[_Sensation._ LYDIA _screams and swoons in_ CASHEL'S _arms_. ACT III _Wiltstoken. A room in the Warren Lodge_ LYDIA _at her writing table_ LYDIA. O Past and Present, how ye do conflict As here I sit writing my father's life! The autumn woodland woos me from without With whispering of leaves and dainty airs To leave this fruitless haunting of the past. My father was a very learned man. I sometimes think I shall oldmaided be Ere I unlearn the things he taught to me. _Enter_ POLICEMAN POLICEMAN. Asking your ladyship to pardon me For this intrusion, might I be so bold As ask a question of your people here Concerning the Queen's peace? LYDIA. My people here Are but a footman and a simple maid; And both have craved a holiday to join Some local festival. But, sir, your helmet Proclaims the Metropolitan Police. POLICEMAN. Madam, it does; and I may now inform you That what you term a local festival Is a most hideous outrage 'gainst the law, Which we to quell from London have come down: In short, a prizefight. My sole purpose here Is to inquire whether your ladyship Any bad characters this afternoon Has noted in the neighborhood. LYDIA. No, none, sir. I had not let my maid go forth to-day Thought I the roads unsafe. POLICEMAN. Fear nothing, madam: The force protects the fair. My mission here Is to wreak ultion for the broken law. I wish your ladyship good afternoon. LYDIA. Good afternoon. [_Exit_ POLICEMAN. A prizefight! O my heart! Cashel: hast thou deceived me? Can it be Thou hast backslidden to the hateful calling I asked thee to eschew? O wretched maid, Why didst thou flee from London to this place To write thy father's life, whenas in town Thou might'st have kept a guardian eye on him-- What's that? A flying footstep-- _Enter_ CASHEL CASHEL. Sanctuary! The law is on my track. What! Lydia here! LYDIA. Ay: Lydia here. Hast thou done murder, then, That in so horrible a guise thou comest?