've licked their boots, have I? I'm their man, their tool,
their chattel. It's the bottom rung of the ladder of shame. I sound with
my foot, and there's nothing underneath but the black emptiness of
damnation. Ah, Deacon, Deacon, and so this is where you've been
travelling all these years; and it's for this that you learned French!
The gallows ... God help me, it begins to dog me like my shadow.
_There's_ a step to take! And the jerk upon your spine! How's a man to
die with a night-cap on? I've done with this. Over yonder, across the
great ocean, is a new land, with new characters, and perhaps new lives.
The sun shines, and the bells ring, and it's a place where men live
gladly; and the Deacon himself can walk without terror, and begin again
like a new-born child. It must be good to see day again and not to fear;
it must be good to be one's self with all men. Happy like a child, wise
like a man, free like God's angels ... should I work these hands off and
eat crusts, there were a life to make me young and good again. And it's
only over the sea! O man, you have been blind, and now your eyes are
opened. It was half a life's nightmare, and now you are awake. Up,
Deacon, up, it's hope that's at the window! Mary! Mary! Mary!

SCENE X

BRODIE, MARY, OLD BRODIE

_BRODIE has fallen into a chair, with his face upon the table. Enter
MARY, by the side door, pushing her father's chair. She is supposed to
have advanced far enough for stage purposes before BRODIE is aware of
her. He starts up and runs to her._

BRODIE. Look up, my lass, look up, and be a woman! I.... O, kiss me,
Mary! give me a kiss for my good news.

MARY. Good news, Will? Is it changed?

BRODIE. Changed? Why, the world's a different colour! It was night, and
now it's broad day, and I trust myself again. You must wait, dear, wait,
and I must work and work; and before the week is out, as sure as God
sees me, I'll have made you happy. O you may think me broken, hounds,
but the Deacon's not the man to be run down; trust him, he shall turn a
corner yet, and leave you snarling! And you, Poll, you. I've done
nothing for you yet; but, please God, I'll make your life a life of
gold; and wherever I am, I'll have a part in your happiness, and you'll
know it, by heaven! and bless me.

MARY. O Willie, look at him; I think he hears you, and is trying to be
glad with us.

OLD BRODIE. My son--Deacon--better man than I was.

BRODIE. O, for God's sake, hear