her, then, and send her back to the north. ⁠Lay hands on me who dare! I defy you: my master is stronger than you all, since you sent him to his kingdom of darkness. Ye cannot stop the breath of a spirit, though you had a score of executioners at your beck. Lay hands upon me who dare! ⁠Nobody will do you any violence, Dame; but you will quietly retire with these two friends of yours (motioning significantly to two Soldiers, who advance and take charge of her). Nay; make no resistance: look steadfastly in my face, and you will plainly perceive that you must go. ⁠Now, Mr. Sheriff, release your prisoners, since the laws against witchcraft are abrogated. ​ ⁠I do it most gladly. Would you had authority to command the release of all my prisoners. ⁠It is only those condemned for witchcraft, whose enlargement I have authority to command. ⁠But there is a prisoner condemned for murder whom thou, James Fatheringham, knowest to be innocent, and therefore thou art by nature authorised, yea, compelled, to demand his release,—I mean, the reversion of his sentence. ⁠Murrey of Torwood in the land of the living! ⁠No thanks to thee that I am so! To desert me, and leave the country too, circumstanced as thou knewest me to be,—the only witness of that fatal quarrel,—was it the act of a friend, of a Christian, of a man? ⁠No, neither of a Christian, nor a heathen, had it been a voluntary act. But you were not yet in custody, when I left the country, with no intention of going further than the southern coast of Ireland, to visit a dying relation. ​ ⁠In Ireland all these years? ⁠Be not so hastv. That coast I never reached: a violent storm drove our vessel out to sea, where she was boarded and captured by a pirate. My varied tale, dear Murrey, you shall hear on a fitter occasion. Thank God that I am now here! and have this day accompanied my friend (pointing to the Officer) on his public errand, still in time to save thee. For hearing, on my return to England, some weeks ago, thy sad story, how thou hadst been condemned, hadst made thy escape from prison, how thy dead body was found in a pit, and interred,—I was in no hurry to proceed northwards, as the justification of thy memory could not be disappointed. ⁠Thou shouldst not have suffered even my memory to rest under such imputation,—no, not an hour. ⁠Dear father, be not so stern when deliverance,—a blessed deliverance,—is sent to thee. See; there is a tear in his eye. It was not want of friendship that detained him. ⁠I thank thee, sweet lady, for taking my part. ​It was not want of friendship that detained me; though Murrey has always been so hasty and ardent, and I so deliberate and procrastinating, it is wonderful we should ever have been friends. ⁠No, not wonderful: though slow yourself, you loved him, perhaps, for his ardour. ⁠Yes, young man, you are right. But how was it that he loved me? if indeed, he ever loved me. Perhaps he never did. ⁠I did—I do—and will ever love thee, wert thou as slow and inert as a beetle. ⁠Now ye are friends, and this terrible tempest has past over us! May such scenes as we have this day witnessed never again disgrace a free and a Christian land!

⁠[A murmur amongst the Crowd.]

⁠Good people, be pacified; and instead of the burning of a witch, ye shall have six hogsheads of ale set abroach at the cross, to drink the health of Violet Murrey, and a grand funeral into the bargain. ​ ⁠Forbear, Sheriff: the body of this unhappy lady is no subject for pageantry. She shall be interred with decent privacy; and those who have felt the tyranny of uncontrolled passions will think, with conscious awe, of her end.

⁠[The Curtain drops.]