"Lord, who shall stand, if Thou, O Lord, Should'st mark iniquity? But yet with Thee forgiveness is, That fear'd Thou mayest be." BRODIE. I think I'll go. "My son the Deacon was aye regular at kirk." If the old man could see his son, the Deacon! I think I'll----. Ay, who _shall_ stand? There's the rub! And forgiveness, too? There's a long word for you! I learnt it all lang syne, and now ... hell and ruin are on either hand of me, and the devil has me by the leg. "My son, the Deacon...!" Eh, God! but there's no fool like an old fool! (_Becoming conscious of the others._) Rogues! SMITH. Take my arm, Deacon. BRODIE. Down, dog, down! (Stay and be drunk with your equals.) Gentlemen and ladies, I have already cursed you pretty heavily. Let me do myself the pleasure of wishing you--a very--good evening. (_As he goes out, HUNT, who has been staggering about in the crowd, falls on a settle, as about to sleep._) END OF THE FIRST ACT ACT II TABLEAU IV EVIL AND GOOD _The Stage represents the Deacon's workshop; benches, shavings, tools, boards, and so forth. Doors, C., on the street, and L., into the house. Without, church bells; not a chime, but a slow, broken tocsin._ SCENE I BRODIE (_solus_). My head! my head! It's the sickness of the grave. And those bells go on!... go on ... inexorable as death and judgment. (There they go; the trumpets of respectability, sounding encouragement to the world to do and spare not, and not to be found out. Found out! And to those who are they toll as when a man goes to the gallows.) Turn where I will are pitfalls hell-deep. Mary and her dowry; Jean and her child--my child; the dirty scoundrel Moore; my uncle and his trust; perhaps the man from Bow Street. Debt, vice, cruelty, dishonour, crime; the whole canting, lying, double-dealing, beastly business! "My son the Deacon--Deacon of the Wrights!" My thoughts sicken at it. (O, the Deacon, the Deacon! Where's a hat for the Deacon, where's a hat for the Deacon's headache? (_Searching._) This place is a piggery. To be respectable and not to find one's hat.) SCENE II _To him, JEAN, a baby in her shawl, C._ JEAN (_who has entered silently during the Deacon's last words_). It's me, Wullie. BRODIE (_turning upon her_). What! You here again? (you again!) JEAN. Deacon, I'm unco vexed. BRODIE. Do you know what you do? Do you know what you risk? (Is there nothing--nothing!--will make you spare me this idiotic, wanton persecution?) JEAN. I was wrong to come yestreen; I ken that fine. But the day it's different; I but to come the day, Deacon, though I ken fine it's the Sabbath, and I think shame to be seen upon the streets. BRODIE. See here, Jean. You must go now. I'll come to you to-night; I swear that. But now I'm for the road. JEAN. No' till you've heard me, William Brodie. Do ye think I came to pleasure mysel', where I'm no' wanted? I've a pride o' my ain.