THE WIFE'S SECRET.: TEI editionLovell, G.W. Q18671312TEI conversionLou Burnard Privately distributed by the Digital Lacy ProjectL1216The Lacy Project waives all rights to the TEI encoding applied to this material, which it believes to be in the public domain. You may copy, modify, distribute, or perform this work freely. Lovell, George W. The Wife's Secret An Original Play in five acts 61 pp (UM copy: 10 - 71) Lacy's Acting Edition, volume 82, No. 1216N02274UC from HTHVD from HTUC from HTUM from HT Premiered at Theatre Royal, Haymarket 7 Jan. 1848; Nicoll date 1848-01-17 DRAMA Lord Arden Lord A. Lord Arden. Sir Walter Amyott Sir W. Sir Wal. Jabez Sneed Jabez. Etheridge Officer. Baroque Captain B. Peter 1st Serv. 1st Servant. William 2nd Serv. 2nd Servant. Francis 3rd Serv. Keppel Page. Robert Cour. Courier. Lady Eveline Amyott Lady E. Lady Eveline. Maud Maud Maud. Rewrite all particDescsAdd wikidata link to titleStmt where possible TEI autotagging by Gemini Pro 2.5 THE WIFE'S SECRET. An Original play,IN FIVE ACTS. BYGEORGE W. LOVELL,AUTHOR OF "The Provost of Bruges;" "Love's Sacrifice;" Look before you Leap;" "The Trial of Love;" "The Trustee," a Novel; &c. [With alterations and additions by the Author.] ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. THOMAS HAILES LACY,THEATRICAL PUBLISHER, LONDON.

TO MRS. CHARLES KEAN, AND TO THE MEMORY OF HER LATE LAMENTED HUSBAND, This Play,WHICH WAS SO DEEPLY INDEBTED TO THEIR GENIUS,IS INSCRIBED WITH SINCERE REGARD BY THE AUTHOR.

Produced at the Theatre Royal Haymarket, on Monday, the 17th of January, 1848.

The Wife's Secret Characters. Original Cast at the Haymarket Theatre. LORD ARDEN(a fugitive Cavalier)Mr. HOWE. Sir WALTER AMYOTT(a Colonel in the Parliamentary Service)Mr. CHARLES KEAN. JABEZ SNEED(his Steward)Mr. B. WEBSTER. ETHERIDGE(an Officer in the Parliamentary Service)Mr. BRINDAL. BAROQUE(Captain of a French Sloop)Mr. ROGERS. (Servants to Sir Walter) PETERMr. CLARK. WILLIAMMr. COE. FRANCISMr. ENNIS. KEPPEL(Page to Lady Eveline)Miss REYNOLDS. ROBERT(a Courier)MR. BRAID. LADY EVELINE AMYOTTMrs. CHARLES KEAN. MAUD.Mrs. KEELEY.

SCENE.-Near the Sea Coast, in Dorsetshire. Time, 1655.
Programme of Scenery. Sir WALTER AMYOTT'S HOUSE ON THE COAST OF DORSETSHIRE. THE BOWER CHAMBER. Terrace before the house. The bower chamber. The shrubbery. Sir WALTER'S STUDY. EXTERIOR OF THE BOWER CHAMBER. THE ARMOURY. COURT ROOM OVERLOOKING THE COUNTRY,
The following Play was purchased by the late Mr. Charles Kean, and sincehis lamented death, has been most kindly restored by Mrs. Kean to theAuthor, who has now revised it throughout, with numerous alterations of the original, and additions of new matter. THE WIFE'S SECRET.
ACT I.
SCENE FIRST.– Court of Sir Walter Amyott's House. A loud knocking heard, L. Enter 1st Servant, R. 1 E. 1st Servant. Yes, it's a knocking–and Sir Walter absent– And no one but my lady left at home, And us poor servants. (knocking repeated) Yes, it is a knocking. What can it be? It's William's business To answer that front gate. (knocking louder) Most certainly It is a knocking. Should it now be thieves, Or cavalier malignants! Well, I'm glad It's not my duty. (knocking louder still) There can't be a doubt That it's a knocking; but I'm not the man To take another's office. Courier. (without) Ho! Hilloa! Hilloa there! Ho! Within the house! (knocking) Why, knaves! 'Tis easy seen the master is from home. Within there! Ho! Enter 2nd and 3rd Servants, R. 1 E., they cross and exeunt, L. 1 E., and return with Courier. 1st Serv. I wonder if they are armed. Verily, honest man, thou mak'st a noise– (looking at him) What, Robert? Welcome back to Dorsetshire. You shameless knaves(to Servants)to keep good Robert waiting! 3rd Serv. (R.) Why, boy, thou'lt bring rare news, I warrant now. Cour. (C.) The best of news. Sir Walter's coming home; and sends me first With this to greet his lady. (giving a letter to 1st Servant) 1st Serv. (L. C.) Verily 'Twill cheer her soul, I doubt not. She hath pined Most fondly in his absence–like as one Whose heart clings to its creature idol. Cour. Quick then, And bear that comfort to her. 1st Serv. Honest lady! Ay, as thou say'st, 'twill comfort her. Here, William, (giving the letter to Second Servant, L.) It is thine office; bear this to my lady, And look thou loiter not. Her spirit hungers For tidings of my lord. There's food for her. – And so – the news, good lad? Cour. You've heard, belike, Cromwell is now Protector, and His Highness – (all excited) 2nd Serv. Aye marry! the good brewer's ale grows strong! 1st Serv. What, thou'rt not gone! I'll have thee whipt, thou knave! (Second Servant crosses slowly behind to R.) And so His Highness–well, good lad–His Highness– Cour. Aye, the malignant Royalists broke out So mad upon this title, that they rose And entered Salisbury. 1st Serv. Good lack! good lack! The cut-throat men of war! But Salisbury, That's far from here– there is no danger? Cour. Danger! A single troop of horse dispersed them all. 1st Serv. (crosses to L. and back) Aha! The knaves! I wish some few of them Would fly this way. In troth my lord should find We're men of valour here. 'Twould well content me To make a prisoner. 3rd Serv. And me. 2nd Serv. (advancing, R. C.) And me. Cour. Why look, that varlet holds the letter still. 2nd Serv. (giving the letter to Third Servant) Francis, fly with it; art thou not ashamed To keep my lady waiting? 3rd Serv. Nay, but Robert– For these malignants? Cour. To prevent more mischief Cromwell sends men of trust to every province. Sir Walter comes commissioned here– 3rd Serv. Oh my brave master! Page. Sir Walter? (The Servants all exhibit boisterous joy, turning up the Stage as the Page enters, R. 1 E.) Page. Why what hubbub's here? Knocking and shouting, and all heads together? My lady sends to know of this disturbance. What's this– a letter? (snatches it and crosses to R.) William should have took it. 3rd Serv. (R.) No, it was given Peter. 2nd Serv. (R. C.) Robert brought it 1st Serv. My life now; but if swearing were permitted You'd make me swear! A letter for my lady, And none of all these idle knaves will stir To bear it to her! Get you gone, you varlets! Off! or I'll have the dog-whips out! (The Servants cross behind and slink off, R. 1 E.) Stay, fellow! (to Courier, who is following) A letter. (turning it over) Hem! And from my lord, I think? Cour. (L.) It is so, sir. Page. (R.) My lady will be wild Till she receive it! Do you guess its tidings? (turning it over, and trying to look into it) Cour. To tell, as I believe, Sir Walter's coming. Page. Ha! coming home? I' faith I'm glad to hear it. We have been sadly moped. I've been, myself, The only man of any note in the house These six months past: now we shall have companions. I think they say my lord is much renowned? Cour. So much so, that he comes in full command Over this district–above all appeal, Save to the Lord Protector's self. Page. Nay, faith then Such trust is very creditable to him! You come, I think, from London? Met you any Who asked for me? for when I last was there I left some bright eyes wet. I should be sad To learn the foolish things had pined too deeply. Enter Maud, L., Courier takes off his hat. Maud. (crosses to c.) How now, sir Page! They say there's tidings come Of my good lord. My lady waits impatient, And sends me down to ask of your delay. Page. I did but pause, sweet Maud, to rate this fellow For loitering on the road. Maud. A letter, too! Give it to me I'll bear it her myself. Page. Thank you; I know a page's duty better. (crosses to L.) I'll spare your pains, and win myself the largess For the good news. Fellow!(to Courier) go to the buttery And bid the cellarer fill thee with ale. Exit, R. 1 E. Cour. I humbly thank your Pageship; and I'll go Drink to your better beard. Exit, R. 1 E. Maud. (looking after Page) Well, this is cool! These imps of Pages are the very devil– Oh, mercy on me! what a naughty word! It's well none heard me. But 'tis really hard To stroke oneself down to the sleek demureness Of these smooth-spoken times. Now here comes one Would read a homily ag ood hour long On my enormity; yet, I'll be sworn The knave would cheat or lie–backbite or slander, Without a blush – but mum! Suddenly changing her manner as Jabez Sneed enters, R. 1 E. So, master steward, They say the man, called carnally our master, Returneth home. Jabez. (C.) They speak without a lie then– A most rare grace. Maud. 'Twill be a joyous day For my dear lady. Jabez. (sourly) Will it? Maud. Do you doubt it? Jabez. No. Walter Amyott is rich and young: Such ever find a welcome. Maud. (warmly) Sir! my master– (And bear in mind he is your master too) – Is noble, generous, faithful, honest, brave! Some servants might well take him for their pattern. And, for my lady's love –the doting fondness Of their first courtship was but cold and weak Gauged by the wife's devotion. Jabez. (with a sneer) They've been married Almost a twelvemonth! Maud. Well–and if they have, sir? Twelve ages would not change a love like theirs. Jabez. Hem! Maud. Jabez Sneed, you do not love my lady. Jabez. I'm not her husband–wherefore should I love her? Because she came a wolf among our lambs? Bred of a family of hot malignants– Daughter of that Lord Arden who at Naseby Fell fighting by the man Charles Stuart's side; Sister of that Lord Arden, his successor, Who, after Worcester's crowning mercy, fled To pitch his tent among his country's foes, And plot against the rulers of his people? I tell thee there be those would hold the deed. A pious one to smite, with the sword's edge, The Amalekitish woman! Maud. She's no woman, Thou saucy knave! She is a noble lady! And for thy hate of her, thou cankerous varlet, It is not that she's daughter to a lord, Nor sister to a banished nobleman; But that she's wife to thy too trusting master, And more than doubts thy long accustomed plunder! That she knows figures–looks to thy accounts– Balances incomings and outgoings, And keeps thee straight in all. Why thou'rt grown thinner By half thy substance since thou canst not thieve! Jabez. (R. C.) Verily, Maud, the world is strong in thee. Thou talk'st of carnal things. Maud. (C.) I talk of thee, A very carnal thing! My lady too Talks of thee, Jabez Sneed, and will talk more When my good lord is come. Aha! sir knave, She has some rare discoveries for his ear Of thy past doings, and she'll make thee known For what thou art. Jabez. Thou'rt somewhat out of breath– Better sit down and rest. Maud. I've breath enough To tell my lady what thou say'st of her; Ay, and I'll do it too! A woman quotha! Out on the scurvy knave! My lord shall know He's married to a woman when he comes! Marry, I marvel what he'll say to that. Exit, R. Jabez. (looking after her) Sweet mistress Maud; 'tis sometimes well to cross thee, For thou speak'st plainly then. I am suspected! 'Tis well I know it. And the pretty doubts Are to be prattled in Sir Walter's ear. This daughter of the land –this painted doll– This plaything of a wife would overturn My forty years of service! I will gird The loins of my discretion, and do battle To hold my credit and to weaken hers. 'Twere best she walk advisedly, or I May trip her. Then, my dainty Lady Eveline, Look to thyself! There is an eye upon thee May find some specks of black in all thy snow. Exit, R. 1 E.
SCENE SECOND. –T he Bower Chamber in Sir Walter Amyott's House. Night. Door, L. 2 E.; carpet down. Lady Eveline discovered, seated, with a letter in her hand, L. C. Lady Eveline. Amyott returning! Walter coming home ! Thou dear conveyance of precious news, A blessing on thine every character! (kissing the letter) How kind–how tenderly he writes! What love! Oh, I am undeserving of such bliss! What shall I do to merit it? And thou, Dear paper, that hast sped so fast before, Impatient to anticipate my joy, What largess shall I give thee for thy pains? He will not grudge this kiss–'tis given to him, For there his hand has rested. He has touched thee– His finger traced these lines. I see his eye That bent above them, tracking the swift pen, And with its look of love, as with a seal, Impressing each fond syllable with truth. Dear Walter! Dearest Husband! Enter Maud, L. 2 E. Maud. Please, my lady, Or I, or Jabez Sneed, must quit this house! The ill-conditioned varlet– Lady E. Peace, good Maud! There's nothing ill-conditioned now. All's fair, Joyous and good! Sir Walter's coming home! Maud. (L. C.) And if you do not make his earliest act To turn his knavish steward out of doors, You merit no good service. By my life, I know not what the pestilent rogues would have. I've clipt my dress down to their primmest cut, Foregone my ribbons and my naughty words, Turned up my eyes, and spoken through my nose– Lady E. (c.) Poor Maud! poor Maud! Maud. Ay, you may laugh, my lady; Pretty demure behaviours cost you nothing, For you were born an angel; I have had To make myself one–no small task I promise! And what's our recompense? Now I'll just tell you What Jabez said of you. Lady E. Nay, do not, Maud; Say what he may he cannot anger me. I am vexation-proof with happiness! Walter is coming home! (three distinct taps are heard at the window, c.) Hush! What was that? (tapping repeated) Maud. It sounded like a tapping at the casement! Mercy! why there's a man! I saw his head! Shall I call "fire?" Lord Arden. (without, c.) Hist, Eveline! Lady E. My name ! It must be Walter! Maud. Climbing like a thief To that back window? Lord Arden. (without) Eveline! quick, quick! Lady E. That voice! Impossible! Fly, Maud–the door! Secure the door! (Maud hastily bolts door, L. 2 E., then stands up at back, L.–Lady Eveline rushes to the window and opens it–Lord Arden springs into the room) Lady E. Philip! can this be real? Lord A. (c.) Exceedingly substantial. (embraces her) Feel it. Lady E. (R. C.) But how here? I thought you safe in France. Lord A. So I was, once; And would I were again! In short, sweet sister, Your rascal Noll, assuming royal state, Was too much for my bile. I crept to England, Joined a few honest fellows in the West, And seized on Salisbury–judges and all! But none supported us. We got well thrashed; Penruddock, Groves, and half a score beside, Were taken prisoners, and lost their heads– While I, less known, or better horsed, escaped, And made for Dorsetshire, to beg a shelter Till I can find a ship for France again, Lady E. Oh, Philip!–and thy life's in danger? Lord A. Rather! A goose's neck, if caught at Michaelmas, Would be about as safe! I tell thee, too, girl, There is some peril in concealing me; But I mistake my sister Eveline If she will heed for that. Lady E. Though 'twere my life That should be given in exchange for thine, Thou know'st I would not grudge it. What my means, My credit, influence–but why say mine? My husband's heart is one with mine in all things. He too– Lord A. Stay, Eveline! I have forgiven Your marriage with this Roundhead–for, in truth, All tongues report him as an honest man, Worthy a better party; but I swear Ere I would owe him thanks for any service, Even the lightest– Lady E. Philip, be not rash– You do not know him. Lord A. Nor intend to know. Lady E. He is generous. Lord A. I will not tax his bounty. Lady E. This is unjust! You misconstrue my words. He has a heart that beats for honour only– A chivalrous high spirit that would let A world float by, rather than stoop by baseness To snatch advantage of a matchless courage, All good men's idol, yet withal so humble, He is the only one who knows it not; A heart as pure and warm as infancy, And where it loves, unbounded in devotion. Each hour expects him here. He comes with power To make his will effective; and that will, That power, shall be for your protection. Lord A. Sister, Hear what I say, and do not after think To change my resolution. When I first Learned you had wedded Walter Amyott, My rage, that any prick-eared cur should dare To marry with my sister, knew no bounds. I heaped upon him insults–public ones– Challenged him–called his temper cowardice, That would not meet me with as blind a hate– Outraged him as I thought no man could bear, Though, for your sake, he did endure it still– And having done this, think you I would now Crouch down and ask for service from him? Bid him, Who comes here in authority and trust, Give shelter to his master's enemy? Raise war between his pity and his duty? Assault his conscience! For these gentlemen, You know, have very tender consciences. (Lady Eveline is about to speak) Nay, do not interrupt me, Eveline. Promise me–swear to me, no word, no hint Shall ever reach to Walter Amyott's ear I am so much as debtor to his walls For shelter from the sky! Promise me this, Or on the instant I'll resume my flight, And dare all consequence. Lady E. Well, well, I promise. Lord A. Swear it! (pause) Swear it! Lady E. I do! Lord A. Enough––I'm satisfied! Remember, Eveline, I have thine oath ! Forgive me, if stern dangers make me harsh. Thou know'st 'tis not my nature; but these times, Change better men than I. Now, I but ask A shelter of my sister–no great boon, And one she'll not deny. For honest Maud here, Whom I hold sworn as deeply as yourself, (Maud nods) I will not grudge her knowledge of my secret: And, though she tries to look as sanctified As any of their crew, there still peeps out A merry little devil from her eye, That says, all's right within. Maud. I' faith, my lord– And that's a bigger oath than I've had courage To use this twelvemonth past–you need not fear I shall turn traitor; ere they get a word Out of my lips, the rogues shall take my tongue; And that, or I mistake, would be a gift They would be little grateful for.. Lord A. (C.). Good wench, I'll seal the bargain with thee. (gives her a kiss) Maud. La! my lord! Just the same merry gentleman as ever. (a distant trumpet and shouts heard, L.) Lady E. (R.) Hark, he is come! My husband is arrived! (crosses, L.) Lord A. Pest on him! Can't he give me breathing time? Lady E. Oh, short of sight! How little did I guess That I could tremble at my Walter's coming! Maud. Better go out to meet him. Lady E. But my brother– Maud. Ay, there's the thing. Where shall we stow his lordship? Lady E. Hush! There are voices in the hall–a footstep– I know it–it is his–Walter! my husband! (crosses to c.) Oh, Philip, let me make you friends at once, And be all happiness! Lord A. (approaching the window) Another word, And I am gone for ever. Lady E. Cruel! Maud. Quick! I hear him at the door. Stay–here–the closet! For heaven's sake keep still though, or you'll make Some mischief. (Lady Eveline forces Lord Arden into the closet –Maud runs and unfastens the door, and having done so, stands demurely, with her hands before her, up stage, L.) Enter Sir Walter, door, L. 2 E. Sir W. Eveline! My wife! (catching her in his arms) Lady E. Oh, Walter! Sir Wal. (C.) My own, my precious one! Lady E. (R. C.) And thou art safe, And well? Sir Wal. My long lost, my recovered treasure! I did not think time had the power to spin Such weary length from so few numbered weeks As those since I have parted from thee. Truly 'Tis but ill husbandry of life, to love; Thriftlessly storing in one fragile vessel The heart's whole wealth, which lost, we are all bankrupt. I sometimes fear I doat too fondly on thee! For every yearning thought of hope, joy, fame, Country and freedom, all like restless birds In circles flutter till they light on thee! – The soldier's victory, the patriot's triumph, Are still imperfect until thou shalt share them. Lady E. And dost thou grudge to love, then? Once thou saidst That was the guiding lamp that led thee on To honourable deeds–to fame–to glory. Are these no part of life? Sir Wal. Ay, the rough waves On which the mariner is tossed, through which he labours, Because they wash the shore where stands his home. In the hot race the goal fills all the eye; The rest is weary labour. So to me Fame, honour, glory, are but toilsome ways, Through which I seek a path to lead me home More worthy of thy smile! Nay, that's a tear. Lady E. The overflowing of a heart filled up Too full with happiness. Sir Wal. Yet, now I look, There is a shade of care upon thy brow– A paleness on thy cheek. Lady E. And is it nothing To know embarked on such a stormy sea My all of wealth! Oh, Walter! will the jar Of these discordant times never subside To harmony again? Each rumour thrills me With terrors for the fate of some I love; Close linked with both divisions! There has been Another rising?. Sir Wal. Ay, at Salisbury– A mad-brained unsupported foolery, Not worth a thought; save for the wretched men Who led it on. Lady E. (trembling) And they? Sir Wal. Have paid the forfeit. Lady E. What all? Sir Wal. As I have heard. Lady E. Did none escape? Sir Wal. None that are known. Lady E. Thank heaven! Sir Wal. (astonished) Eveline! (advancing, c.) Lady E. (confused) What did I say? You must not heed my words, Where sometimes distant thoughts go linked together. Yet is it not a cause for joy that none Are doomed to rove the land like hunted beasts, With bloodhounds on their track–in restless flight, Chased day by day, a price upon their heads; Their common kind, with cold and hunger linked To quench the struggling spark of hope within; Till worn, exhausted, they sink down to earth, And the warm blood that filled a noble heart, Gluts the pursuer's fangs. It might have been That even thou, in thy stern duty's course, Cam'st here on such an errand. Sir Wal. (smiling) My commission Is of a milder tenour–to forestall, Not punish wrong. Lady E. Thou art not angry with me? Sir Wal. Angry! (embrace) Lady E. Or wilt forgive–remembering I've a brother Has been a fugitive–may be again. Sir Wal. (gravely) Lord Arden is in France; and I would trust Too wise to tempt again a hopeless fortune. Lady E. (hesitating) And even if he should, and thou should'st meet him, I know thou would'st not see in him a foe, But only Eveline's brother? Sir W. Eveline, When I took arms there was no selfish thought In my heart's purpose–no exciting dream Of interest or glory urged me on. I rose in answer to the holiest call That ever sounded on a freeman's ear. My faith–my country asked their children's aid;– Such as I could I gave. I would not boast, But thou hast somewhat known that private wrong Falls dully on my nature. To the foe Who slanders me–abuses my forbearance, And undermines the fabric of my peace, I still can give–have given the hand of pardon; But should one born and nursed my country's child Still plot against her freedom–should he, now That she has won her liberty, still seek To fasten chains upon her sacred limbs, And pour in poison on her yet green wounds, Then would I reckon such my deadliest foe! Would own no tie of kin–no link of love;– For such Lady E. (faintly) Enough, enough! (Sir Walter turns up, L. aside) Philip was right, 'Twere death to trust my brother's secret with him! Maud. (R.) If now Lord Arden hears him there'll be murder! I think my lady, sir, looks very pale– This room oppresses her. It's monstrous close, You would do well to take her in the air. Sir Wal. Oppresses her! the night is sharp and cold. Maud. Yes, very true; but yet this nasty room– She's always ill in it, arn't you, my lady? Lady E. (faintly) I should indeed be easier elsewhere. Maud. I tell you, sir, she can't abide this room. Sir Wal. Not this–her Bower Chamber! I had thought it Was ever in her eyes, of all the house, The favourite. Maud. Oh yes, it used to be: But while you were away, she would set here Such weary hours watching for tidings from you, We nicknamed it the room of tears and sighs! A thousand times she has said, when you came home, If come you should (and then she wept again), She'd never see it more, but lock it up, With all its memories of care inside, And throw away the key. (aside) Well really now I think that's very prettily imagined. Sir Wal. My Eveline shall have her will in all things. There is no spot where we have breathed together, That is not rich with happy memories. Come, then, some other room. And if one care Have sullied this for thee, 'tis closed for ever. For I must have the roses on those cheeks Come mantling back, and see those joyous eyes Sparkle as bright as ever. I return Claimant for long arrears of happiness, And will not be defrauded of an hour! Nay, nay, no drooping! Nothing now but smiles. (leads her off, door L. 2 E.–Lord Arden comes out from the closet, and Maud makes a sign to him, then takes the key out of the door and locks it on the outside –when the door is locked Arden sinks into a chair)
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
ACT II.
SCENE FIRST.—Garden of Sir Walter Amyott's House. Enter Maud and Page, R. 1 E. Page. (R. C.) I tell thee, Mistress Maud, there is a secret. Maud. (C.) I tell thee, Master Page, thou art a fool. Page. Everything proves it— Maud. What, that thour't a fool? Page. Psha! No; but that some dear delicious secret Is giving interest to these dull old walls. Now Maud—dear Maud—by all the tender love Of sweet confections I have vowed so oft— By all the charms of buttery and larder, That spread a halo of delight about thee— I do conjure thee— Maud. What an imp it is! Page. Maud, gentle Maud! Think of this gloomy house, That has grown gray with premature old age, And I with it, for want of some excitement To vary our monotonous propriety— Think of its now holding a mystery To stir its pulse up to a healthy beat, And I forbid my share! There's not a page From Durham to Land's End that would endure it! Maud—pretty Maud! Maud. Thou arrant little fool! I tell thee there is naught. Page. Maud, have a care! My office gives me opportunities Beyond the common herd—I've seen too much! Maud. (alarmed) Seen! What? Page. Ha! Thou dost start,—thou'rt pale, sweet Maud! Seen what? Hist!—no one's by. Why has my lady Forsworn her Bower Chamber? Maud. Why? Because She's weary of it. She has wept and watched there So many hours, she made a solemn vow That, should my lord come safely home at last, No foot should enter it—no eye behold it— 'Till twelve months' joy had washed it sweet again. Page. Excellent Maud!—but lady most forsworn! Forsworn, ere yet twelve hours of joy had passed! Why did she—ah, she fancied, unobserved— Steal, an hour back, in secret to that chamber? Why did sweet Maud bear there a portly basket, Hid in a napkin, and come empty forth? Why lock the door so carefully behind her? Maud. Silence! The deuce is in the prying urchin! Page. Aha, good Maud!—is there no secret now? There's more than that, though— Maud. Peace, thou imp of mischief! Page. (beckons her—whispers) There is a man concealed within that chamber. Maud. (screams) Ha! Oh, thou wretch! Thou little slanderous viper! I'll have thee hanged. Page. I say, Maud, there's a man! I heard his voice in converse with my lady,— Heard him in talk with thee too. Maud, thou tremblest; But do not fear—I am a gentleman.Treat me with confidence, I'll not betray you; But, strive to hoodwink me and fool me, then I'll be all spite and mischief—cross and vicious; I'll go for counsel to old Jabez Sneed;I'll— Maud. Curse upon the prying little vermin! Well, since you know it then, there is a man. Page. Oho, my charming Maud! Maud. But, look you, sir, There's life and death hang now on your discretion, And if you speak— Page. My honour, Maud—my honour! You have my honour.(laying his hand on his heart)But who is the man? La! only think, my lady! Fie, fie, fie! Oh, woman, woman, you're a feeble sex! We men do play the very devil with Your dear soft hearts! We ought to shew more mercy— We really—(crosses L.) Maud. (boxing his ears) Why thou pestilent cock sparrow! Is't possible thou dar'st with even a thought Slander my precious lady! Know then, sir, Since I must tell your prying pageship all things, It is her brother. Page. Brother! Pooh, pooh, pooh! Maud. I tell thee boy—I swear it—that the man Hid in the Bower Chamber, is Lord Arden. He has sought refuge here unknown to all, 'Till he can ship for France. And since, sir, now You've got your will, and all that I can tell you, I shall expect your aid. Page. I'm disappointed. Maud. What! Page. Yes, I really am. A little mischief Would have been quite refreshing to the dulness Of this staid, pretty-mannered house. Maud. Why now, Thou little reprobate— Page. Hush!—no ill language. (whispers)Remember I'm a co-conspirator; And, to offend me, may be dangerous. Maud. Hist, for your life! We're watched! Page. Fear nothing, Maud; Thou'rt under my protection.(leads her apart to L.) Enter Jabez, R. 1 E. Jabez. Whispering?Heads close together? Is he, too, made partner Of the suspicions held against me? Fool To give my papers up to her demand! I deemed her asking them a woman's whim, Which, if opposed, would but grow doubly strong; Or, yielded to, would cease with its enjoyment. But she has pried too curiously, and now Locks up the chamber where they are bestowed; Belike that they may testify against me. Could I obtain them some few figures changed, And all were well again; but, till that's done, I lie within her malice. Mistress Maud! Maud. Save thee, good master Jabez! Jabez. My occasions Require admittance to the Bower Chamber. Maud (C.) In verity, 'tis closed with a fastening, Carnally called a lock; and Lady Eveline Hath got the key. No one may enter there. Jabez. (R.C.) But there be papers which Sir Walter needs, And I must render him. Obtain the key But for a minute, and the act shall be Esteemed a goodly service. Maud. Peradventure, They be the papers which my lady wishes Herself to render to Sir Walter's hand. Those where she deem'd she found—ahem! thou knowest! Jabez. It ill beseemeth servants and handmaidens To strive against each other, when their profit Is better found in goodly fellowship. Cast in thy lot with mine; it may be, else, That I may stir some matters, Mistress Maud, In thine own office, that but ill become thee. Maud. In mine? Man, I defy you! Jabez. Even in thine. There's pilfering in the larder! Choice provisions, That neither reach master's nor servants' tables, Vanish from out the house! Maud. There must be rats.(aside)Lord Arden has a monstrous appetite. Jabez. I am not given to care for creature comforts; But I had put aside a little pasty For my own use— Maud. (aside) Last night his lordship's supper. Jabez. 'Tis stolen!—gone! Maud. The pasty? Oh, the pasty— Yes, the poor dog, old Rover—Rover ate it. I would have beat him, but he seemed to say 'Twas only a small love of creature comforts The steward's room had taught him. Jabez. And the wine— A flask of Burgundy that stood beside it, Drank the dog that, too? Maud. (aside) Plague upon the wine! Who shall have taken that? Page. (aside, up L. C.) She's breaking down; I must go in and rescue her. Jabez. The wine! The wine, I say! Page. (advancing, R.) Oh, fie, fie, Master Sneed! You know I saw you drinking that yourself. Jabez. Me! Saw me drink it? Page. (gravely) Thee—thee—Jabez Sneed. The fumes of it are still upon thy breath. Maud. (approaching him) Oh, quite unpleasant! Jabez. Scum! Do you dare to flaunt me? Page. Oh, it's rising! It's getting in his head.(whispers aloud)He's drunk! This is a sight unfit for female eyes. Come, Maud; I must preserve thy purity(crossing R., with Maud) Leave him. Oh, fie! Maud. Oh, fie, fie, Jabez Sneed! Exeunt Maud and Page, R. 1 E. Jabez. They dared not do this, if they felt not sureMy ruin was determined. They make haste Already to the spoil, and glorify Themselves in my backslidings. How to oppose them? If I could only shake her credit with him; Make him, but by a shade, distrustful of her—. Find something I could threaten with. But no; She is too subtle. The accursed papers! 'Tis all shut up in them. What if I move him To ask, as for himself, the chamber key? She'll scarce deny him. If she give it—good! If not, in the refusal, there's suspicion, Which, managed tenderly, might—Hush! he's here.(goes up, L.) Enter Sir Walter, R. 1 E. Sir Wal. My home, my home! Oh, what a wordless joy To be in thy familiar clasp again! In absence, it seemed almost too much bliss For hope to picture. My returning foot Paused on the threshold, doubting still, lest change, Like a spring frost, had nipt some bud away; But not a leaf is wanting! All's the same— Love, peace, and joy flutter in every breeze, And my full heart, too small for its great wealth, Flows over with its rapture.(Jabez advances, L.)Ha! good Jabez! The same as ever—up with the first dawn? Jabez. The master suffers when the servant sleeps— And forty years of sleepless service, make Watching grow second nature. I'm a fool though— My zeal but breeds revilings for my payment: Yet 'tis for you. Sir Wal. And me it binds your friend. Of all the heritage my father left me, I thank him most for thee, my honest Jabez. Jabez. Ah, well, well, well!—truly thou art a kind And easy master—it may be too easy; Yet servants and handmaidens, dogs, and horses, All joy to see thee back! Sir Wal. (smiling) Maids, dogs, and horses, And never name their mistress! Fie! The flash Of happiness that kindled on her cheek At my approach—oh, that had more of joy Than all a world beside, combined, could offer. Jabez. Well, well, perhaps it had.(crosses, L.) Sir Wal. Only perhaps? Jabez. How should I know? I have some little skill In servants, horses, dogs—but none in women, I thank my fortune, and my single state. Sir Wal. Thou graceless infidel! Would'st thou be blind And thank the lot that hid from thee the rose? Deaf, and rejoice thou could'st not hear sweet music? Fie! fie on thee! The tongue that rails at woman Blasphemes creation in its brightest work. A ribald jest upon her purity Is flinging stain upon the fairest mirror, Where heaven is glass'd below. Jabez. I thought 'twas only The trick of raving boys, to call earth heaven, And women angels. Sir Wal. Nay, that do not I; I would not so mis-name my Eveline.She is a woman! 'Tis the idiot's cant To seek for what's of earth, a higher name. The smile that darts its sunlight to our souls; The sigh that melts and purifies our hearts; The trembling tear that owns and pleads for weakness; The timid trust that leans upon our strength; Gentleness that refines our rugged nature; And constancy nor time nor change can move; All these are woman's—woman's own! 'Twould wrong her To separate her name from her best graces. Jabez. More wrong to make an idol of frail clay, And worship it. Sir Wal. I worship not—I love! A nearer, dearer word; whose human fondness Encloses in its warm and holy clasp Affection, tenderness, esteem, devotion, Whatever heaven has left its creatures free Unblamed to consecrate to one another.(crosses, R.) Jabez. And confidence? Sir Wal. What question of it? Jabez. None.She's fair to look on, and, I doubt not good, In full proportion. If on your return She locks her chamber up against all access, Except her favourite maid's, it needfully Argues no want of confidence. Belike 'Tis but caprice. Sir Wal. Hast thou occasion there? Jabez. My lady had some papers there to view, Which I require. Sir Wal. Then ask her for the key. Jabez. Not I, not I; I'm somewhat old to brook Refusal calmly, and she would refuse me; For she doth ever make her sport to chafe me: I know not for what cause. Sir Wal. I fear me, Jabez, Thou art too harsh and churlish with her youth. Remember, she's thy mistress, and my wife. Jabez. I pray you ask my mistress, then –your wife— To give to you the key of the Bower Chamber. 'Tis like there is no mystery, yet if There, peradventure, should be, she'll scarce choose Disclose it to a servant; but from you I would not think she could desire concealment— 'Twould grieve my spirit if she should. Sir Wal. What folly Works now in thy suspicious brain? Jabez. Speak lower. She comes. I pray you walk now by my counsel.(turns away, and retires, L.) Enter Lady Eveline, R. 1 E. Lady E. Oh, Walter, I have been in search of thee! Why, what is this?—A cloud upon thy brow! Has aught gone wrong? Yet, even if there has, Couldst thou but know the pains we have bestowed, To make all bright and fit to welcome thee, Thou would'st not be too critical. I meant not To trust thee from my side till I had been Thy guide to every favourite spot—I made it My joy to think how thou would'st view a thousand Little surprises I'd prepared for thee! There's not a flower but I have watched its growth, And hoped it would not bloom till Walter came; There's not a bird sat singing on a tree But I have tried to lure it there again To make its constant perch till thou should'st hear it; There's not a sight thine eye has ever loved But I have sought to multiply it round, To make more beauty for thy coming home; And I had meant to lead thee on through all, And find in thy delight a sum of joy To pay me all thine absence. Sir Wal. So thou shalt, My priceless treasure, my unequalled wife! And in thy smile, and thy sweet voice's tone, Shall all of pleasant sights and pleasant sounds, Gather around till earth grows Eden! Lady E. Then Why did I find thee with so grave a brow? Sir Wal. A passing folly—'twould but vex thee! Lady E. Walter, Thou did'st not take me for a summer wife To share thy sunshine only! That dear title More strongly yet claims to partake thy pains. What was the cloud I met upon thy brow? Sir Wal. Well, then, they'd tell me, I have not all thy heart – that thou hast from me Reserves, concealments –– Lady E. Who's the enemy Of both our peace, would dare to whisper that? Sir Wal. (affectionately, and resting on her shoulder) Dost thou say guilty? Has that open heart Its chambers, where I must not ask admission ,And where I may not enter? Has it thoughts It would not place, as in my open hand, Where I might scan them throughly? Lady E. Well thou know'st It is a book whose every character Thou hast read o'er and o'er—whose open leaves Thou canst search through at will:—and if a page There be I would turn over from thine eyes, 'Tis only that which bears some household names I may not quite blot out –and thou, alas, Hast little pleasure viewing. Sir Wal. Ever most pure and good! I would not have one shade of heart or soul, Other than what it is. Lady E. (after a short pause) There's something further! I have not studied in those eyes so long, To miss their meaning. There's a something yet, Struggling for utterance, although forbid— What is it? Sir Wal. Such a folly that I shame To give it speech; but, thou hast locked a chamber And borne away the key. Would'st thou object To trust it to thy husband? Lady E. Did the same Who told thee to suspect me of concealments, Suggest this proof? Sir Wal. Thou'rt right—it was the same— No second tongue could ever so insult thee, Save mine, which now— Lady E. Walter— Sir Wal. Thou shalt not speak—I will not hear thee' It would degrade thee answering such a doubt. If thou desire thy chamber's privacy, Thou shalt not even seem to ask my licence— No, not a word; I will not listen! This Is all the poor return that I can make. Lady E. (placing her hand in his) Walter! I never had athought or wish Would blush before thine eye. Were it not so, I could not look thus fearless in thy face, And meet thy confidence. Sir Wal. I know it, dear one! Forgive, forget my folly. We have wasted Too thriftlessly a crowd of precious moments; For every moment's precious when with thee. Come, thou shalt lead me to each favourite haunt, And teach me what remains of Paradise Earth still can boast, when love sits smiling there. Come, Eveline!Leads her off, R. 1. E. Jabez. (advancing) Fool! Idiot! Ass! She winds him As pliant as a silken thread about her, And foils me still. Can nothing—ha! the window; I never thought of that. It may be open, And I may reach them so. I'll make the attempt. Exit, R. 1 E.
SCENE SECOND.—The Bower Chamber (as in Scene Second of First Act)—Daylight. Lord Arden discovered walking about. Lord A. It's very entertaining; but I wonder Wherein this differs from a prison! only Excepting in the article of food, Which really's very decent. Memorandum— Always be good friends with the housekeeper; My constant maxim. But a prisoner I am, to all intents, locked in my cell— Hem!(looking round)Something better, too, than bare stone walls; Yet there's a plague even in that. I've heard Of captives who have made themselves amusement With toads and spiders. No such luck for me!I've searched through every corner for a spider;But meddling housemaids have not left me one! The door, L. 2 E., is heard to unlock; it then opens—enter Maud with a basket, and carefully locks the door after her. Ha, my sweet Maud! Why, in this very instant, I longed—I pined for thee!(taking her hand) Maud. (demurely) 'Tis like, your lordship Felt carnal cravings of the inward man For worldly things.(pointing to the basket—shebrings forward the table and spreads the cloth) Lord A. A truce with canting, Maud! It is not fit for rosy lips like thine. Maud. (as before) In verity, Unless we exercise the gifts we have, Our graces will grow rusty. Lord A. Say you so? There then!(kisses her) Maud (R. C.) Good gracious! La! My lord! Lord A. (C.) You know, Except we exercise our gifts, good Maud, Our graces will grow rusty. Ha, ha, ha! I have not had so sweet a kiss these six months. Maud. (aside) Nor I. Lord A. In sooth, good Maud, I'm almost crazed For want of occupation. Even the pastime A prisoner finds in peeping through the bars, I am forbid. Maud. Why, if you would not have A musquetoon be levelled at your head, I should not recommend it. For heaven's sake Never approach the window. Lord A. I regard it At most respectful distance as I saw there A troop of Ironsides! Pest on it, Maud! Is there no cock-boat will put out for France? Will the wind never change? It's like a woman, Flitting round all the points, when you would fix it. Maud. Ay, like your mistress. Lord A. Only constant when It holds you fast, and you would give the world To change it— Maud. Like your wife—Exactly so! Lord A. I've wandered round this chamber, till I've learnt Each stitch in all the tapestry by heart— I'll tell you to a pane, how many squares Are in that casement. I have reckoned up The boards that form the floor—there's forty-seven. I had some thoughts of numbering the nails— In short, I've nothing left, but making love, And none to love but thee! Maud. (shewing the basket) Yes, here's a rival! Lord A. Psha! The bright ruby of thy lips— Maud. Is nothing to this full flask of burgundy. Lord A. Thy hand— Maud. Not half as tempting as a pigeon's leg, That's in this pie. Lord A. Thy round and buxom form(putting his arm round her) Maud. Mere nothing to the crust(crosses, L.) Lord A. I swear to thee— Maud. (gets chair) Thou'rt very hungry, so sit down and feed! Lord A. (at table) Thou art a sage, and know'st the the heart of man— I honour thee, sweet Maud! Here's to thy health!(sits. Jabez appears at window, and seeing them,starts) Maud. (L., sees Jabez, who instantly disappears—screams) Ha! Lord A. (starting up) What's the matter? Maud. I—I thought I saw Something that window—(Lord Arden is going to the window, when Maud stops him)Are you mad, my lord? Stand back!(goes and looks out)No; there seems nothing—it was fancy. But, to make doubly sure, I'll go myself, And see outside.(going, L. 2 E.) Lord A. (stopping her at the door) Maud—Maud! one moment.(kisses her) Maud. Fie, then! Exit, L. 2 E. Lord A. Only to keep my graces from the rust— Excellent, Maud! I drink thy health again.(snatching a glass from the table—Maud pops her head on, and Arden starts from table to run after her)
End of the Second Act.
ACT III.
Scene First.– Grounds of Sir Walter's House. Enter 1st and 2nd Servants, armed with guns, R. 2nd Servant. It's useless asking Master Sneed his meaning. Our business is obedience. 1st Serv. Verily. But evening's closing in, –the wind grows cold! The outward man feels ill at ease–the nights Are dark and moonless. 2nd Servant. What for that cares Jabez? Our orders are to watch the whole night through That none may enter, nor yet quit the house. 1st Serv. Belike Sir Walter, as a man of war, Delighteth in precaution; or dost think He has intelligence of some foul plot Of the malignants? 2nd Servant. Like enough, since Jabez Swore us to secrecy, and bade us let Our watch be known to none–only if any Shall make attempt to enter or go out We are to seize him, and in privacy Give Master Sneed advice. 1st Serv. Ay, thou shalt seize him, And I'll give notice in the house. 2nd Servant. Why, man, thou'rt not afeard? 1st Serv. Verily no, good William; I am provided well with carnal weapons ;– My gun is doubly loaded–peradventure 'Twould do more service, though, upon occasion, If I should add another charge? There's room. 2nd Servant. Thou hadst better give thyself a charge of this. (shewing a bottle) 1st Serv. What is it? 2nd Servant. Brandy. (presenting flask) 1st Serv. (drinking) Thou'rt a goodly youth! I will keep watch beside thee. 2nd Servant. Nay, my post Is in the young plantation, by the window Of the Bower Chamber–thine the house's front. 1st Serv. 'Tis ill-devised. Alone, we shall grow heavy And, peradventure, sleep–I'll stay with thee : So can we hold some profitable converse, Strengthening from time to time our natural man, And keeping guard with better vigilance; Else were we undeserving trust! 2nd Servant. This way then. I own I've no dislike for company, And here's enough for both ! Holding up flask–Exeunt, L.. Enter Captain Baroque, R. Captain B.

Vat a diable! De vind is change, and all is ready for de pauvre gentilhomme; but vere is de petit garçon to tell him so? I say him, "Ven you see de vind, you soon see me–so look out."

 Enter Page, L. Page.

Very true, Captain. So, having seen the wind, as you would say–me voici!

 Captain B.

Dat is de good littel boy.

 Page. (indignantly)

Little boy, forsooth!

 Captain B.

Vell, vell, big man den–as you vas be some day, if you grows a good deal first–aha! Come, all is ready! Vill I go to de lady?

 Page.

You go to my lady, you sea-horse! I'd have you know, sir, none but gentlemen of condition approach her! The very sight of you would make her faint. Why you look like a Polar bear, and smell like a stock-fish–Pah!

 Captain B.

Very well, littel boy! (half aside) I vas put dat insult in de bill! And now dépêche toi, make haste, for I vas not like to be found here. Dey peutetre take me for a spy, and hang me–vich désagréable–I vas put dat peril in de bill, too!

 Page.

Why, upon my honour I think if old Jabez Sneed were to catch you, nothing would give him greater pleasure.

 Captain B.

Jabez Sneed! And who vas Jabez Sneed?

 Page.

Oh, only our old steward; who, I doubt not, would think the blood of a Frenchman a sacrifice of a sweet savour!

 Captain B.

Aha! I vas remember him–Jabez Sneed–I vas put Jabez Sneed down in de bill, too. Oh, for certain, Jabez Sneed–I must charge for all my dangers.

 Page.

Mercy on us! I shall ruin poor Lord Arden if I stay with this purse-sucker any longer. There, good fellow, keep thyself out of sight in yonder shrubbery, and I will go arrange all with my lady. I need not bid you lie close. Remember Jabez Sneed. Ha, ha!

 Exit, R. Captain B.

Ay, ay! I vas remember Jabez Sneed–no fear–I vas charge two louis more for Jabez Sneed. He vould like if he vas hang me. Aha! lucky I vas take de precaution to bring viz me some littel marchandize– mouchoirs–bijouterie–parfumerie–just in case dey vas catch me; den I vas pass for vat dey call pedlar; and my English so remarkable parfait, nobody vas never suspect me for nosing as a native.

 Exit, L. 2 E.
SCENE SECOND. Gallery in Sir Walter's House. Enter Sir Walter and Jabez, L. 1 E. Sir Wal. I will not hear you more. You make me blush At the forbearance that has let you speak So much already. What your mistress does Asks not your license, nor will I permit You call in question aught she wills. Jabez. Speak lower; And keep your counsel! There is little credit In being known for a convenient husband. Sir Wal. (starting) What's this, sir? Jabez. Nothing. Yet it is convenient When wives would have concealments, and the husbands Keep their eyes closely shut. Tush–tush, Sir Walter! Frowns do not frighten me; I'm an old man, Gray in your father's service. Sir Wal. That you are so, Must plead the pardon of my sin to hear thee. I know thou lovest me, in thy surly fashion– But love, in narrow minds grows jealousy; And, restless as a chained and kenelled hound, Bays against all approachers! Jabez. Better bay At every passing sound than sleep in quiet When thieves are at the door. Well, say I bark– Will you not look what stirs me? Sir Wal. Man, I tell thee He who would slander, even with a doubt, The woman who has placed her trust in him, Proclaims his heart unworthy from that hour For love to shelter there. Oh! ere I doubted The perfect truth of her I once had loved, Though all creation, joined with my own sense, Were ranged in the opposite, I'd cling to her, Call my own sense, and all creation liar, And rather rush to shipwreck in my trust, Than safely swim on doubts to a cold shore On which my sunken sun had ceased to shine. (crosses, L.) Jabez. Mad, mad! The woman hath thrown spells upon him. Sir Wal. Sir, you presume on the permitted license Of your long service; and I have done wrong Bearing your testy insolence as humour. I should have checked it earlier, knowing well You never loved your lady. Jabez. Said I ever That I did love her? I'm no flatterer; That which my heart conceives, my tongue must utter. Her presence is a burthen on my conscience! Ill fared it ever with the chosen people, When they brought in strange women to their tents. Sir Wal. This is past all conceiving. Whence has sprung The boldness that dares speak thus of my wife? Jabez. I bade thee, Walter Amyott, use thine eyes. Thou wilt not. I must tear them open then; Shew thee this idol of thy trust–this woman Of a strange people! Shew 'tis not for naught She locks her chamber. She hath there concealed That which destroys thy peace–thine honour. Sir Wal. (seizing him by the throat) Villain! What ho, within! Who waits there? Enter 2nd Servant, R. 1 E. Send your lady. (Exit Servant, R. 1 E.) Ho, Eveline! (then to Jabez) I do but let thee live To blast thee with the sight of that pure virtue Thy poisoned tongue would foul–to see thee writhe As under the severe, but holy eye Of an accusing angel– Enter Lady Eveline, R. 1 E. Eveline! What hast thou done to make this wretch thy foe? Wherein provoked his malice? There is something; Why was it hid from me? Speak, Eveline! I'll not endure delay. Lady E. Nay, love, be calm! I had forgotten it in thy return, So let it rest; not make thine earliest welcome Complaint of those thou hast trusted. Sir Wal. (eagerly) Ha! I knew it. What was it? Tell me! Lady E. At some fitter time. Sir Wal. There's none so fit as this. Go on! What was it? Lady E. Of far too little worth to move thee thus. Servants in wealthy houses think, perhaps, Such pilfering their prerogative. Sir Wal. 'Twas there then? What, thou hast been too curious? Lady E. Was I wrong? I thought thy wife was but another self; And, in thy lengthened absence, thus I asked– Perhaps 'twas scarce a woman's province, yet I asked for his accounts. Sir W. (eagerly). Ay! Lady E. Searching them, With more of thought than one of greater skill Might have bestowed, I found –or thought I found– Sir W. He robbed me? And you told him this? Lady E. I did. Sir Wal. And not unlikely, threatened that I too Should know it? Lady E. Could I less? Sir Wal. I see it all! Hound! (flinging Jabez violently off, then clasping Eveline in his arms) Eveline, my wronged, my precious wife! Canst thou forgive me? Lady E. What? Sir Wal. What! That my ear Could dare take in a sound which breathed against thee. Lady E. Oh yes, and pardon him who spoke it, too. Sir W. But I will pay thee with yet dearer love, If dearer love can be–cherish thee more, If that a heart so fond yet more can cherish. Oh, I am all unworthy of thee yet! This baser metal needs refining more, To mix with thy pure gold (seeing Jabez, R.) Ha, dost thou dare Remain here still? Jabez. (R.) My honesty is questioned. I claim to have the accusation proved. Sir Wal. (C.) Thou shalt, be sure on't. Jabez. Now, upon the instant. The proofs, so called, are in that lady's hands, Locked in the Bower Chamber. We will go there Without delay; she hath the key! (aside to Sir Walter) She's pale! Lady E. (L.) Not now–to-morrow. Jabez. Lady, I say now! At once I'll come to controversy with thee. My reputation's touched, and cries aloud For instant justice–instant!–– Sir Wal. He is right. If he has power to prove his innocence, It cannot be too soon. Give me the key! Lady E. (agitated) No, Walter, no,–not now! Sir Wal. Tush! this is folly. When 'twas but thy caprice I yielded to it, And asked no questions–but now, weightier motives Forbid that a mere whim should push back justice. (pause) What! (with surprise) Silent still? Give me the key. Lady E. (calmly–but after a struggle) I will not. Jabez. (aside to Sir Walter, who stands amazed) You mark? Lady E. I might say, cannot–but I then Should speak untruth. Do not be angry, Walter: I'll tell thee one day, and thou'lt say I did Rightly and well. Thou art not angry? Sir Wal. (faintly) No. There, leave me for awhile. I would be private. I have some further business with this man. (crosses, L.) Lady E. (affectionately) You'll kiss me?–or I'll think you're angry. Sir Wal. (as before) No, Not now. A kiss should be the meeting springs Of love's unruffled waters and just now, There is a something stirring at my heart, Disturbs its current. (waves her away) Give it time to rest. Lady E. I will not vex you with more disobedience. (aside) 'Tis almost over! But a few short hours– Yet, oh, that they were past! – and I once more Sheltered no unshared thought. Only to-night! Exit, R. 1 E. Sir Wal. (standing as if lost, and passing his hand over his brow) Down, wicked thoughts! I know she's good and pure– Wise, noble, virtuous–who dares bid me doubt it? I looked in her clear eyes, and they were steadfast, And full of holy purpose. Though her cheek Was pale, there flickered there no shade of shame. 'Twas open all. If such consist with evil, Then devils people heaven, and all's a wreck ! Creation, shattered to its elements, Mocks at all form, and maddens in confusion! (seeing Jabez, R.) What, thou again! I'll speak with thee hereafter. Thou heard'st she said to morrow. Come to-morrow; But shun my sight till then; I'll do my best To think no evil in the interval. Begone! Yet stop. A seal upon thy tongue! If thou shalt breathe in any living ear, Or hint a thought, such as thou hast spoke in mine, I'll tear the heart out of thy felon breast, And fling it to my dogs! Beware! (crosses, R.) Enter 1st Servant, L. 1 E., whispers Jabez–then retires up, L. Jabez. (exultingly) Aha! Sir Walter Amyot–my unthanked zeal Had set a band of watchers round your house; They have surprised a man in the plantation That screens the window of the Bower Chamber; Wilt please you to examine him yourself? Or leave him to your servants' questioning? Sir Wal. (passionately) Hellhound! Thou'rt on the track, then! Be it so! Lead on, lead on! (crosses L.) And let me know the worst! Exit, followed by Jabez and 1st Servant, L. 1 E.
SCENE THIRD. Outside of Sir Walter's House–Night-lights down–the window of one of the rooms showing among the trees, L. C. Enter Page L. 3 E.; Jabez follows cautiously. Page. Where's my brave Captain gone? Lord Arden's ready, And only waits my lady's last farewell– Mercy! who's coming? Enter Sir Walter and 1st and 3rd Servants. Jabez. (seizing Page) Lo! Behold, Sir Walter! Here's this incarnate mischief on the watch! What dost thou here? Page. I–I–I–I'm in love, And walk by moonlight. Jabez. A transparent lie! There is no moon! Page. I'm waiting for it! Sir Wal. (sternly) Peace! (Page about to go, R.) Boy, do not stir–move not a foot. And you– (to Jabez) Put on your hounds upon the scent. (stands rigid in expectation) Jabez. (up c., having motioned to the Servants who go off into the plantation, R. 3 E.) Sir Walter– Sir Wal. Silence! My ear can bear no sound–thy voice The least of all. The night owl or the raven, Were as sweet music to it! Enter Servants with Captain Baroque, R. 3 E. Come, what find you? (impatiently yet without turning) Page. (aside) Oh, my poor Captain! Jabez. This way; Drag him on! Now spoke I truth? Look here! (then looking at the Captain, pauses astonished) Sir Wal. (crosses c.–after a moment's hesitation, turning and fixing his eyes on Baroque–starts) Why, what is this! What scarecrow from the fields have you brought hither? Speak, man, what art thou ? Captain B. (R. C.)

Vat you mean sare–scarecrow? I am von honest littel tradesman, you call pedlar, vid pretty trinkets. Ah, see! Vill you buy?

(producing & box of wares) Sir Wal. What unimagined foolery is here? You, sir! (seizing Jabez by the arm, and dragging him apart) Is this what you have sought to fright me with? This bale of dirt–this bundle of gross foulness! Is this the–the–Ha! ha! (laughing convulsively) I could go mad With very laughter! Speak! Is this the plaything You would accuse my wife of toying with? Speak, wretch! Jabez. My marvel is no less than thine. I do confess I know this fellow not– Belike, some thief–– Captain B. (overhearing)

Tief! Tief yourself, old man! I fancy tief take tings out of de house, not bring dem into it–fine tings like dese. (points to his box)

 Page.

Nay, Master Sneed–

(crosses to SNEED) Captain B. (aside)

Oh, dat is Jabez Sneed?

 Sir Wal. Answer me, fellow–what is't brings thee here, Prowling about my house at night? Captain B.

I begs your excellence vas pardon me; but I vas told come very privately–de gentleman vat vant me–Jabez Sneed–vant buy some pretty tings for pretty housemaid, and nobody to know–aha!

(PAGE and SERVANTS burst into shouts of laughter) Jabez. (thunderstruck) Thou man of lies– Page. (laughing, L.) Oh, Master Sneed a housemaid ! Jabez. Sir Walter– Sir Wal. Silence, sir! This fellow's story May ask more search. Take him within the house, I'll question him at leisure–and till then Let none have speech of him. Stay! (to Servants) You have watched; There's for your pains. (giving money) And do not think it strange– They told me thieves were out–'twas a mistake. Give it no further tattling–go! Exeunt Servants and Captain Baroque, L. U. E.–Jabez crosses to R.–Page lingers. Now, sirrah! Tell me, shall I most think thee fool or villain? Jabez. (sullenly) Sir Walter, who this knave may be, 'tis true I know not–but to this I will be sworn, I saw a man–a man of courtly seeming– By every outward mark, a gentleman, In the Bower Chamber. (pointing to the window) There, this very day, While it was barred to you. Sir Wal. What? Wilt thou dare Still to persist–– Page. (bursting into a loud laugh) Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! Why, is it possible? Why, Master Sneed! Did not you know me? Sir Wal. Thee! Jabez. A lie again! Sir Wal. Peace! Interrupt him not. Boy, tell me all; Confirm this, and I'll heap upon thee favours Past all thy youthful fancy ever dreamed. 'Twas thou? Page. A foolish fancy, sir–to see How I should show as a smart cavalier. I donned a flowing wig and a plumed hat, And strutted some five minutes to a mirror With great complacency– Sir Wal. (to Jabez) Did'st see his face? Jabez. I will not lie! His back was turned to me; But 'twas a man, and that I'll die upon! Sir Wal. Thou did'st not see him? 'Tis all clear as day; And I am made the fool of thy perversions. Away! ere I forget my knighthood and thy years, And do thine age some violence. (crosses, R.) She's pure! Spotless as new–born infancy; and I Only less vile to listen to thy slanders Than thou to utter them. That chamber– Jabez. (laying his hand on Sir Walter's arm and pointing to the window, upon which the rising moon begins to shine) Hist! (a figure appears in the room indistinctly) Page. (aside) Confusion! I must warn them. Jabez. (catching and holding him, L. c.) Stay! we'll have No masquerading more. Methinks, Sir Walter, The room's not quite so desolate. Sir Wal. (hesitating, R.) Well–well? She said to-morrow. What more natural Than that to-night–she should– (the figure of Lady Eveline appears in the moonlight near the window) Jabez. (whispers) Look! Sir Wal. (agitated) Yes; well? I said so. What's in that? It is herself! Jabez. (to Page who struggles to get away) Stand still, boy–or I'll put my dagger in you! (Lord Arden is seen to join her) See there–aha! Now–now spoke the dog truth! Look here, sir. (dragging the Page forward) Here's the other–here he stands– The pleasant cavalier! Sir Wal. (gasping) 'Tis a mad dream! My overwrought, distempered brain breeds shadows! Jabez. (pointing) To both of us alike then. Dream you not She locks his hands in hers? (they are seen to do so) Do you not dream–– Look! look! she–– (Lady Eveline is seen to throw herself on her brother's neck) Sir Wal. Ah! (utters a cry and falls senseless) Jabez. Alas, poor gentleman! (going to raise him)
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
Scene First.– Gallery in Sir Walter's House; door in the remote flat, and arms suspended against the wall; table, L. C.; chairs. Sir Walter discovered seated in a chair, L., his face buried in his hands, Jabez standing beside him, R. of table. Jabez. Weak, weak! The flesh is weak, and it rebels Despite the spirit–yet it must be done. Ho! Walter Amyott! Up and arouse thee! Sink not feebly thus, Like a weak worldling. Up! thou hast surprised The wicked in their tents! Up, and be doing! Sir Wal. (slowly raising his head) What? Jabez. Justice! Sir Wal. (mournfully) What is that? – There is no justice! I lavished on her love, whose liberal bounty, Had it been lord of worlds, would have cast worlds Before her feet, and felt a beggar still, Having no more to offer. I gave to her My heart and all its thoughts. I kept back nothing; And, lest my soul with too absorbed devotion Should worship its great wealth, I day and night Gave thanks to heaven that lent me such a treasure, And prayed to be more worthy its possession. (then passionately) What have I done? What have I left undone, That I should meet with such return? Out, out! There is no justice! Jabez. But there is revenge! Sir Wal. (mournfully) No, not for me; the bruised worm may turn; The crushed one suffers motionless. Jabez. Is't thus A strong man and a soldier suffers ? Sir W. Strong? Ay, there has been when, as the hot blood coursed, I've felt as though this hand could rend an oak. Look at it now! Were I to grasp a sword An infant would disarm me–trembling fool! Jabez. It shall not need the warrior's sword to punish. A word will do it. Thou shalt yield him up To the avengers of the righteous blood That still cries out. Their banner is abroad, And they shall recompense him. Sir Wal. (proudly, and rising) How! Betray My personal enemy to party foes! Bid public justice move for private hate! Play traitor to a helpless wretch, whom still My own hand dare not strike! ––Away with thee! Ere sink so abject in my own esteem, I'd be myself his guide to where, alone, We might stand hand to hand, and foot to foot, With none but heaven for umpire! (suddenly) But thou'rt certain He has not fled already for thy life Make me assured he's not escaped! Jabez. He cannot; I've set a watch again without the house, And brought thee here within. He is still locked In the Bower Chamber. (points, R. 2 E.) Sir Wal. Ay, but then the boy? Ere this he has told her all, and she is warned. Jabez. I heeded too for that–the boy is safe In close confinement. Sir Wal. Thou'rt the pearl of watchdogs! I love thee! But do all things quietly. To trap is ever better than to hunt, When 'tis unlawful game we follow. Jabez. Not a tongue can breathe to her Her crime's discovery; she sits unconscious, As doth the bird before the fowler's gun. Not even the capture of that evil man Of a strange land hath been revealed to her. Sir Wal. (in agony) Eveline! Eveline! My wife! my wife! Oh why did'st thou not die? I would have wept thee With holy tears–embalmed thee in my heart– Borne thy sweet image to my early grave, And triumphed to rejoin thee! Eveline! This is not true! 'tis some wild hellish plot, By demons gendered! Thou–(to Jabez)–none likelier. She said thou wast a knave. Say thou hast done this– Confess it, and thy knavery shall be Above all virtue! Dost thou crave for gold? Take it! Take all I have! I prize it not. Take all my wealth, my house, my honours, lands; Strip bare my body–take my health–my strength– My blood–my life! but spare me Eveline ! (falls into chair, R.) Jabez. Methought thine eyes bore evidence against her. Bid them deny their knowledge. Sir Wal. They are liars! (crosses to L.) My sight–my senses–thou–myself–all false; And only she is true! Oh, she was ever Holy as Eve, ere Eve had forfeit Eden! Pure as an infant's dreams! Go, send her to me; None but herself shall tell me I have lost her. Jabez. And thou wilt hear– Sir Wal. (passionately) Not thee! Send me my wife! (then pausing) And for thy soul still keep thy secret close. I would not–it may be we yet mistake her– Perhaps–perhaps she still is innocent– She may–(impatiently) Go, go! Exit Jabez, L. 1 E. Oh, I am very, very miserable! (buries his face in his hands: then suddenly starting) And when she comes, what shall I say? Entice her To lie against my sense? To disavow That which my eyes have seen? She dare not do it! And yet the thought, to raise On that soft childlike cheek the burning blush Of crimson shame! Make those calm gentle eyes Start wide with horror! Give my gross surmise Language and words! Oh, would that I were dead! Enter Lady Eveline, L. Lady E. Walter! Sir Wal. (turned from her) Ay. Lady E. You sent for me. Sir Wal. (faintly) I did. (he rises and advances, C.) Lady E. What is the matter? (takes his hand affectionately–he draws it away with a shudder) How! Reject my hand! Sir Wal. It chilled me. There's a something in the touch That mine revolts at. I have been but ill. The air has been alive–dark faces glaring. Cold clammy hands been laid on mine–I felt them And tried to push them off but could not. Lady E. (astonished) Walter! Sir Wal. (turning away his head) We're alone–– Is there not something thou would'st say to me? That heart is doubly sick Which hoards its malady close shut within it, As thine has done. Give it relief. Speak! Lady E. What? Sir Wal. That hidden thing which presses on thy soul, A hideous nightmare–that which turns the smile Upon thy lips, to poison in thy heart– Which makes the light of day a sickening terror Worse than night's gloom–till horrid night comes peopled With prodigies that shriek again for day. Lady E. (amazed) Oh, Walter! what is this? Some sudden frenzy has possess'd his brain– Without there! Sir Wal. (stopping her) Silence, madam! Rest you still. Lady E. (timidly but gently) Then look on me as thou art wont to look, And let me soothe thy care! What is it, Walter? I have performed ere now the nurse's office, And, thou did'st tell me, skilfully. Rest now, Thy head upon my heart. Sir Wal. Is it so large, There still is room? How many will it hold? Lady E. In such a sense as it is due to all, Then all the human kind: but in that straiter And inner clasp where love lies hoarded up, Then only thee–and well thou knowest it. Sir Wal. Wondrous? This is past credit! I'm my senses' fool. My eyes grow dim, and lack the power to see. No blush! no mark of shame! her open brow Raised boldly still! Oh, monstrous prodigy! Hast thou no sense? Dost hear, see, understand, And yet not tremble ? Lady E. Wherefore should I, Walter? Whate'er the passion that distracts thee, well I know thou would'st not harm thine Eveline, Who never knew a word, a thought, a look,. That was not love for thee. Sir Wal. (sinking into a chair) 'Tis past my skill! Lady E. Lean on thy wife–thy throbbing head will find No resting place so true– Sir Wal. (stares at her with blank astonishment–then, passionately) I'll hear no more! My reeling brain grows mad! Speak, Eveline ! Does that fair seeming form shut in an art Beyond a devil's skill, or art thou yet That which thou look'st to me? Hast thou indeed Betrayed my boundless confidence? Brought in, Even beneath my father's sacred roof, The blaster of my honour? Eveline, Speak! I will trust it from no lip but thine– Answer me, Eveline! (in agony) Enter Jabez hastily, L. 1 E. Jabez. Where is Sir Walter? (Sir Walter crosses, L. C.) All is confusion in the court below. A troop of horse is halted at the gate; And he who bears command enquires for you. He says that a malignant has been tracked To shelter here. Sir Wal. Aha! They answer for thee! Hear you this, madam? What, you bend at last? You are pale–you tremble now for him! Lady E. (faintly) For him? Sir Wal. Thou thought'st the searching, universal eye That spies through every corner of the land, Hoodwinked as easy as a weak, fond husband's? That none would whisper a young cavalier, Crept into Amyott's house–was welcomed there– Locked in the lady's chamber! Ha, ha, ha! Oh, it was nothing! Such a thing of course Could wake no comment (crosses, L.) Lady E. He knows all. Oh, Walter, Thou wilt not yield him to his enemies? Thou wilt forgive him–shield him! Sir Wal. (paralysed) Mad! She's mad! Lady E. Shall I be blamed that he is dear to me? Oh, could'st thou tell how dear! True he has wronged thee, Yet never shews a noble mind so great As when it pardons. Sir Wal. (furiously, and flinging her off) Viper! (draws his sword) Lady E. Walter! Husband! What would'st thou do? (rushes to door, R. 2 E.) Sir W. His blood! Stand off! His blood! My very soul's athirst for it. Beware! Thine own life is not safe. Lady E. Why take it then, So his be spared! Living thou shalt not pass me! Here is my post, and if thou wilt advance, My heart lies first upon thy bloody road. (Sir Walter pauses, staring on her with amazement) Enter Maud, L. 1 E. Sir W. (at length) Stand quickly from my path Or take the consequence–(approaching her) Maud. Sir! Are you mad? What would you do–frighting your helpless wife? Turn back your passion on its proper road– There's food enough for it. Your rank is outraged; Your station scorned. A saucy Jack below Would search your house like any common tavern, And force his way inside. Sir Wal. (abruptly) Give him admission; 'Tis well! A private death were too much mercy. A public shame; do you hear, madam? public! Give the man entrance. Exit Jabez, L. 1 E. Maud. You'll not suffer this? Sir Wal. Out, useful go-between! Who waits there? Bid them Give free admittance to whoever asks it. Throw wide the doors–we've no concealments here; Oh, no concealments–none! (bitterly) Maud. (aside to Lady Eveline) My precious lady, All's lost–all's lost! Soldiers surround the house. Six mounted troopers watch beneath his window! What's to be done? What's left for us? Lady E. (calmly) Despair! Enter a Parliamentary Officer. Sir Wal. (sternly–sitting at table, L. c.) Well, sir, you have some business here? Officer. (L.) The Lord Protector deigns to honour me– Albeit but a weak, unworthy vessel– With his commission. I have learned a traitor, A fugitive malignant, here hath sheltered. I come to seize him. Sir Wal. (bitterly) Ask the lady yonder, My wife–I am myself but new come home, And, in my absence, she has kept the house; Ask her whom she has entertained. Officer. Ha, ha! There is not many a pretty wife will tell Whom she has feasted in her husband's absence. (crosses, L.) Sir Wal. (passionately) Wretch! (then checking himself) But no–you (to Eveline, with assumed calmness) Your answer, madam? Officer. Speak! Lady E. (R. C.) That I, in England, am the only lady Whose husband would sit calmly by her side And hear her thus insulted. Sir Wal. Still so bold! Officer. Come, my fair mistress; bring the gallant forth, Or I shall drag him out. There's not a corner In all your house, wherein the rat can hide; But I'll put in a ferret there. (goes up slowly) Sir Wal. (as before) Proceed, sir! The lady, she will bear you company– Shew you the way–point out her secret chambers. Lady E. I'll not believe this. You cannot be so changed. Deny it, Walter! Deny this semblance of your outward person, That bears no vestige of your better mind. Have mercy, Walter! On me, for my sake, for those happy years Of never-clouded love that we have known; If for no present love, still–still for these, Be merciful! Sir Wal. (turning away) I have mistook my strength– I cannot do it. The blossom I have nursed upon my breast, Though stained and soiled, I cannot fling it out For common feet to trample on. Officer. Time wastes. Come, my fair lady, do you give us entrance, Or shall I call my men and force it? Sir Wal. Neither, sir! This house is mine, and I forbid you place Further a foot within it. Lady E. (springing forward and catching his hand) Walter! Husband! Sir Wal. My name, my services, are known enough To place me above taint of all suspicion; And, if not so, then be the risk my own To say you shall not set another foot, Nor further glance an eye within my walls. Officer. Hereon I do attach you as a rebel; And for the rest, I've force enough without To level your foundations. Sir Wal. At your peril! For any drop of blood that's shed this day, Account shall be demanded of you fourfold. Begone! Officer. By my good troth, and who is this That talks so big? Sir Wal. (proudly) It seems you know not, sir; 'Tis fit you learn then. I too hold commission From the same source as you, but so above you, That I have power, if I will, to punish Your disobedience as rebellion. Here, Within this district, all men bearing arms Are under my command. Officer. You will forgive me If of such sudden news I ask for proof. Sir Wal. (handing him his commission) Read it, sir! Lady E. Oh, my noble, generous husband! Turn not so coldly from me still! Sir Wal. (not noticing her) Well? Now, sir! Are you content? Officer. (sullenly returning the paper) I see 'tis worded so, And must submit. But look, Sir Walter Amyott, To have these things reported to his Highness. Sir Wal. At your discretion. But report as well The insolence that galled me. Tell him, then, That sovereign rulers should shew better care To whom they delegate authority. That the most sacred power, wielded by hands Of low adventurers and greedy ruffians, Becomes a thing abhorred. Go! Get you gone, sir! And seek another district. You shall make No longer stay in mine! (crosses, R., and back, L.) Officer. You shall hear further Of this, be certain. (aside) Nor will I be foiled So lightly of my hope. I'll linger near, And have him yet. Exit, L. 1 E., leaving the door open. Lady E. (flinging herself at Sir Walter's feet, and seizing his hand) Oh, Walter, my adored! My worshipped husband! Thou dost love me still! Strive not to draw that precious hand away: I will not part with it! Oh, could'st thou guess The flood of unimagined happiness That drowns my sense to know thou still dost love me, Thou would'st not strive to wear so cold a brow! Though thou should'st spurn me now, I'd yield no jot Of that blest faith. Nay, though thine angry hand Should even strike thy dagger in my breast, Still, still I'd swear thou lov'st me. Sir Wal. (turning away his head) Be content– I have shielded thee! Lady E. At peril of thyself. Sir W. (releasing himself) And now–we part–for ever! (rushes out, L. 1 E.) Lady E. (after standing for a moment, stupified) Gone? What said he? Part, and part for ever? No! He could not say so–'tis my own weak brain That grows bewildered. – Walter! Where–(looking round) Oh, brother! What hast thou done? My heart–my heart is–Oh! (pressing her hand on her heart, falls fainting into the arms of Maud–Jabez looking towards the chamber, takes down a musquetoon from the wall, and seats himself at the door, R., as on guard.
End of fourth act.
ACT V.
Scene First. Chamber in Sir Walter Amyott's House; door, L. 2 E.; window, L. U. E. Sir Walter discovered seated at a table, R. C., with writing materials; Lady Eveline standing before him, c. Sir Wal. Yes, I sent for you, madam. What must be Should be at once. I am no torturer, To rack the sense with lengthened agonies And revel in the pain. I would be rather The headsman's axe, sudden and quick, though sharp. We part; a moment's pang, perhaps, for you, But soon to be forgotten and for me– No matter what. The restless ghost can find A sort of joy in solitary walks, Among the mounds that tomb his former bliss– So think of me. We part–collect your jewels– Gold too–whate'er you find. Take all, take all; You cannot leave me poorer than I am. (covers his face) Lady E. I know not, Walter, what distempered dream Distracts thy better mind–but well I know Thou art my husband–dear beyond all telling; That an hour since, thy nobler, truer nature, With generous daring interposed itself To save the helpless. Sir Wal. (starting up) Peace! Lady E. If thou will'st it so–but not to leave thee! Thou hast some weight of care upon thy heart Which I, unwitting, make more grievous still– For so much sternness never can have grown Out of a fault like mine. If I have pained thee, Teach me to make amends! I'll be submissive To thy worst anger–patient as thy slave. Though thou should'st spurn me, drive me from thy walls, Yet still I'll cling to thee; lie at thy gate And die there–but I'll never leave thee! Sir Wal. (rises) Dream'st thou To linger still near him? I tell thee, woman, Before the dial marks another hour My feet shall bathe in his heart's blood! Lady E. (terrified) Thou darest not! Sir Wal. (advances, R.) I dare not? Ha, ha, ha! Thou think'st belike, Infatuated fool, an outraged husband Must tremble, scared, before thy paramour! Lady E. (starting) Whom! What! I did not hear thee rightly. No– Thou could'st not–did'st not say–– Sir Wal. Thy paramour! Must we seek dainty names for foul offences, And turn our tongues to courtly terms of vice? Thy paramour! Lady E. (drawing herself up) I did not think I could So nearly hate thee! Wretched slanderer, Is't possible that thy gross fancy dares Suspect– Sir Wal. No–not suspect thee–know thee, lady! Lady E. (proudly) Then it is time indeed to part. I'll offer No more resistance now. If I am sunk So low in estimation that the thought Of living man can dare impugn my honour, And thou believe it–then I am indeed Unfit for thee, or thou for me, or both! The spell is broken; love's bright, brittle world, That seemed a crystal sphere, is a poor bubble A breath has burst, and left no trace behind! Sir Wal. The glass that's flawed is better broke at once; It will deceive no more. Lady E. And, being broken, Tardy repentance, with its utmost skill, Can never re-unite the shivered fragments. Enough! 'tis done! If I have been too proud, I am humbled now, –humbled below the meanest! Esteemed a thing so vile, my own eye sickens To view my image. And by thee!–by thee Who–out on these weak tears! (dashing them away) Believe them not Love's gentle dew! Wounded affection's springs Lie deeper than the eye can trace their play. These are but the insulted woman's weakness; Shame's bitter wringings–the offended drops Of outraged modesty. Sir Wal. Thou matchless marvel Of good or ill–angel or fiend–what art thou? For, looking on thee, my still wavering sense Knows not which way to turn. Speak! Canst thou yet Unthread the labyrinth that hems us in? Shew thyself innocent? I'll listen to thee; I'll struggle to believe thee, and, believing, I'll worship thee with more devoted love Than that which won thee first. Speak, Eveline! Can we again be what we have been? Lady E. Never! The woman once suspected, from that hour Is never safe again. The sacred fence That hedged her in, when once a doubt has entered, Is broken down; another doubt will follow With less obstruction, easier still the next, – Till they have worn themselves a beaten track, And trust dwells there no more. Sir Wal. I did not doubt While hope retained a single thread to cling by. I battled with appearance–trusted still, Where weaker faith had yielded. I stood firm Through unexplained concealments–bore the taunt Of whispering surmise I could not answer; Yet still I trusted on, –till my own sight Beheld thee fondling with him–in his arms Close locked! Lady E. (starting–aside) Ha! Sir Wal. Look at that guilty start! Thou didst not guess My knowledge spied so far. Lady E. (aside, pressing her temples) He saw our parting, And did not know my brother! It grows clear. Sir Wal. My ears too, when an agony of fear– Fear for his safety, had unlocked the lips Which guilt had else kept closed–my own ears heard thee Confess thy love for him –to me confess it! Death! shall I ask for further proof? Lady E. (aside) I see– I see it all! Oh agony! that seeing I must be silent still! My brother's life! My oath! Sir Wal. Wilt thou deny it? Lady E. (faintly) No, no, no! Sir Wal. (paces the room–then sits at table) I thought I had schooled myself For this last parting, but I am weak–weak–weak, And struggle still for hope. I'd not expose thee To the gross censure of the scoffing world. Thou hast been very dear to me. Then go– In France thou hast a brother; he will be Thy best protector. Go to him: thy crime Shall never follow thee; all knowledge of it Shall remain buried here. Lady E. (aside) Out upon oaths That bind to a worse perjury! Sir Wal. For the cause That drives thee from thy home, thou may'st allege Whate'er thou wilt some fault of mine –I care not. 'Tis little matter, now, the world's repute Of me or of my doings. Lady E. (aside) Oh, I cannot– I cannot bear it! Walter! My own husband! Sir Wal. I pray you do not interrupt me. There's A struggle in my heart at every word, That stands in need of all my strength to rule it. Enter Maud, L. 1 E. Sir Wal. Ha! is all ready? Maud. Ay, sir; nothing wanting But your repentance; that, too's, on the road, And will be here ere long! The horses wait, Hanging their heads in shame of their employment. Sir Wal. Silence, thou prating fool! Madam,(to Eveline)you hear: all is prepared. Within There waits the captain of a ship for France– He will conduct you thither. For attendance, You have your page; he's somewhat schooled in vice; Let him now see the pangs of your remorse, And learn offence's certain punishment. This woman, too, may bear you company: I would not cut you off from all of love; And hers, I think, is true. Stay, one thing more! Scouts are abroad, and you may need protection To reach the ship; I will secure it to you. (goes to table and writes, R.) Lady E. (aside) His generous kindness kills me! Wherefore doubt him? I am mad to hesitate; safer by far To have my brother known than thus suspected! And for my oath, Philip, who forced it from me, Would give it back again a thousand times Rather than this. Maud. (cautiously approaches and whispers, L.) Hist! courage, precious lady! Your brother shall escape; I've planned it all– And by these very preparations– Lady E. (half screaming) Ha! Maud. (L.) Hush, seem to yield obedience to him still. Hold him in talk; and ere you can be ready, Lord Arden shall be safe. Lady E. (wildly, L. C.) Thou dar'st not mock me! Sir Wal. (rising) I've written here a pass will keep you free From curious inquisition on the road. You do not mark me– Lady E. Yes,–what is it, sir? (aside) Still, still, my choking heart. I catch her meaning. Give me the paper. (tries to read it) Something blinds my eyes. For me and my attendants–to the ship– To pass unquestioned–but it is not signed. It lacks your name. Sir Wal. (taking the paper and gazing at it) And she can be so careful While I–forget! (with a deep sigh, signs the paper and returns it to her) There (she glances at it–when Maud silently takes it from her hand and exit, L. 1 E., while Eveline sinking on her knee and pressing Sir Walter's hand to her heart, bursts into tears) Lady E. (aside) For the first time, false! And guilty to deceive him even thus. Oh, ever noble, thoughtful, generous– Sir Wal. Peace–'twas the last link of our mingled lives Which now flow separate. I do not curse thee– Farewell– (withdrawing his hand) And now–I–(crossing, L.)had a wife! All's over! The dream of life–hope, joy, companionship, All fled for ever! I have woke to find The past a lie, the future a dull blank, The earth a desert, and myself alone! Alone with the pale shades of my dead joys; Of thoughts that still hang round her–while her heart– Lady E. (passionately) Springs to thee, Walter, with a fuller love Than e'er it knew before. Look at yon sky! (pointing to a window) 'Tis thick with clouds, but dost thou doubt, for that, The sun shines pure beyond them? Have as much faith in love! Cloud for an hour May hide it from thy view–yet doubt not still Its source, untouched, glows far above their reach And only waits their passing. Walter, trust me! Sir Wal. My sense is staggered ––surely never guilt Wore such a look as that! Oh, if I still Could pause in my resolve–find room for doubt– Unsay my words, could still believe thee– Lady E. (eagerly) Walter! Thou ne'er couldst give a glimpse of so much bliss Only to call it back again! Thou wilt not! Thine eye looks kindlier on me even now– Thou canst not spurn away a loving heart That clings so fondly to thee–thou wilt trust me. Sir Wal. (agitated) Leave me! Lady E. Thou shalt! That voice's softening tone Tells some good angel pleads for me within. Sir Wal. (struggling) There does! there does! Oh, Eveline! (then suddenly starting) What's that! Lady E. (agitated) Nothing! Sir Wal. HOW! Nothing! 'Twas the tramp of horses––– Why dost thou look so wildly? Ha! No, no– That is impossible! Where is thy woman? Where is the pass? The paper of safe conduct? Shew it me! Lady E. (in agony) Walter — Sir Wal. (furiously) Shew it me– Lady E. (kneeling) Forgive me! Sir Wal. Oh, vile beyond all thought! (springs to the window) Ha, look! The page, The Frenchman, and a cavalier–all mounted– Leaving my house! Lady E. (following him) Walter Sir Wal. I see it all! (calls from the window) Alarm, alarm! Mount, mount! To horse! Pursue him! Lady E. Mercy! Sir Wal. (from the window) Ride, ride, ride! Fire on him! Shoot him! Lady E. (shrieks) Ha! It is my brother! Walter, it is my brother! Sir Wal. (starts) Brother! (then incredulously) Out! What further cunning? Lady E. Do not pause to doubt me. His life, his life! 'Tis Arden! Sir Wal. False! A trick! Lady E. Stay them! Sir Wal. The proof, the proof! There's waked up now Too strong a devil for a word to lay. Lady E. He took an oath of me. Sir Wal. The proof, the proof! (a shot heard–Lady Eveline stands motionless with horror–Sir Walter, looking from the window, continues) Ah! He's down! They've hit him! Lady E. (in a low voice) Murderer! Sir Wal. False! False again! No murderer! The avenger of my honour. Lady E. My wretched Philip! my unhappy brother! Escaped the slaughter of the battle field, Saved from the fierce pursuit of thirsting foes, To find thy death from him. Sir Wal. (staggered) Canst thou still feign– Lady E. Hush, hush! I cannot bear thy voice's sound. I shudder at thy sight!–thou'rt fearful to me. That fratricidal hand is red with blood,– My brother's blood! No tardy, vain remorse, Though stretched through ages, and distilling out Thine own life, drop by drop, could ever serve To wash it clean again! Sir Wal. (wildly) Wilt thou persist With wild inventions of such horror! Woman, I know 'tis false! It could not be. Lady E. It is! Sir Wal. (trembling) Footsteps! They come; they bring– Lady E. (slowly) His corpse! Enter Servants, with Lord Arden prisoner, L. 1 E.–Lady Eveline shrieks, and rushes into his arms. Ah! Philip! Lord A. They shot my horse, And brought me down. Sir, (to Sir Walter) I'm your prisoner! Sir Wal. Arden! And living! Eveline! my wife! Pure, innocent, and mine again,–my own! Speak to me, Eveline Lady E. The dark cloud has passed; The sun shines out again! Oh, to feel joy like this! Does he not love me? Speak to me, Walter! Is the dark cloud past? Shines out our sun again? Sir Wal. (kneels, and takes her hand) Again that smile!Thou canst not pardon. Lady E. No; the offended only pardon. I should sue– Woo thee back here–(raising him, and throwing herself into his arms)here bind thee to my heart With double chains as a recovered jewel– A priceless treasure, once too nearly lost. Sir Wal. Too noble! (sinking on her shoulder) Lord A. Sir, your prisoner waits to know His destination? Sir Wal. Destination? Here. Where should it be? Your safety–fortunes–ours! Your home our home! Too much we have endured From party feuds and fostered jealousies; Here let them end for ever. Lord A. (hesitating) But I've sworn A thousand times to die a thousand deaths Ere owe you thanks for service. Sir Wal. Still ungenerous, And all distrustful. Wilt thou never learn That we are brothers? Has that stubborn spirit Not wrought enough of ill? Lord A. (interrupting him) I have been wrong; I know it. I learned all upon the road. And what a wretch was I, whose wilful pride Nigh wrecked a bark freighted with so much love. Forgive me, Walter! (crosses, c.) Sir Wal. (taking his hand) Now indeed my brother, And to remain so. Thou shalt stay with us; I have so much credit as shall well secure Thy pardon, and I will myself become Thy future surety. Lord A. I should make you bankrupt Within a twelvemonth. No, the ship still waits; I'll only think I leave behind me now A friend the more than when I came to England. Enter Page and Maud, L. Sir Wal. Judge not too harshly of him. I have been So wrought by false appearance; and a knave More false than all– (turns up, looking for Jabez) Where is the villain Jabez? (Lord Arden crosses to R.) Maud. (demurely) In verity, the man called Jabez Sneed Is somewhat far upon his road to London, Strapped to a trooper's pommel. In our strait I found him in my way outside the chamber; The men of war did linger at our gate Asking a prisoner, so I gave them Jabez. I did betray him to them. Lord A. And they took him? (crosses, R.) Maud. Ay, troth; in spite of oaths and protestations; For at last he swore he did indeed, Which much confirmed them. They were quite content, And so was I. I wish them joy of him! Lord A. Maud, if I ever wed, I'll marry thee, Thou queen of plotters. Page. (advancing, L. C.) By your lordship's leave, Maud is engaged. She's pledged to wait for me Till I am twenty. Sir Wal. Let the villain go! Here he returns no more. Such loss and shame Wait all who slander a pure woman's fame. Lady E. But oh! let, too, the woman well beware Of thought or act her husband may not share. Love's flower that braves the fiercest storm without, Droops withered by the canker of a doubt. Implicit trust, its sacred spring of life, Brooks no reserve—no secret in a wife! SERVANTS. LORD A. B. SERVANTS. C. Sir WAL. LADY E. SERVANTS. PAGE. MAUD. L. Curtain.
.—Buff jerkin, brown trunks, high brown boots, steel gorget, small plain collar, broad sword belt and buckle, basket-hilted sword, brown felt hat and feather. —Light doublet, trimmed with gold lace, scarlet cloak and trunks, buff boots, broad brimmed hat and feathers. Black serge doublet trunks and cloak, grey stockings, and shoes, steeple crowned hat, lank hair. Brown doublet and trunks, grey stockings, and shoes, slouch hat. Plain velvet suit, hat and feather, shoes. Plain, but rich, white satin. Grey laced body, with tabs, gathered grey skirt, yellow petticoat, shoes with ties, apron, hair plain.