Scene:—An old-fashioned, comfortable, oak-panelled room. The furniture dark and cumbersome. Down stage R., a door. Up stage, R., C, capacious fireplace, with solid mantel-piece above it. At back R., and L., two substantial casement windows. The windows are in deep recesses, about two steps above the stage level. These recesses are sheltered by heavy draperies. Between the windows, up stage, C., a massive bureau, opened, with writing materials upon it. Before bureau a square stool. On L., of bureau a chair. Up stage L., a door. Below door L., a settee; above settee, a bell rope. Before fire a comfortable arm-chair; L. of arm-chair, a small table with a reading lamp upon it. On mantel-piece, a clock to strike; other articles of furniture, etc., to fill spaces. The flooring of dark oak, square carpeting R., of stage. The whole to produce the effect of "a woman's room" Curtains closed, L. window unfastened. See written letter on bureau. All gas out behind. Gas one-half up inside. Music for act drop.
It is night time—no moon. The lighting to be sombre throughout the act.
(Before the curtain rises Felicity's voice is heardsinging off R.)There's a jingle to make a maiden gladAnd flush the skies above her,The clink of the spurs of her soldier lad,"I am a faithful lover."Sun is shining, flow'rs are blooming,Light and bloom are not for aye;What if sob and sigh are looming,Hear the jingle while you may!CURTAIN.There's a jingle to make a maiden glad,etc.(Kate enters at close of song—puts keys on table.)Kate.(leans over back of arm-chair—listening)Poor little bird, singing of her soldier lover. Howam I to tell her that her soldier's heart is not of sobright a colour as his jacket? How can I tell her,when there is another soldier lover in the world sogood and so true?(sits R., of table—she opens herlocket; it contains a likeness of Eric)Eric! Ah!the man who painted this miniature hasn't done Ericjustice; the face is too white and pink, and themoustache isn't at all the right shade. I know Icould catch the exact tone of Eric's moustache if Iwere a painter. It's a kind of browny, yellowy,red-tinted, a sad auburn, with a sea-weedy wash about it.Under the nose it suggests one of our daybreak skies,and there, where the ends droop, a sunset of Turner's.Dear old Eric!(kisses locket)(There is a knock at the door L.,; Kate hastily closesthe locket and glances at clock.)It's late!(aloud)Who is it?(The door opens, L., and Christiana enters, knittingstocking.)Chris.Gilbert Hythe and Gunnion, with a boxof clothes for the girl,(down by settee L.)(Gilbert and Gunnion enter—Gil. carrying a verydiminutive wooden trunk; he places the box downL. C., and doffs his hat. Gil. still has his gun withhim; he goes up to bureau.)Gun.Good-night to you, Squire. Gilbert Hythe'sbeen so kind as to lend me a hand with this blessedbox.(pointing to box)My child's wardrobe, Squire,scraped together by the sweat of my brow.Kate.Sit down, Gilbert.(Gilbert puts his gundown L., of bureau and gets to R., of it, standing)Take Felicity's wardrobe upstairs into Felicity'sroom, Mr. Gunnion.(Gun. goes to take box—Chris.down L.)Chris.Excuse me, Squire, but before Gunniongoes I should like you to make note of the ale(Gun. drops box)that's been drawn from the new cask.The ale was in my keeping and it's due to me foryou to know of the loss.Gun.(on his knees—to Chris.)Drat you for amischievous hussy! Why, your own flesh and bloodhelped me to drive the tap in with a mallet, anddrank double what I did.Chris.More shame for an old man to lead apoor boy astray!Kate.(shaking her finger at Gun.)Oh! Mr.Gunnion, how could you!Gun.(rises—gets nearer table)Well, Squire,it's not a thing I've done afore, and it's not a thingI'm like to do again.Kate.Come, come, that's all right.Gun.And I've paid the penalty precious dear.I've had my yead under the pump from four o'clocktill past sunset, and wettin' my yead is a thing Idursn't do.Kate.Oh, dear!Gun.As for the drop o' drink, I was druv to itby grief.Kate.By grief?Gun.I'm an old man, I am, I ain't got a toothto my yead. I've had thirteen children, and nowthe last of 'em's gone. It ain't for an old man tosee the only set of teeth in his house walk out ofthe front door without takin' on a bit.(Felicity sings again off R.)Why, confound the brat, she's squalling in theSquire's place now. Don't 'ee stand it, Squire!(Felicity comes from door R., carrying a book anda little silken shawl. She gives book to Kate,and gently places the shawl on Kate's chair.)Drat you, what do you mean by vocalizing free andeasy like this? You ain't been called on for it. Doyou want to make your father look small?Fel.(R.)I beg Squire's pardon. If I didn'tsing I should cry. That's the worst of being toohappy—it makes people chokey.(Kate pats hercheek—seeing her box)Oh, father's brought mybits o' things,(crosses in front—she runs over tobox, throws open the lid and hurriedly empties it ofthe few mean articles of clothing it contains. Fromthe bottom of the box she takes out a small gaudilyframed picture)Oh, I am so glad! There's mylinsey, and my goloshes—my workbox!Gun.What do you mean by bits o' things?Leave your wardrobe alone.(Gun. hastily replaces the clothing. Fel. runs overto Kate and gives her the portrait.)Fel.Look, Squire—Tom Morris—ain't he handsome?Gun.(replacing clothes)Darn these things!(mumbling)What d'ye mean by tossing your thingson the floor in that way?(lifting box)Good-nightto you, Squire.(Christie goes up to chair by L., D.)I'll leave this in the gell's room and be off.Kate.Good-night, Gunnion.Fel.(goes to Gun.)Good-night, father. Gostraight home.Gun.Drat 'ee, what d'ye mean by that!(Fel. goes round back of Kate's chair to stool R.,and sits looking at photo.)Good-night to ye, Gilbert Hythe, and thank 'ee foryour help. Good-night, Christie,(shouldering box)Darn this wardrobe!(turning to look at Fel.)Ah!your twelve brothers and sisters never had a startin the world like o' this!(He goes off—Chris, closes the door after him, thensits on chair up L., knitting. Gil. comes to table,puts hat down.)Gil.The time's come for us to part company.I've brought my books and odds and ends, Squire,as I promised.Kate.But you must make one at the HarvestFeast, Gilbert. Who is to play with the children,and to set the old folks laughing, if you are missing?Gil.Folks will have to laugh at me, Squire, ifthey are to get a laugh out of me, to-morrow,(hetakes a few rusty keys and some small dog-earedbooks from his pocket, and places them on tablebefore Kate)Here are the keys—the Red Barn, thebarn below Fenning's field, the store house. Thekey of the oats house—(Kate puts key and moneyin key basket)—Gunnion's got.(puts books on table)There's my account—it's poor book-keeping, Squire,but plain. Will you cast your eye over it?Kate.(shaking her head)No!Gil.Thank you, Squire,(places a little bag ofmoney before her)John Buckle's rent, and Mrs.Tester's arrears—less some job wages paid by mesince Saturday. And that's all.Kate.Thank you Gilbert.Gil.And now, Squire, I can't say good-bye toyou in two words. Will you hear what I've to say?Kate.Certainly, Gilbert,(gives book to Felicity)(Gil. looks at Fel. and at Chris, and learn overthe back of Kate's chair.)Gil.(in an undertone to Kate)Can't it bebetween us two, Squire?Kate.No!Gil.(aside in Kate's ear)Kate, I'm almost adesperate man. Take care how you treat me to-night.Kate.(without moving, aside to Gil.)Howdare you speak to me like that?Gil.(aside to Kate)Reason before you let yourgood friends slip from you. I'll give you a chanceto consider what you are doing,(turns up to bureau—aloud)Squire, I want to scribble a few wordsto you.(pointing to bureau)May I write here?Kate.If you please.(Gil. sits at bureau and writes quickly.)(fretfully)What are all these, Felicity?Fel.(opening book and reading)"GilbertHythe's cures for cows." Shall I read 'em, Squire?Kate.Oh no.Fel.(from another book)"Poor mother's receiptfor brewing herb beer. Note: but nobody canbrew it like poor mother could."Kate.(takes the book from Fel. and reads—aside to Fel.)Gilbert's mother was my nurse,(takesbook from Fel.—looking over her shoulder at Gil.,who is writing)Poor fellow!Fel.(opens another book)"An account of JoeSkilliter's pig, who could say 'Yes' and 'No,' bymoving his ears. Note: When Joe's pig was killed itwas tough eating. Another argument against thespread of education."Gil.(rises and comes down to table. He placesa note before Kate)The few words, Squire,(shetakes the note)Ah! don't read 'em till I've gone.(Kate replaces the note with a shrug of the shoulders.Christie rises—to Fel.)Good-bye, littlewoman.Fel.(rises with a curtesy)Good-bye to ye, Mr.Hythe.(sits again)(Gil. is going.)Kate.(holds out her hand)Good-night, Gilbert.(Gil. looks at Chris., who is busy knitting, thenspeaks aside to Kate.)Gil.(in an undertone)You haven't read mynote yet, Squire.(Kate elevates her eyebrows insurprise—Gil. crosses to L., to Chris.)Good-bye,Chris., my girl.Chris.Turn up your collar, Gilbert, it's bittercold,(turns it up for him)Gil.You're right, there's a wet mist; we're goingto have a bad night, take my word for it. Good-nightto you.(He goes out L., Kate rises and goes to window R.)Kate.(looking out)Good-night. It is as blackas ink.(shivering)Christie, make up a fire here. Ishall read for a little while before I go to bed.(putsmoney and key basket in bureau drawer, and sits onstool by bureau)Chris.(looking at Fel., who is reading the littlebooks)My hands are as white as hers, but I supposeshe is to be the lady's maid.Kate.Oh, Christie, Christie, after all theseyears! Surely you are my friend still,(takes bookfrom table)Chris.I know I'm your servant; whether or notI'm your friend, Squire, is another matter; but I'mnot her friend, and I own it.Kate.You're very foolish, and very jealous.Chris.That's it, I'm jealous; I hope there'llnever be a worse name for it.(She goes out, door L., Kate sits on sofa L.)Kate.(to Fel.)You can run off to bed, littlemaid.Fel.Thank'ee, Squire,(puts books down)Kate.I shan't want you any more to-night.(Fel. curtseys—crosses to door L., carrying thesoldier's portrait.)Don't forget to say your prayers.Fel.(coming down)Squire,(looks roundnervously, twitching apron. Kate looks up from herbook)Kate.(raising her head—fretfully)What is it?Fel.I suppose there's no harm in a girl prayingfor her sweetheart?Kate.No—if he's a good fellow and worthyof her.Fel.If he's a bad 'un, praying's likely to be ofmore good to him.(she comes nearer Kate andspeaks in an undertone)Because, Squire—don't bevexed at me—because, if you like, when I'm prayingfor Tom I might make a small mention of—er—theother gentleman,(close to Kate)Kate.What other gentleman?Fel.(bending forward and whispering)Theyoung lieutenant, Squire.(Kate rises angrily)Kate.How dare you! I am very angry withyou! There's not the slightest—Oh, Felicity, howcame you to think of such a thing?(she draws Fel.to her. Fel. claps her hands and laughs)Fel.He's such a nice young man, Squire—youcouldn't help it.Kate.Be quiet, child. We don't always fall inlove with nice young men.Fel.We do generally, Squire. May I just mentionhim along with Tom? Parson won't know.Kate.Well, Felicity, there's no harm in prayingfor a man, even if one is not over-fond of him.Fel.No, Squire.Kate.So, if you like, just a little for the younglieutenant—Fel.Yes, Squire?Kate.And—Fel.And who, Squire?Kate.And the woman he loves. Good-night,dear,(pats her cheeks—Fel. goes up L.)(Chris, enters door L., followed by Izod carryingwood fuel. Chris, takes the wood from Izod,and crosses to fireplace R.)Why, Christie, what is he doing here?Chris.(R. on her knees before fire)He's beensleeping off the effects of that wicked old man'stemptation, poor dear,(takes up bellows)Izod.(C.)I'm better now, Squire, thank you.I've been precious queer all the afternoon.Kate.(L. C.)Have you, indeed! Well, nowyou've carried up the wood, you can be off home.(Fel. has gone up to door L.)Fel.(up L., turning)Good-night, Miss Christiana.Chris.(sulkily—lighting fire)Good-night.(blowing fire)(Izod, unnoticed by Kate, gives Fel. a lowmock bow.)Fel.(timidly)Good-night, sir.Izod.Good-night, Miss Gunnion.(makes a grimaceat her)(She goes out hurriedly.)Chris.(R.)My poor brother has something tosay to you, Squire.Izod.(C.)It's this, Squire. I hear that GilbertHythe has had enough of the Priors, and that there'sroom for a new handyman.Kate.Gunnion takes Gilbert Hythe's place—youknow that.Izod.Yes, Squire—but in consequence of the oldman's awful dishonesty with the harvest ale, I thoughtperhaps you'd like to chuck him over.(Chris, getsto R., of Izod)Now, Squire, I'm doing nothing just atpresent—a gentleman, so to speak—give me a turn—have me at your own price, Squire, and you get mecheap.Kate.(rising)Look here, Master Haggerston, Idon't want to do you an injustice, but I don't likeyou. There's no room on my farm for you. I shallbe glad to hear that you're doing well elsewhere.(Kate crosses to fireplace—the fire is now burningbrightly. Kate leans against mantel-piece asChris. goes over to Izod. L.)Izod.(L. C., to Chris., aside)There, I told you so,she's a cat!Chris.(C.)Poor boy.(to Kate, whose back isturned to them)Will you want me again to-night,Squire?Kate.(R. without turning)No. Go to bed,Christie.Chris.And I suppose Izod can be off about hisbusiness?Kate.Yes.Chris.(aside to Izod, clutching his arm)Izod,I'll see you out past the dog, dear—then go and lieby the ricks near the Five Trees, and watch whopasses under the archway to-night.Izod.(in a whisper)How long am I to wait?Chris.Wait till a man walks from the Market-Sinfieldroad, and you won't wait long,(to Kate)Good-night,Squire, dear.Kate.(turning)Good-night, Christie.(Chris, and Izod go out L., closing the door afterthem. The clock strikes nine.)(Looks at her watch)Already! Oh, if that boyshould not have passed the Five Trees beforeEric comes! How provoking!(she crosses to doorL., listens, then turns the key)There's somethingabout to-night that I don't like. Christie! Howunkind of Christie to be so jealous!(still listening,she goes to window L., pulls tack the curtain andopens window)That's Christie and her brother walkingover the stones,(looking out)And there's thelight in Felicity's room still burning—I can see theshadows. When will the house be still? Ugh! Whata dark night for Eric's lonely walk,(the bell rings inthe court below. Katie draws back)The bell! Solate—what can that mean?(she comes from thewindow and draws the curtain over the recess)Somethingwrong in the village—someone ill.(she crossesto fireplace, nervously)Perhaps poor Mrs. Testerhas sent for me to read to her, or old Mr. Parsleywants me to witness another will—I've witnessedeight of them—he has only a few spoons to leavebehind him—I can't go to-night.(A knocking at thedoor L.)Who is that?Chris.(outside)Christiana.(Kate crosses quickly to door L., and unlocks it.)Kate.Christiana!(opening the door)What iswrong, Christie?(Christiana enters.)Chris.Parson Dormer has walked over fromMarket-Sinfield and must see you to-night.Kate.Not to-night—not to-night—to-morrow.(Dormer enters; he wears an old Inverness cape andwoollen gloves.)Dormer.I suppose a man ought to apologize forcalling at this hour. It's cold enough, so one paysthe penalty,(takes off cape, gloves, and hat, and putsthem on settee L.)Kate.(crosses distractedly to fireplace)Come tothe fire, parson,(he crosses to Kate.)Somethingunusual must have brought you so late,(crossestowards fire below table)Dormer.(pauses below table)Perhaps,(crossesto fire)(While he does so, Chris, up stage gently looksthrough the curtain into the window recess.)Chris.(at L. C.—aside)She has opened thewindow—the saint! Poor Izod won't have to waitlong,(going to door L.)Shall I sit up, Squire?Kate.No, I will see the parson through thearchway.(Chris, goes out.)Dormer.Something unusual has brought me toyou.Kate.(with exclamation and quickly)Ifeared so.Dormer.I am here to render a service to JohnVerity's daughter.Kate.Thank you.Dormer.(stands with his back to fire—the redglow is upon them)People think me a strange man,but I am strange even to myself when I find my heartrunning away with me as it does to-night.Kate.You make me frightened of what you haveto say to me.Dormer.It rests with you whether I shall speakor hold my tongue.Kate.(moves front chair R., of table)No—-saywhat you have to say.Dormer.Will you be truthful with me?Kate.What do you mean by that?Dormer.Strange thing for a rough man, such asI, to aim at. I want to save you pain,(puts hishand on her shoulder)Kate.Pain! I thought so.Dormer.If it had pleased Heaven to give me thatone woman for a wife, and that woman had borneme a daughter, to that daughter I should have spokenas I speak to you now.Kate.(slowly places her hand in his—with pain)Is anyone, who might be dear to me, dead?Dormer.No.(Kate sinks back)Some one hasreturned to life.Kate.Can it concern me?Dormer.I hope—no! Answer me one questionhonestly—do you love this young soldier whom I sawhere to-day?Kate.Suppose I say—"no."Dormer.Then Ileave youwithout another word.Kate.If I say—"yes?"Dormer.Then I deliver to you a message.Kate.A message! From whom?Dormer.From the one who has returned to life.Yes or No?Kate.Heaven help me—I love Eric!"There's a jingle,"(In the distance there is the faint sound of Fel'ssong, supposed to proceed from the room abovethrough the open window. Dor. crosses at backand listens.)"Sun is shining,"Dormer.What is that?(crosses behind tableto c.)Kate.(calmly)The child singing. She is happy.Go on—I want the message.(Dormer takes somepapers from pocket-book)—"Hear the jingle,"Dormer.It is here—in writing,(at bureau)Kate.Addressed—to whom?"—while you may."Dormer.To the woman who loves Eric Thorndyke.Kate.I am she—who sends it?"—above her."Dormer.The stranger at the White Lion.Kate.(after a pause)Who is the stranger at theWhite Lion?"—lover."Dormer.(L. of table)Eric Thorndyke's wife.(Kate rises slowly, supporting herself upon thetable; she and Dor. stand face to face. The songabove ceases.)Kate.Eric—Thorndyke's—wife. Yes?(fallsback into chair)Dormer.Shall I read the message?Kate.If you please.(Dormer goes up to the bureau, puts on his spectaclesand by the light of the lamp arranges hispapers.)Dormer.It is written in French. I have translatedit faithfully,(he places a paper before Kate)That is the original.(She takes it mechanically, looks at it, then lets itfall upon the floor. At the same moment theshadow of a man is seen at the window L., and thecurtains move slightly.)Shall I read the translation to you?(opens paperwith one hand; pushes it off table)Kate.If you please,(goes toward lamps)(The movement of the curtain stops. Dor. readsslowly.)Dormer.(reading)"I was a singer in Brussels,with a sweet voice. They called me La Sirène."Kate.(in a low tone)Stop—the Siren. Yes.Dormer.(continuing)"I am a Protestant, bornat Chaudefontaine, five miles from Liège. My fatherwas an Englishman, my mother a Belgian woman.They died when I was a child."Kate.An orphan, like me.(touches lamp again)Dormer.(continuing)"Three years ago a student,Eric Thorndyke—(Eric appears at L. C., holding back curtain.)married me secretly but legally at the Protestantchurch in the Rue de Stassart in Brussels." Areyou listening?Kate.Yes.Dormer.(continuing)"I married for moneyand station. I won neither. I found myself weddedto a man who was dependent on a wretched allowance,and who dared not disclose his marriage. Wewere never happy, and I grew to hate him. Oneterrible night he discovered me in a gaming housepledging his name to pay my losses. I feared himfor the first time in my life, and I fled."Kate.Is this—a woman?Dormer.(continuing)"The fatigue of my journeythrew me into a fever. For many a day I layat death's door, and throughout the country wherethe Siren's was a familiar voice I was thought dead."Kate.Dead. I see.Dormer.(continuing)"When I recovered, mysweet voice and pretty face had gone from me forever.I had nothing but a mad loathing for the manwhom I had never loved, and I formed a plan toruin him."Kate.Oh!Dormer.(continuing)"I took a new name andfostered the report of my death, saying to myself,'He will love and marry again, and then I, thewreck of what I have been, will come back to lifeand destroy his peace,'"(Eric disappears.)Kate.Not a woman—not a woman!Dormer.(continuing)"But in time my heartsoftened and my hate died away. My consciencewon't let me rest, and now, when remorse has brokenme, I drag myself to where Eric is, to learn whatevil I have caused. If there be any wrong, it is Ithat have worked it—not my deceived husband, whomI have not the courage to face." Signed "Mathilde."Kate.Is that all?Dormer.(pocketing paper)That is all.(Katerises)Kate.How comes this—creature to know of theexistence of the woman who loves Eric Thorndyke?Dormer.She asked me if I thought such a womanexisted. I replied, yes. "Then," said she, "whoeverthis woman is, and wherever she may be, carrymy warning to her before it is too late."(puts paperaway and goes to sofa L.)(Kate struggles with herself for a moment; hermanner becomes completely changed.)Kate.(lightly)Ah, thank you, Parson Dormer,for your goodness, and for your cold journey. MayI give you some wine?Dormer.No.(he resumes his cape and gloves,then holds out his hand to Kate)Good-night,(shetakes his hand)Don't come down, I can find my wayout.(looking round)I used to quarrel here withyour father.Kate.Good-night. I shall look for you to-morrowat our harvest supper—it is the happiest night inour year,(screams and falls back, Dormer catchesher—he is going—she clutches his sleeve)Parson!Parson! look!(she points to the written confessionwhich lies upon the floor)Don't leave me alone withthat!Dormer.That—what?Kate.That. Take it away with you—take itaway!(Dormer crosses to table, takes up paper and puts itin his pocket, and crosses back to L.)(lightly again)Strange creatures, we women, aren'twe—and superstitious, a little. Remember, Parsondear, we must keep our secret. Think of the scandaland misery for poor Eric if this history becameknown. For Eric's sake, remember.Dormer.You bear the young gentleman nogrudge?Kate.I—no.Dormer.(looking at her)Ah, you'll eat a breakfastto-morrow—I shan't—and my wound is twentyyears old. Good-night to you.(He goes out. Kate listens to his receding steps L. D.)Kate.(softly)Good-night! Good-night!(There is the sound of the closing of a door in thedistance)Gone!(she looks round)Quite alone(She shuts the door softly, then with uncertainsteps walks to the settee L., upon which she sinkswith a low moan—starts up wildly)It's late! Letme see!(she takes her wedding ring from her pocket)My wedding ring—I'll hide that; it is such a lie tocarry about with me.(She hurriedly opens a smalldrawer in the bureau R., of it and brings it to table)It will rest there, and can never be laughed at.(shetakes off her bracelets)These too—Eric's gifts,(shethrows them into the open drawer, then takes thelocket from her neck)Eric's portrait,(she opens thelocket and gazes at the portrait, earnestly)Anotherwoman's husband!(she rises)Nobody sees me.(music—kisses locket—Eric covers his face withhis hands. Kate throws locket into the drawer. Asshe does so, she catches sight of the papers lyingthere. She seizes them)Papers! I had almost forgotten.They would tell tales, if—if anything badhappened to me.(She examines them. Eric comesfrom the recess as if about to speak. Kate opens aletter. From Eric when his regiment was quarteredat—(reading)—"My own Kate." Oh!(Eric sinkshorror-stricken, upon the chair by the bureau—hishead drops upon his arm. Kate finds an old photograph)Ah! a photograph of the church where wewere married. I remember—we entered at that door—not the one under the porch—and it brought us tothe chancel. Ah, here it is—(reading)"The ParishChurch of St. Paul, at Blissworth, in Yorkshire."How pretty. It's one hundred and fifty miles away.What a long journey for such a marriage. A valentine!(she takes the papers and kneels at the fire-place.She goes down on her knees before fire andburns the papers, first kissing them. Eric raiseshis head)A lucky thing that Christie made such abright fire for me.(shivering)And yet it is cold.Ha! I suppose heat never comes from burnt loveletters,(to the letters)Good-bye! Good-bye!(Ericrises and slowly comes down C.)Eric.(hoarsely)Kate!Kate.(with a cry she starts up and faces him)Eric!(Music stops.)Eric.I know everything. I have heard. Whathave you to say to me?(Kate walks feebly towards him behind chair.)Kate.(leaning on chair for support)Nothingbut—leave me. I am looking at you now for thelast time,(passes behind table to C. R., of bureau)Eric.How can I leave you when we are boundby such ties? My love chains me to you—nothingearthly can break that?Kate.The same words with which you wooedthat other woman!(passes to front of table)Eric.Kate!(advancing)Kate.Don't touch me or I shall drop dead withshame.(Eric advances again.)Don't touch me—I can bear anything now but that!Eric.You must hear me!(moves L. C.)Kate.Hear you! What can you tell me but thatthe pretty music you have played in my ears has beenbut the dull echo of your old love-making? Whatcan you tell me but that I am a dishonoured woman,(Eric turns away)with no husband, yet not a widow—like to be a mother, and never to be a wife!\(advances a step)Eric.You will listen to me to-morrow?(turnsup a little)Kate.To-morrow! I have no to-morrow. I amliving my life now. My life! my life! oh, what itmight have been!(she sinks on her knees with herhead upon the floor by table. Eric bends over her)Eric.Kate, don't shrink from me! I go down inthe same wreck with you. You are a hopeless woman—I stand beside you a hopeless man.Kate.(moaning)You never told me of the past.Oh, the times I have looked in the glass, with theflush on my cheek that you have painted there, andcalled myself Eric's First Sweetheart,(moves)Ifyou had told me of the past!Eric.I could not believe in its reality. Shenever loved me, Kate—she threw me away like anold glove or a broken feather. I believed her dead.Ah, Kate, do you think I would have stolen one lookfrom you if I hadn't believed myself to be a freeman?Kate.Oh, Eric, Eric!Eric.I had news from a distance that she haddied, a repentant woman. In my dreams I have seenthe grass and the flowers springing up from hergrave.Kate.Oh, Eric, Eric!Eric.(moves to L., C., a bit)What dreams willhaunt me this night—the grave of your life andmine?(hand to head)Kate.Dreams that picture despair and parting.(walks up and returns)Eric.(advances L., rousing himself)Tell mewhere to turn, where to go. If I die, what then?If I live, what then? I'll do anything you bid me,(returns to her)but if you shrink from me at partingit is more than I can bear, only look at me. Onelast look—a look for me to cherish. Kate!(advancing,Moves down, back to audience.)Kate.(rises)No, no!(he covers his eyes withhis hand—there is a pause)Let me see your face,Eric(he turns, they look each other in the face—pityingly)Trouble makes you pale. Oh, how selfishI am. Poor Eric!Eric.I am thinking of the day we first met!How bright! And now, what a parting!Kate.Hush! I shall go mad if you make methink.(The clock chimes again—starting)Look atthe hour—Good-night!(goes R., a little)(He turns to go—stops.)Eric.(holds out his hand)Touch my hand butonce.Kate.(looking at him)We are suffering so muchtogether, aren't we? I don't know what I've said toyou, but it is no fault of yours, dear. We werewedded in happiness—we are divorced in grief. Yes—I will just take your hand.(Without approaching too nearly, she lays her handin his—their eyes meet.)Eric.Oh, Kate, the future!(With a cry they go to each other, but as Eric isabout to press his lips to hers, she recoils withhorror.)Kate.Oh, no! I, that have prayed God to makeme good all my life, what should I be if you kissedme now?Eric.Oh, Kate!Kate.Go, go. Eric, you love me too well forthat, don't you?Eric.Heaven give me strength, yes!(The door L., opens, and Gilbert appears with afixed and determined look, carrying his gun.)Gil.(L.)Mr. Thorndyke!(at door)Eric.(c. calmly)Well, sir.(a pause)Kate.Why have you come back to the house?Gil.(puts hat on chair and shuts door)I havenot left the house. I come for an answer to myletter.Kate.(putting her hand to her head)Your letter?(the letter lies unopened upon the table, Katesees it)Oh, there it is, unopened.(Gil. walks firmly into the room, and points towardsthe letter.)Gil.Read it, please,(down L. C.)(Kate opens the letter, draws her hands across hereyes and reads, sitting R., of table.)Kate.(reading)"Squire Kate—I will be satisfiedthat this Thorndyke's name is not to blackenyours in the mouths of the people of Market-Sinfield.I shall remain concealed in this house till I canspeak to you alone. Remember—my love makes medesperate—one more harsh word from you may bringmischief to another. Gilbert." Mischief to another?Eric.(C. slowly takes the letter from Kate)What gives you a right to control this lady?Gil.Her loneliness—my love. I was born andreared on these lands—we plucked wild flowerstogether, as children.Eric.Are you her guardian, now that she is awoman?Gil.I am—and of any weak soul in peril.Kate.(rises)What do you want of me?Gil.Nothing; because I am face to face withhim.Eric.Quickly, then, sir, your business with me?(throws paper down)Gil.Mr. Thorndyke, you, who are supposed tobe a sunshine acquaintance of our Squire's, are foundhere at dead of night, in the house of one whom allhonest folks know asMissVerity.Eric.Well, sir?Gil.(pointing to Kate)I can't—I won't believebut that that lady is good and pure. You eitherhave a sacred right here, or you are an intruder andworse than a thief. You have to answer for thisto me.Eric.Sir, you are in the presence of a sorrow tooprofound to be disturbed by sharp questions and hotanswers. In justice to this lady, we may meet to-morrow.Gil.Not to-morrow, when I trap my game to-night.Eric.(indignantly)Ah!Kate.Gilbert, you used to be so gentle!(Ericrestrains her)Gil.Pardon me, Squire, my reckoning is withhim. Mr. Thorndyke, you have robbed me of a lovewhich I have laboured for for years. Ceaselessyearning—heart-sickness—hope raised and hopedeferred—sleep without rest—thirst for which thereis no drink. That is my account. What is yours?I find you now where you can have no right but thesacred one of husband.(Eric and Kate exchangea look—he comes nearer to Eric and looks in hisface)Is that lady your wife?Eric.You approach me, sir, with the light of amurderer in your eyes, and carrying a weapon. Yourvery tone, sir, is a sacrilege. I tell you, man, thereis a grief so deep that it is holy before Heaven.Gil.Is that lady your wife?Kate.(advancing)Gilbert, you shall know—!Eric.(stopping her)Hush!(to Gil.)Do youthreaten me?Gil.I am the protector of a helpless woman—I do.Eric.You are a coward.Gil.(stamping his foot)Is that lady your wife?Eric.Then, sir, in the sight of heaven, yes.Gil.(madly)In the sight of the law?Eric.No.Gil.Heaven forgive you—stand back!(He raises his gun. Kate rushes forward with acry, and catches his uplifted arm.)Kate.Gilbert! Gilbert! The father of mychild!(music.)(She falls in a swoon at his feet. Gil. with a crydrops his gun, and looks down with horror uponKate. Eric kneels beside her, as the curtain fallsquickly.)
QUICK ACT DROP.(Picture—Eric supporting Kate's head, L., of her,Gil.looking on dumbfounded.)
END OF ACT II.
Scene:—The same as in Act II. Daylight. The curtains over the window recesses are drawn back. The fire is burning brightly. It is afternoon. The sun sets as the act advances. All lights full. Bed lime R., for fire. Red lime on slot behind cloth for sun. Amber line behind transparent cloth R. Ditto L., to be worked on at cue. Music for Act drop. Clear lamp and book from table, lamp from bureau, and shut it(bureau)up. L. window open. Laughter and voices off L. as curtain rises, till Christie gets to window, then a Voice.
Voice.There's Christie!(she shuts window)Ah,we're not good enough for Christie!(murmurs fromAll)(Christiana enters up stage, door L., There is thedistant sound of rough laughter. She looks outof L. C.)Chris.What a lot of animals! Ugh! Howawful common people look when they're clean,(comesdown C.)(Izod's head appears in doorway L.)Izod.Christie!Chris.(turning sharply)Hallo!Izod.(entering)What's wrong with the Squire?Chris.(R. C.)Ill, she says. Hush!(pointing,to door R.)She's in there. What do you want, dear?Izod.(C.)Coin,(falls back up R. C., as Gunnionenters door L., much perturbed. He is attired in hisgrandest, wearing a large rosette of coloured ribbons)Gun.Where's Squire? that's what I want toknow!Chris.Hush! she's in her room. What's thematter?Gun.(sitting on stool C., wiping his forehead)Hunpunctuality's the matter—a lot of 'em's not comeyet. The fiddle ain't come; theMercuryain't come.I don't give 'em a single sentiment tillMercury'shere to take me down.Izod.You want somebody here to take you down.Gun.Fell the grocer's not come. If he 'adn'tbeen harsked he'd have 'owled. Now he have beenharsked, he's for marching in late like a prince,(rising)I'm the master of the ceremonies, I am—take care he don't find hisself heaved out.Chris.You're quite right, Gunnion; act up toyour ribbons.Gun.(going to door L.)Ay, that I'll do. TheSquire's made me what I am this blessed day. I'mSquire's representative, I am, and they'll find medarned unpleasant.(He goes off L., muttering.)John Parsley ain't come; old Buckle ain't come;Mouldy Green ain't come.(Izod comes down R., C.)Chris.(R. to Izod)Go away, Izod, and keepquiet till you're wanted.Izod.(down R., C.)I tell you I want coin,(sniffing)I've got such an awful cold throughlying under those ricks in the mist. I want coin.Chris.I haven't any.Izod.Then I don't open my mouth to the parsonabout what I saw last night. I tell you I want coin.Chris.What for?Izod.(reflectively)For—for—to buy a pocket-handkerchief.Chris.(hurriedly takes out her purse)Howmuch?Izod.(after consideration)Six and sixpence.Chris.(turns)For a pocket-handkerchief!Izod.I want rather a large size pocket-handkerchief.Chris.(gives him the money, then listens—lookingtowards R.)Somebody's coming—go away.(Izod slouches off L., as Felicity enters door R.)(C. to Fel.)Now then, you!(meets Fel. C.)Fel.(R. C, turning)Yes, Miss Christiana.(meeting Chris, C.)(Chris, takes a letter from the pocket of her apron,and holds it up, and then puts it behind back.)Chris.Here's a pretty thing, and a very prettything; and who is the owner of this pretty thing?You shan't have it till you guess what it is.Fel.A letter for the Squire?Chris.No.Fel.For me?(joyfully and eagerly)Chris.Yes.Fel.(eagerly)Give it me, please.(She holds out her hand for it; Chris, puts the letterbehind her.)Chris.Who is it from?Fel.How am I to know till I see it?Chris.Guess.Fel.How did you get it?(quickly)Chris.It was left here this morning by a commonsoldier.Fel.(jumps with glee)Oh, it's from Tom! He'snot common—he's a sergeant. How dare you keepmy letter all day?Chris.(holds up letter—reading the address)"Miss Felicity Gunnion—immejit." Immejit. Hecan't even spell properly—that's a good match for agirl.Fel.(indignantly)I can't spell at all—it's a verygood match,(she snatches the letter from Chris, andopens it—aside)Dear Tom—(crosses to sofa L.)—that's his smudge—he always begins with a smudge.(she sits on couch L., and reads—Chris, watches hergrimly—reads)"Dear Miss Gunnion." Dear MissGunnion! Oh, Tom!(she reads quickly)Chris.How is he? What does he call you—Lovey or Popsey? He smokes bad tobacco; Ishouldn't care for him to kiss me.Fel.(wiping her eyes in great distress—crying)Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!(she takes her earringsfrom her ears and throws them over the backof the couch)Chris.(L. C.)Hallo! what's wrong with the ear-rings?Fel.Hesent them to me. You were quite right,Miss Christiana, he is common; he's the commonest,worst man in Pagley Barracks.Chris.I'm glad of it; it serves you right. Youshouldn't sneak into other women's shoes.(Shegoes off L.)(The harvest people are heard again in the distancesinging a rough chorus. Off stage L. U. C.—laugh.)All.A song, a song! Ay, ay, a song!(rappingmugs on table)Loud Voice.Silence! yee."The Countryman's Song"(Kate Verity enters towards end of song from doorR., looking white and worn, without noticing Fel.;she crosses slowly to window L., enters the recess,opens casement, and looks out. The Villagers,who are supposed to be enjoying themselves in thecourt below, break off their singing as Kate appearsand cry out to her.)Man's Voice.Theer's Squire!All.Hurrah!Woman's Voice.How are ye, Squire? Are youbetter, Squire?(Kate nods and closes window. Murmurs graduallysubsiding. She sits on the sofa L., C., Felicityrises and crosses to go off R., D., and turns as Katespeaks.)Kate.Why, Felicity, what a sad little face.(Fel. goes to Kate with her letter.)Fel.I—I—I've had awful bad news, Squire.Kate.(sits)Well, sensible, strong-minded creatureslike you and me are not to be knocked over bya little bad news,(patting Fel's head kindly)Whatis it?Fel.(kneels at Kate's side R., of her)Oh, Squire,dear, listen to this,(reading the letter)"Dear MissGunnion"—fancy that, Squire, from Tom Morris—"the news have come to Pagley that our regimentis the next for India.(Kate starts)The ordersare posted that we embark in ten days from thispresent, in the 'Orion.'"Kate.Stop! For India—Eric's regiment,(shecovers her face with her hands)Oh!Fel.What's the matter, Squire?Kate.Nothing, dearie; don't mind me. Go on!Fel.(continuing letter)"I have been thinkingof the matter careful, and have come to the conclusionthat the climate of India would not agree withyour health, it being a swelterer. I therefore let youoff of your engagement, but have spoke to old Stibbs,the butler at Mrs. Thorndyke's, who has saved money,and wants for to marry again, and I have mentionedyou as a steady hard-working lass who would makeany man's home a palace. Send me back the silverearrings you had from me, as they will only remindyou of him you have lost. So, no more from yourheart-broken Tom." Oh, Squire!Kate.(kisses Fel. on the forehead)ThankHeaven, on your knees, little woman, that you cannever be that man's wife.Fel.(rises and dries her eyes, and crosses to R. C.)I—I'm sure I'm very glad of it.(standing C.)Oh, Squire, them soldiers are a bad, deceiving lot.The King has their chests padded, and so girls thinkthey've got big hearts, but it's all wadding, Squire,it's all wadding,(goes up R.)(Gunnion enters door L.)Gun.I'm darned if this ain't a'most too muchfor an old man.(calling off, at door)Come onwith ye!(Robjohns, Junior enters, attired in his best andcarrying his fiddle in a green baize bag; he has awhite hat in his hand.)I've got him at last; blessed if he ain't been dressinghisself since nine o'clock this morning,(up by L., D.)Rob.(L. U, advancing)Well, Squire, I'm trulysorry that I'm two hours and a yarf behind time, andI hope it'll make no difference.Kate.(sitting L., C.)No, no.Rob.But, fact is, Squire, father's a-lingerin' ina most aggravatin' way, and rare work I had to getthe yat from him.Kate.(absently)The hat?Rob.(holding out the hat)Father's white 'at,Squire—he's full o' yearthly pride and wouldn't giveit up.(Rob. goes to L., D. and takes fiddle out of bag, asFell, the grocer, a stout man, with his Wife anda little Child enter—types of village trades-people.)Gun.(C.)Squire, this is Mr. Fell, the proprietorof the grocer shop down by Thong Lane.Fell.(L. U., advancing)I beg pardon, not agrocer's shop—stores!Gun.Maybe it's grocer's shop, maybe it's stores,but if the Fells imagine that droppin' in late isMarket-Sinfield manners, they're darned well mistook.Dooks may do it, but not grocers nor evenstores.Kate.(on sofa—reproachfully)Gunnion!Gun.Well, I'm the master of the ceremonies,I am.(Mr. and Mrs. Fell argue out the subject with Gun.up C., Kate beckons the little Child, who runs toher.)Kate.(rises and kneels with Child C.)Comehere, Toddle—what's your little name?Child.Stores.(Gunnion places Mrs. Fell on stool up C. Felltakes chair from L., of bureau and sits beside her.)Kate.Stores! No, no, no, that's not your name.(crosses to R., with Child)(Felicity places stool beside chair R., C., of it, andChild sits. Fel. behind her. The Shabby Person,representative of the "Pagley Mercury" appears,supported on either side by two country people, men)Gun.Squire, I'm mortally grieved to say this 'ereisMercury. He's a little tired; we found him in theparlour of the White Lion. Come on, drat 'ee!(Enter Dame, her husband and son with clarionetKate meets Dame.)Kate.Ah, Dame, glad to see you!Dame.Long life to you, Squire.Kate.(pointing to chair L.)Sit down, Dame.(Crowd follow, all bob and curtsey and say)All. Mornin', Squire! How are you, Squire?(Group formed L., of stage, Gunnion arrangingthem. Kate sits R., The S. P. is placed upon thecouch. The Villagers and Farm Servants,Men, Women, and Children troop in and clusterin doorway up stage L., At the same time theParson, breaking his way through them, enters andcomes to Kate. Kate. with the little child, risesto receive him.)Kate.(gratefully)Ah, Parson, how kind of you.Dormer.You—you look ill.Kate.No, no, not now.Dormer.Whose child is this?Kate.Mr. Fell's, the grocer's little girl.Dormer.Bah! the world's full of girls.Gun.Now then, Joe Parsley, leave go of JaneBoadsley's waist! You don't see me lowering myselfwith a woman! Squire, the Harvest Song! Go on,drat 'ee!(A simple rustic chorus is sung to the accompanimentof Rob's fiddle.)Chorus of Villagers.A Woman.What have you got for me, Good-man?All Women.Say—a—a—a—ay!Men.Laces and rings and womanly things,Upon our harvest day—a—a—a—ay!A Woman.(holding up a baby)What's for your baby boy, Good-man?All Women.Say—a—a—a—ay!Men.Bawbles and milk and a robe of silk,Upon our harvest day—a—a—a—ay!A Woman.(pointing to the Squire)What have you got for She, Good-man?All Women,(pointing to the Squire)Say—a—a—a—ay!Men.(stooping as if to carry a burden)Why, sheaf and stack, and a weary back,Upon our harvest day—a—a—a—ay!CHORUS.Everybody.Bread in the oven, milk in the can,And wood for the winter fire!Fire-ire-ire!A broken back for the husbandman,And golden corn for the Squire!Squire-ire-ire!(At end of Chorus a young girl comes from thecrowd and presents Kate with a basket of fruitand flowers. Kate kisses her—the girl returns.)Gun.Squire Verity, it was my desire for to havebeen took down in my words by Mercury. Mercury,however, isnon composite, as the saying goes.Villagers.More shame for him!Gun.But what I have to tell you is this here,Squire; the men wish you a better harvest next harvestthan this harvest—as much 'ops and more wheatand barley, not to say hoats.Villagers.Hear, hear!Gun.The women wish you a good husband, who'lllove you and protect you and put a load o' moneyinto the land, and have all the cottages wellwhite-washed.Villagers.Hear! Hear!Gun.And lastly—if the parson will allow me thatword—lastly, we all wish you may live amongst uslong and happy until you're an octo—an octo—anoctagon. I'm sorryMercurycan't take me down.Villagers.Bravo, Gunnion! Well spoken, verygood!(Kate rising—with her hand on the little Child'shead—Felicity puts stool bach, and stands byKate taking her hand and kissing it at end ofspeech.)Kate.My dear friends, you are kinder to methan I deserve, which makes me very pained at whatI have to tell you. You and I, who have beentogether for so many years, and who have loved oneanother so much, have to part company.Villagers.(murmur)What!Gun.Part company! You don't mean to sayyou're going to put more machinery in the land,Squire?Kate.I mean that I am going away from Market-Sinfield, perhaps never to come back.Villagers.Oh, what will become of us?(a murmur from the Women)Kate.The lands will be worked by a richerfarmer, and you and your homes will be the gainers.Villagers.No, that they won't!(they shaketheir heads)Kate.But what I ask of you, is—don't forgetme—(Sob from one of the Women.)—and to make sure of that, please christen some ofyour children by my name. Kate is a pretty name,and when your babies grow up, tell them why theybear it.(she kisses the Child and sends it back tothe group, then sits and cries)Gun.(sympathetically)Well, all I've got to sayis, Squire, we're well nigh heart broke,(turning tothe group)My eye—up'll go the rents.Dormer.(coming down)Be off, all of you—don't stand and gape at a woman who is crying!(Felicity exits R., D. Mercury assisted off. Fel.places his chair back as before. Dormer goes offthrough the group; the rest sorrowfully disperse,looking over their shoulders at Kate. As theyleave Gil. comes through them, and is left on thestage. He softly closes the door and crosses toKate R., C.—Voices till Gilbert speaks.)Gil.(quietly)Squire!Kate.(looking up quickly)Oh, Gilbert!(shegives him her hand across the table)Gil.(L. of table)I've been watching for a chanceof a word with you. Ah, Squire, how good of youeven to look at me!Kate.Don't speak so, Gilbert.Gil.When you think of me as I was! Ah, Squire,I had the devil in me last night, and I would haveshot the young lieutenant like a dog in this very room,but for—I can't say it.Kate.But for what?Gil.But for the sudden thought that you wereas guilty a woman as he was a man.Kate.You didn't know, Gilbert.Gil.Thank you, Squire, I didn't know,(advancesto her, looking round to be sure they are alone)Well,Squire, I've seen Mr. Thorndyke this very morning.Kate.(eagerly)Yes?Gil.And I'm the bearer of a message from him.Kate.(rising)A message—what is it? Quick?(checking herself)Oh, no, it doesn't matter—don'ttell me.Gil.Ah, Squire, you can't have heard the news.The regiment's going away to a strange country—it's his duty, and he goes too.Kate.(faltering)Yes, I know—going away—soon.Gil.Well, Squire, I parted from him less than anhour ago, and he grips my hand and says to me,"Gilbert, you're the only soul that know's our secret,and you're my friend and hers, and we trust you."—God bless him for that, Squire! "And, Gilbert,"says he, "I'm packed off to the Rajkote station inIndia, where many a gravestone marks the end of ashort life. It's a good country for broken hearts,Gilbert. And, Gilbert," says he, "I want to wishhera good-bye. She won't refuse me that, Gilbert,she can't refuse me that."(Kate goes to fire)Ah,Squire, I've got a man's heart, though it's rough, andall my poor disappointments and troubles are nothingto such a sorrow as this. And I'm here for youranswer, Squire—waiting.Kate.I can't see him. I must not see him. Iam weak—ill. My answer—no!Gil.I won't take it, Squire. My heart goes outto him. I can't bear that answer back.Kate.Then tell him that you found me well,cheerful, with a smile, among my people. Say it isbetter as it is; that we must learn to forget—sayanything,(she sinks helplessly in chair)Gil.Oh, Squire!(approaches her)Kate.Do as I bid you—keep him away from me—that's all.Gil.(walks sadly over to L., C, then turns)Nothing more.Kate.Nothing more.(The door L., opens, and Chris. enters with Izodat her heels.)Chris.(to Gil.)Gilbert, the children are cryingout for you to tell them your fairy stories, and singyour songs to them.Gil.I'm coming,(crosses to L.)(Chris, and Izod. go up stage R., As Gil. is leaving,Kate rises and calls him.)Kate.Gilbert!(crosses to Gilbert)Gil.(turning)Squire!Kate.(she lays her hand on his arm—aside)Gilbert—I—I have thought about it. Tell Mr. Thorndykethat the poor folks look for a glimpse of himto-day. That he shouldn't leave England withoutseeing the last of Verity's farm. Gilbert, say thatwe need not meet,(quickly)Go—tell him to cometo me!(Gil. hurries off; Kate sits on couch L., Chris.stands before her. Izod. comes down C.)Chris.You're going to turn your back on Market-Sinfield, Squire. What's to become of me!(crossesher arms)Kate.The poor servant's fortune always fallswith the house, Christie. You're young and strong,and better off than your mistress.Chris.(uncrosses and uses her arms)Ah, I see;it's the baby face and baby tongue of old Gunnion'sdaughter that pleases you now! And why? Becausethe child can talk to you of the barracks at Pagley,and the jests they make, and the stories they tellabout young Thorndyke's lady-love!Kate.(raising her head)You are an insolentwoman!Chris.Insolent I may be, but I'm not worse!(goes a little to R.)Kate.What do you mean?Chris.That your precious love-secret is knownto my brother and me. That we can spell the nameof the man who is the most welcome guest here, inbroad daylight when doors are open, and in the deadof night when doors are locked!Kate.(rising and seizing Christie's wrist)Christie!Chris.(throwing her off—placing her handsbehind her defiantly)Don't you touch me, because I'myour servant no longer! don't touch me, becauseyou're not fit to lay your hand upon a decent woman!Kate.All the ills of the world at one poorwoman's door!(sits on sofa)What is it you want?Izod.(aside to Chris.)Coin!Chris.This: I've got gipsy blood in me, and thatmeans "all or none." Will you promise to turn oldGunnion's child away, never to have her near youagain?Kate.If I refuse, what will you do?Chris.Tell the parson that there's a lady inMarket-Sinfield who needs as much praying for asshe can get from him on Sundays—tell him whatIzod saw last night and what I heard—give him anew text to preach to the poor folks who call youtheir saint.Kate.You'll do this?(rises)Then I promise tobe a friend to little Felicity as long as she loves meand clings to me. Say the worst you can.(Izod goes up towards L., D. and remains. Chris.makes a movement as if going. Kate stops her.)Kate.(rises)Christiana!(Chris. standsbefore Kate with her hands behind her back)I'llgive you this thought to help you. I stand here, thelast of my name, in our old house, wretched and introuble. I'm not the first Verity that has come togrief, but I shall be the first at whose name there'sa hush and a whisper. And this will be to yourcredit—to the credit of one who has fed and sleptunder my roof, and who has touched my lips withhers.(She comes to Chris, and lays her hand uponher shoulder)Christie, if you ever marry and havechildren that cry to be lulled to sleep, don't singthis story to them lest they should raise their littlehands against their mother. Remember that.(sitsagain)(Eric Thorndyke enters quickly, door L., and standsfacing Kate. Christiana and Izod look at eachother significantly; there is a pause—Christiebacks a little so that Eric passes in front of her,Izod passes behind and gets on steps.)Chris.(with a curtsey to Eric)Your servant,Lieutenant. You haven't forgotten the HarvestFeast, sir.(He makes no answer. Chris, and Izod cross quietlyto door L.)(In Izod's ear)Come to the parson—now.(They go out, Kate and Eric are alone—they lookat each other.)Eric.(C.)Thank you for seeing me.Kate.You ought to hate me for it.(on sofa)Eric.I should have delayed this till you werestronger, but I was in dread that you would gowithout a word.Kate.I leave Market-Sinfield to-morrow. Ishould not have said good-bye to you. You look tiredand worn out.(Eric advances to sit beside her, she checks him andpoints to stool C.)Sit down—there.(he sits wearily)Has yourmother written?Eric.(with a short bitter laugh produces a letterfrom his pocket-book)(C.)Oh, yes; here is mycongé. The gates of The Packmores are shut andlocked. Stibbs, the butler, has orders to clear outeverything that spells the name of Eric. Poormother!Kate.Ah, that needn't be now; you must tell herwe have quarrelled, that I have jilted you, or you me—anything for a home.Eric.(rises)Home, Kate! Home! That's allover.(comes down C.)Kate.Hush! hush!Eric.I've been with Sylvester, our lawyer, thismorning; he is going to raise money on the reversionof my aunt Tylcote's little place, which must cometo me. It is the merest trifle, but it is something.And I've written to the agents in town about settingaside half my pay.Kate.(looking up)What is the meaning ofthat?Eric.For you, Kate. I've no thought but foryou, dear, and the little heart which is to beat againstyours.Kate.(starts up—rises)Oh, Eric, unless youwish to make me mad, you mustn't be kind to me, Ican't bear it.(advancing C. firmly)Why, Eric,do you think I'd let you pinch and struggle for me!(they meet C.)Eric.(hotly)Why, Kate, you wouldn't live ina fashion that doesn't become my wife!(He stops short—they look at each other, then turnaway.)Kate.(sits again on sofa—under her breath)Oh, Eric, what made you say that?Eric.It slipped from me—I didn't meant to sayit. Oh, it comes so naturally,(goes up to L., of L.window)Kate.It doesn't matter; it's all through wranglingabout miserable money,(goes to R., of L. window)(The lights are getting duller, the faint glow of thesetting sun is seen outside the windows.)Look! there's the sun going down; we mustn't stayhere longer.(She comes closer to him, looking upinto his face. They stand with their hands behindthem.)There's time only for one last word.Eric.I'm listening,(coming down R.)Kate.(tearfully)It's this. You may—ofcourse—write to me—to the Post Office at Bale, forthe present. Not to make it a tax upon you. Butwhen you've nothing better or more cheerful to do—oh, write to me then!Eric.Oh, Kate!(He moves down R., towardsher, she goes back a pace to avoid him)Kate.(leans against chair)No, no, I'm notgoing to cry.(smiling)A man is always so frightenedthat a woman is going to cry. And, Eric, promise me,dear, never to gamble, nor bet—only very little.Will you promise?Eric.Yes, I promise!Kate.(both centre)Don't listen to stories atthe mess table about officers' wives—don't sit up toolate—don't drink too much wine.Eric.There's no chance of that,(walks towardsettee L.)Kate.Ah, dear, you haven't been in trouble tillnow. And lastly, always go to church and be a goodfellow.Eric.Which means, Kate—try to do everythingI should have done in the happy life we might havelived together,(sits, Eric on settee, Kate C.)Kate.Yes, that's what I mean. And when youfind yourself getting very miserable, which means,getting very weak, I want you to say to yourself—"Eric, old fellow, pull up—you've got a true lovesomewhere—you don't know where she is—but you'dbetter do everything she bids you, for she's aperfect tyrant"(she breaks down, and stands C.)Eric.(puts hat on chair)That's your last word,Kate—this is mine.(MUSIC.)When I get away from India, on leave, I shan't knowwhere to bend my steps unless it's to the country thatholds my girl.Kate.No, no.(moves to table)(Rises and crosses, both near table.)Eric.Ah, listen,(he holds out his right handand traces upon it, as if it were a map, with his left)Suppose my hand's a map—there are lines enoughon it—and that you're dwelling in some pretty foreignplace, sayhere. Well, then, when you'rehere,I could while away the timethere, and if you'reweary of that one spot and run off tothere, I couldpack up my bag and smoke my cigarhere. You see,darling? Never too near you, where I've no right,but always about thirty or forty miles away. Sothat in the twilights, which are long and saddening inforeign places, you might sit and say to yourself, "Idon't want to meet Eric face to face, because he'dremind me of old times and old troubles, but he's notmore than forty miles away, and he's thinking of hisdear love at this very moment."(MUSIC changes.)Kate.(drawing her hand across her eyes)Youmustn't speak to me any more.(Eric takes his hat. Kate goes down to R., C.)Eric.Good-bye.(looking in her face, trying tosmile)Why, I do believe I shall begin to write youmy Indian budget this very evening.Kate.(struggling with her tears)It doesn'tmatter how long the letter is. Good-bye.(she holdsout her hand, he walks down slowly and takes herhand. There is a pause—softly)You are goingaway—I can't help it.(MUSIC ceases.)(She lays her head quietly upon his breast, he foldshis arms round her. As they part Dormer entersdoor L., with a stern face.)Eric.Mr. Dormer!Dormer.(L.)We meet, as we have met before,sir, in hot blood. Mr. Thorndyke, you have no secretthat is not shared by me, and yet you are here, sir!For shame!Eric.(C.)Let me remind you, Mr. Dormer,that one of the few advantages of being neither apauper nor a felon is freedom of action.Dormer.Mr. Thorndyke, I am without thesmooth tongue of my class. I find you in a woman'shouse, where you are a guest by night as well as byday. I bid you begone. You are a soldier lackingchivalry—a man who makes war upon weakness—you are a coward!(step)Eric.A coward, Mr. Dormer, is one who, underthe cover of his age and profession, uses languagefor which a younger and a braver man would bechastised,(goes up stage toward fire-place)Kate.(crosses to Dormer R.)Parson, you don'tguess the truth. If you knew!(crosses to C. Ericdrops R.)Dormer.I'll know no more. Miss Verity, I amthe pastor of a flock of poor, simple people, whoregard your words as precepts, and your actions asexamples. I will spare you the loss of their goodwill, but I demand, so long as you remain in thisparish, that Mr. Thorndyke be excluded from yourhouse.(Kate goes up to bureau.)Eric.Oh, sir, I can relieve your mind on thatpoint; a moment later you would have found megone. Good-bye, Miss Verity, I shall inform you ofmy arrival abroad if you will let me.Kate.(takes his hand, and looks firmly atDormer)Stop! Parson Dormer, this house is mine;while my heart beats, for good or for evil, neitheryou nor your bishop could shut my doors upon theman I love. That isyouranswer.Dormer.And to think that yesterday your voicehad a charm and a melody for me. It serves merightly for forgetting my old lesson. What a fool!What a fool!(he goes deliberately to bell rope L.,and pulls it)Kate.What are you going to do?Dormer.My duty.Kate.What is that?Dormer.To open the eyes of these blind people.Kate.Open their eyes to what?Dormer.Your guilt.(Eric gives an indignant cry. Kate goes toDormer.)Kate.Guilt! It's not true! Parson, I amunhappy, with a life wasted, with hope crushed outof me, but not guilty yet. I am this man's wife inthe sight of heaven, married a year ago at God's altar,prayed over and blessed by a priest of your church,to be divorced by the cruel snare which made you itsmouthpiece. Parson, I am desperate and weak, butnot guilty yet!Dormer.Kate! Kate! look in my eyes—is thisthe truth?Kate.(clinging to Eric)As true as that atthis moment, for the first time in my life, I am indanger!(Eric leads her to chair R., she sits. The villagecrowd, headed by Christiana, Izod, Gunnion, andFelicity, appear at door L., Christiana triumphant.Dormer faces the crowd.)Dormer.Friends, Market-Sinfield people,(layinghis hand on Chris's, arm)you've been told bythis good creature here that I've a few words to speakto you. Very well, this is my text. Beware of TaleBearers! They destroy the simplicity of such naturesas yours; they feed the bitterness of such a nature asmine. I entreat you, firstly, to believe nothing illagainst those you hate, and you'll grow to love them;secondly, to believe nothing ill against those you love,and you'll love them doubly. Lastly, whatever youthink, whatever you do, to pity this poor lady(pointing to Kate)who is in some trouble at leaving theplace where she was born. Go!(turns down C.)(Chris, snatches her arm from Dormer with a bitterlook. The crowd makes a movement to go, whenGil forces his way through and comes to Dor. L.of him.)Gil.(aside to Dormer)Parson, you're wantedup yonder!Dormer.What is it?(Gil. whispers a few words in Dormer's ear, andfalls back. Dormer raises his hand to stop thecrowd.)Dormer.(emphatically)Stay! before you goI'll tell you why the Squire leaves Market-Sinfield.(goes a little to R., C.)Kate.(rises and goes up behind table—toDormer)Parson! No!(goes down on Dormer's L.)Dormer.(not heeding Kate)She is going to bethe wife of that young man there, our neighborThorndyke.Crowd.What! Married!Dormer.She is going to be married to him inyour presence, in my church, and by me, beforeanother Sunday passes.(A cry from the Crowd.)But neighbor Thorndyke is off to India for someyears with his good wife, on duty to his Queen, andthat's why you lose your Squire. Men and women,on your knees to-night, say God bless Squire Kateand her husband, and bring them back to us toMarket-Sinfield!(Another cry from the Crowd.)Crowd. Hurrah!Kate.(L. of Dormer—grasping Dormer's arm,aside to him)Parson, the woman at the "WhiteLion!"Dormer.Hush!(to Eric)Mr. Thorndyke,you're a free man, sir, your wife is dead!(MUSIC.)(As the curtain falls, Kate kneels, Dormer putshis hand on her head.)