Crombe, Do you remember in my father's house Your life once stood in danger for a crime-- Which I'll not name--when mercy at my plea Was meted you in place of punishment? Crombe. Well I remember. Countess of Buchan. You were thankful then, And held your life at my command. The time---- Crombe. My lady, if some service you require Perilling my life, I'll do it willingly; But had you urged my love, my duteous love, And not my debt, I had been happier. Countess of Buchan. I beg your pardon, sir. Indeed, I think The service I require may cost your life, But surely something dearer. I am whirled From thought to thought: my mind lacks breath. Good Crombe, You owe me nothing. Will you, if I bid, Procure me black dishonour, and yourself A name of loathing? Crombe. No, my lady. Countess of Buchan. How? Crombe. If I beheld you hurrying to your shame, I'd keep your honour holy with my sword, And send it hot to heaven. Countess of Buchan. Well.--You're a Scot? I mean, you long for Scotland's freedom. Crombe. Yes. Countess of Buchan. Are you acquainted with the news? Crombe. Of Bruce? I've heard they mean to crown him king to-day; But since my lord of Fife is England's friend---- Countess of Buchan. Yes, yes! But are you glad? Crombe. Most heartily. I think of joining Bruce. Countess of Buchan. My timorous heart, Fie, fie!--I knew you were a noble man. You will put no construction but the right On what I mean to do. Both you and I Must be dishonoured in the world's regard: I, an unfaithful wife; you, go-between. Saddle two horses; lead them secretly A mile beyond the castle. There I'll mount And ride with you to Scone. Go, instantly. I, Isobel Macduff, will crown Bruce king. Crombe. But, noble lady--not for fear, but safety-- What of pursuit? Countess of Buchan. Pursuit? I am a mint, And coin ideas. Come--come out! It's gold! My husband's horses must be aired to-day. You'll see it done. Some of the grooms we'll bribe, And some will come unbought, and some we'll force Either to follow us, or quit their steeds: Leave nothing in the stables that can run. My lords--ha! ha!--are nowhere in the chase. Crombe. Captain, and countess, mistress, service-worthy, Be confident in me, as I in you, And the deed's done. [Goes out. Countess of Buchan. Now, world, wag, wag your tongues! I sacrifice my fame to make a king: And he will raise this nation's head again That lies so low; and they will honour him; And afterwards, perhaps, they'll honour me. Or if they slight me and my modest work, I shall be dead: I have enough to bear Of disrespect and slander here to-day, Without forecasting railing epitaphs. But some--nay, many of the worthiest, And many simple judgments too, will see The sunlight on my deed.