Part 34 (2/2)

_Peter_ (_rubbing his head, and getting up slowly_). 'Tis well--'tis very well I had resolved before to turn you away; now you may expect the severest chastis.e.m.e.nt. Take warning this moment, you old----

_Old Bar._ (_lifting up his cudgel_). You old what?

_Peter._ I'll swear the peace against you. Take care what you are about.

This is a violent a.s.sault, you know; and you don't know him you are beating.

_Old Bar._ Don't I?

_Peter._ No, you don't--but I'll tell you. This woman changed me at nurse, and I can prove it. I--yes--I, humble as I stand here, with my head broken also--am no less than Peter Etheridge--the young Squire!

_Old Bar._ Look at the almanac, dame. Is the harvest moon at full? He's mad, indeed!

_Peter._ I am not. Mrs Bargrove, where is your accomplice, Nelly Armstrong? You see I know all. (_Mrs Bargrove weeps, but makes no answer._) I say again confess all, and then, perhaps, I may pardon you, and let your husband keep his place.

_Old Bar._ Keep my place, and so you are Peter Etheridge, are you?

_Peter._ I am, and she knows it well.

_Old Bar._ Well, but I don't. I only know you as my foolish son, Peter Bargrove, and so long as you are so supposed to be, I shall not permit you to insult your mother. So, Mr Peter, I'll just take the liberty of giving you a little wholesome chastis.e.m.e.nt, which I hope may prove beneficial.

[_Old Bargrove beats Peter round the room, while Mrs Bargrove tries to prevent him._

_Peter._ I'll tell my mother, Lady Etheridge! that I will. I'll go directly.

[_Peter runs off. Mr and Mrs Bargrove sit down. Mrs Bargrove sobbing._

_Old Bar._ (_panting_). The scoundrel!

_Enter Lucy, in her bonnet, from walking._

_Lucy._ Good Heavens, father, what was all that noise? Mother, why, what _is_ the matter?

_Old Bar._ Matter enough; here's your brother Peter gone out of his senses. But I have rubbed him well down with this cudgel.

_Mrs Bar._ (_crying_). He's mad, Lucy, quite mad! Called me an infamous old woman, and said that I changed him at nurse. He will have it, that he is Peter Etheridge.

_Lucy_ (_confounded_). Good heavens! how strange! (_Aside_) I hardly know what to think. That gipsy's knowledge--and now my brother--where could he have obtained similar information?--yet it cannot be, she is too good a woman.

_Old Bar._ What do you say, Lucy?

_Lucy._ Nothing, father.

_Old Bar._ Did you ever hear of such conduct?

_Lucy._ He must have been told so, or he never would have been so violent.

_Old Bar._ So violent! who could have told him such a falsehood? or who would have believed it for a moment, but a fool like him?

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