_)

SMITH. Hold on, Deacon!

BRODIE. Let me go. Hands off, I say! I'll not touch him. (_Stands
weighing dice in his hand._) But as for that thieving whinger, Ainslie,
I'll cut his throat between this dark and to-morrow's. To the bone.
(_Addressing the company._) Rogues, rogues, rogues! (_Singing without._)
Ha! what's that?

AINSLIE. It's the psalm-singing up by at the Holy Weaver's. And, O
Deacon, if ye're a Christian man----

THE PSALM WITHOUT:--

"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