SCENE I

_A chamber or corridor in the Manor House. Door [L.]. Hangings on wall._ GILLIAN _seated [R.], with the three children about her, all working at wreaths and garlands, and singing an old carol. Curtain rises on second verse. While they sing_, DICCON _enters. Takes up sword or other piece of armor from table [L.] and begins to polish it._

CICELY [_with a deep sigh_]. Good Gillian, methinks that though we sang our carols o'er and o'er we could not make it seem like Christmas-tide. Brother Rufus is gone away, and we may not even say we miss him. I would I knew---- [_Chin on hand._]

GILLIAN. You would you knew what, little mistress mine?

CICELY. I would I knew what is wrong with us. Christmas was ever such a merry season in this dear house.

RAFE [_wisely_]. 'Tis because my father goeth about wearing such a stern face.

ALLISON. And Mother looketh _so_ sad.

CICELY [_confidentially_]. And I think cousin Phyllis cries in her chamber sometimes.

DICCON [_mutters_]. Meseemeth we should all know right well what aileth this place. [_Enter_ SIR GILBERT. _Stands in doorway._] When he that was the very life and soul is missing from the hearth----

GILLIAN. Hist, Diccon [_warning gesture_].

DICCON. ----and more than that, under a cloud----

GILLIAN. Be silent, I say, Diccon.

DICCON [_paying no heed_]. 'Tis young Master Rufus this house needs so sorely, I'm thinking.

SIR GILBERT [_striding forward angrily_]. Silence, I say. Have I not given command that my son's name shall not pass the lips of any of my people? I will be obeyed in mine own house. Diccon, hence! Thou canst spend thy days in the stables caring for my horses, an thou'lt not learn to bridle thy tongue. Mayhap the dumb beasts will teach thee a lesson.

DICCON [_bowing humbly_]. I crave pardon, Sir Gilbert. I but thought----

SIR G. Enough. [_Turns to table. Exit_ DICCON, _with an awkward bow._] Gillian, let this be a warning to you as well. I have laid my commands--I will be obeyed. [_Exit._]

RAFE. 'Tis very hard to be just children, when anything's wrong, I think. We may not know what our elders do know, and yet we must be just as uncomfortable.

GILLIAN. Tst-tst, my lambs! Let us think of other things. Shall we measure our garlands? [_Stretches out her green._]

RAFE [_measuring his against it, while_ CICELY _and_ ALLISON _stretch theirs together_]. Indeed, 'tis soon done, good Gillian. We've used up all our greens.

GILLIAN [_rising_]. I will see if Roger and Noll have brought more for us. [_Exit._]

RAFE [_considering his garland_]. Would my garland measure around the great pasty Dame Joan hath made for to-morrow's feast, think you, Cicely?

CICELY [_laughing_]. The venison pasty, Rafe? Mayhap when Dame Joan hath turned her back, we can try and see.

ALLISON. I fear mine will but reach around a very little pudding! [_Enter_ PHYLLIS.] Oh, cousin Phyllis, cousin Phyllis, come see our garlands!

PHYLLIS [_coming forward_]. Did my little Allison wreathe all this long piece? [ALLISON _nods proudly._] That's brave work, indeed.

CICELY [_arms around_ PHYLLIS]. Dear cousin Phyllis, won't you stay and help us--and tell us why everyone is so sad?

PHYLLIS [_frightened_]. Nay, dear, I must not, and you must not be sad--'tis Christmas Eve.

RAFE. Yes, we know. But _why_ doth my father look so stern----

PHYLLIS. Nay, nay--I may not speak of it. My aunt will be sore displeased.

[_Enter_ LADY KATHERINE.

LADY KATHERINE [_in doorway_]. Phyllis, why art idling here with the children? To thy tasks, girl!

[_Exit._

PHYLLIS [_turning hastily to follow_]. You see, sweethearts, I must not tarry. But I wish good speed to your garlands. Farewell. [_Exit._]

CICELY. Thou dost see, Rafe. Father will not let us speak of brother Rufus, and Mother is so cross to poor cousin Phyllis.

ALLISON [_shocked_]. Nay, Cicely; Mother isn't cross. It's naughty to say that.

RAFE. I think I know what it is all about. [_Very confidentially. Girls draw their chairs close._] I think brother Rufus ran away to the wars to fight for the King----

CICELY. But, Rafe, that can't be what displeaseth Father, for Father is a soldier, too, and he himself will fight for our lord the King, if so be the King needeth him.

ALLISON [_nodding her head with conviction_]. Father is the most gallantest soldier in all the country.

RAFE. But I do think that is why Father is so angry with brother Rufus.

CICELY. And why is Mother so--so unkind to poor cousin Phyllis?

RAFE [_very solemnly_]. Because--because Rufus did say that when he was come of age and was a man he would _marry_ cousin Phyllis!

CICELY. Oh! But _I_ think that's very, _very_ nice! Why doesn't Mother like it, Rafe? They'd never go away to any other house at all--and then, beside,--Allison and I could be their bride-maidens!

[_Enter_ GILLIAN _with an armful of greens._

GILLIAN [_sitting down among them_]. Here's work for us all, my pets. We must e'en make our fingers fly an we would finish our task.

CICELY [_full of importance_]. Oh, good Gillian, Rafe doth say----

RAFE [_trying to repress her_]. It's no use to ask Gillian, Cicely. Didst not hear my Father tell her she mustn't talk of it?

GILLIAN. That's best, Master Rafe. Let Gillian tell you a tale whilst we work.

ALLISON. A fairy-tale, Gillian? [_Whispers full of awe._] Are the _fairies_ about to-night, dear Gillian?

RAFE. Not on Christmas Eve, Allison. They aren't, are they, Gillian? Midsummer Eve is the fairies' night.

CICELY. And fairies have no power on Christmas Eve, and witches can't charm you, nor cast their spells upon you----

RAFE. Because 'tis such a holy, holy night.

GILLIAN. Oh, but there be wonderful things that do befall on Christmas Eve, Master Rafe. My old grandam used to say that when the midnight bells ring, the cattle in the stables do kneel down to hail the holy day!

CICELY. Oh, Gillian, _do_ they?

RAFE. Hast ever seen them, Gillian? Or hath thy grandam?

ALLISON. All the cows, and the sheep, and the little, little lambs?

GILLIAN. Nay, sweetheart, I never saw them, but I was wont to think, each Christmas Eve, that I would surely creep out to the stables and keep watch.

RAFE. And did you?

GILLIAN. Oh, Master Rafe, in truth 'twas a pretty plan,--but I was not a very brave little wench,--and it was so cold and dark and fearsome: when the time was come, I was always fain to put it off until the next year!

RAFE [_scornfully_]. Sooth! I would never do that!

GILLIAN. Nay, that I'll warrant, Master Rafe! But let me tell thee what else my grandam hath told me. 'Twas about the portraits in the long gallery in this very house.

[_Enter_ DICCON, _with armful of wood for fire, which he piles upon the hearth._

CICELY. The portraits---- Oh, yes, Gillian. [_Draws close to_ GILLIAN.]

RAFE. I know. Our great-great-grandfather and our great-great-grandmother.

CICELY. Bethink thee, Rafe--what are their names? I do forget.

RAFE. They are Sir Philip and Lady Geraldine Underhill. And they lived right here in this very house.

DICCON [_turning from hearth_]. Yes, Master Rafe, they lived in this house. He was a passing gallant gentleman, and fought for the King, and she was as beautiful as he was brave, and as brave as she was beautiful. And they say that in a great war his enemies came to search this house for him, but he and my lady hid themselves in a secret chamber that's long since forgot. But 'tis somewhere in the house,---- [_looks about as if expecting to find door at once_] if a body just but knew how to find the door----

GILLIAN [_in contempt_]. Nay, nay, Diccon. I'll warrant me the Master knoweth where that door is.

DICCON. Mayhap Sir Gilbert doth know. But none else may find it. Many's the time the lads ha' looked for it--many's the time. [_Exit._]

[RAFE _goes about for a moment, lifting hangings, etc., as if in search for door, but returns to_ GILLIAN'S _side to hear her answer to_ CICELY.

CICELY. But, Gillian, what was it thy grandam told about the portraits?

GILLIAN. Oh, verily, my sweet. Thinking about the secret door I had well-nigh forgot. My grandam said that if all the house was still and sleeping, just on the stroke of twelve every Christmas Eve, Sir Philip and my Lady Geraldine do move and breathe, step forth from their picture frames, clasp hands, and move together in an ancient dance!

RAFE. _Do_ they?

CICELY _and_ ALLISON. Oh-h-h! [_Drawing near to_ GILLIAN _with a little delighted shiver._]

LADY K. [_without_]. Gillian, Gillian! Come hither, wench; I need thee.

GILLIAN [_rising_]. Anon, my lady! [_To children._] Think of it, bairns--that fine brave gentleman and that beautiful lady, stepping across the floors in the moonlight---- [_Exit, hand lifted as if holding a partner's, taking stately dancing steps._]

CICELY. Oh, Rafe, think'st that Gillian speaketh true?

RAFE. Yes, I do believe her. Christmas is such a marvelous fair time, Cicely, that I do think _any_thing wonderful might happen.

ALLISON. I would I could _see_ Sir Philip and Lady Geraldine at their dancing.

CICELY. Oh, so do I! Rafe, dost think---- [_Hesitates, afraid to speak her thought._]

RAFE [_boldly_]. I think--that if my lord and my lady do dance--we shall see them this very Christmas Eve.

CICELY. Oh, Rafe, what dost mean us to do?

RAFE. When the great doors are closed at eleven o'clock--I always hear Diccon making them fast--I'll sit up in my bed, so that I can't by mischance fall asleep. Then I will wake thee and Allison, and we will steal into the long gallery and hide ourselves.

CICELY. But if Sir Philip and Lady Geraldine see us, mayhap they'll be displeased and not come forth.

RAFE. But if we go soon enough they can't see us, because they don't come alive until twelve o'clock. Until the clock strikes, they're only pictures, Cicely.

CICELY. Verily, I did forget.

RAFE. I mean to make sure the nursery door which giveth on the back passage is left unlocked and open, or mayhap I might fail to hear. Come, sister, bring your wreaths. [_Goes toward door._]

CICELY [_gathering up wreaths_]. Oh, Rafe, 'tis a wonderful fine plan!

ALLISON. Thou'lt let me come too, Rafe?

RAFE. We'll all go. S-sh-sh, now, not a whisper to anyone. [_Exeunt children in great excitement. Short pause. Enter_ RUFUS, _secretly (L.), stopping to look about and listen. Crosses furtively to door (R.) and looks out. Enter_ PHYLLIS _(L.), and as_ RUFUS _turns back into room, she sees him, and with a low cry hurries to meet him._]

PHYLLIS. Oh, Rufus, Rufus--not _you_!

RUFUS. Yes, 'tis I, fair cousin. I prithee speak softly. I would not have it known as yet that I am here.

PHYLLIS. But whence came you, Rufus? We thought you miles away, with the King's troops----

RUFUS. My company made a secret march, across this valley, and I thought to spend Christmas in mine own dear home. My Captain gave me leave to come here to-night, and join him to-morrow eve. But after I set out on my solitary march, a company of Roundhead rebels sprang up from a copse by the way and gave chase to our men.

PHYLLIS. How knew you this?

RUFUS. I had come but a half-hour's walk, up the long hill, and saw it all quite plainly.

PHYLLIS [_much troubled_]. But, Rufus, then you are cut off from the King's men, for there be very many rebels and few loyal hearts about us, in these parts.

RUFUS. I know, Phyllis. And, furthermore, though I would not alarm thee, I must tell thee that I was seen by that treacherous Farmer Gosling on the road hither, and I fear he may set others like himself upon my track.

PHYLLIS. Oh, Rufus, you frighten me so--they will surely come and take you.

RUFUS. Aye, they will try, dear cousin. But I've safe harbor in my father's house, and when darkness comes I can put forth once more and rejoin our men in the North.

PHYLLIS. A safe harbor, saidst thou! Thou little knowest---- Hark! someone comes. Hide thee speedily, Rufus. Here, behind this curtain. There--do not show thyself until I see thee again. [_Hides_ RUFUS _behind hanging, and exit (R.). Enter_ SIR GILBERT _and_ LADY KATHERINE _(L.)._ SIR GILBERT _sits moodily in chair by fire._ LADY KATHERINE _stands before him._]

SIR G. [_as they enter_]. I tell thee, I will hear no more of it.

LADY K. But, my lord, this day have I heard a rumor that a band of King's men were near us--here in this nest of rebel enemies! If there were fighting--if my boy Rufus were in danger, and I might not succor him, 'twould go nigh to kill me. And so, my lord, I'm come once more to crave pardon for him.

SIR G. I tell thee, it will not be granted thee. When the boy disobeyed me and ran away I disowned him. I vowed he should never enter these doors again.

LADY K. My lord, the lad was so eager to serve his King.

SIR G. [_springs up and paces the floor_]. Did I forbid him to serve his King? Nay, when the time was come, he should have gone with me, with horse and arms, in state befitting a gentleman's son. And so I told him. I told him he was full young yet--the lad is scarce turned seventeen. Eagerness to serve his King, forsooth! 'Twas mere idleness. He chose to run away from his tasks and his studies. Beshrew me! Whether he find the camp life of a common soldier a bed of roses or no, I care not. He must e'en lie in it. I'll neither grant him pardon, nor receive him in my house. To consort with common soldiers and camp ruffians--he hath disgraced my name.

LADY K. Oh, my poor lad.

SIR G. Thou and Phyllis need not grieve so foolishly----

LADY K. [_stiffens angrily_]. Phyllis! She is the one reason why I am reconciled to his being away.

SIR G. [_more gently_]. Come, good wife, be not so hard upon poor Phyllis. She's a good maid and a fair. What if the lad have turned her head a bit? I would fain have thee remember the lass is an orphan and we her only kinsfolk.

LADY K. [_moving away_]. I care not to talk of Phyllis. [_Turns back._] Will nothing move you, my lord?

SIR G. [_hardening_]. I've told you my mind--let's hear no more of this. [_Exeunt (L.)._ RUFUS _comes from hiding-place and stands sadly by fire. Enter_ PHYLLIS.]

RUFUS [_turning toward her_]. Why, Phyllis, I little guessed my father could be so hard and stern. I knew I had displeased him, but _this_ passeth belief.

PHYLLIS. He is very unforgiving. When you called this house a safe harbor, you little knew.

RUFUS [_turning as if to go_]. So be it, then. If my father cannot forgive me,--I'll e'en forth to the tender mercies of mine enemies.

PHYLLIS [_alarmed_]. Oh, no, no, Rufus! At least do not venture forth until the dark hath come! No one must see you here. Come into the blue guest chamber. 'Tis not a secure hiding-place should the house be searched, but 'twill serve for the time, and by midnight you may steal away safely. Do come, Rufus! [_He lets her half lead, half push him out as she talks. Exeunt (R.). Pause---- Children's laughter heard. Enter (L.)_ CICELY _with a bunch of raisins._ RAFE _in pursuit. They run all about the stage._ CICELY _jumps upon a chair and holds the raisins over_ RAFE'S _head. He tries to jump for them._]

CICELY [_breaking off raisins and dropping them one at a time into_ RAFE'S _mouth_]. Oh, Rafe, such rare sport! You'll have no need to waken _me_. I'll never sleep this night, I know.

ALLISON [_without, calling_]. Rafe, Rafe! Where art thou? Oh, Cicely!

RAFE [_pulling_ CICELY _down and securing raisins_]. Quick, sister, let's hide us! [RAFE _runs behind hangings (R.)_, CICELY _behind table (L.). Enter_ ALLISON _(L.). Stands still and looks about._]

ALLISON [_softly_]. Of a truth, I did hear their voices.... I know.... 'Tis sport. 'Tis a game of hide and hunt. I must set me to find 'em. [_Goes peering about. As she peeps over chair (R.)_, CICELY _runs out and covers_ ALLISON'S _eyes from behind with her hands._ RAFE _comes from other side and feeds_ ALLISON _with raisins._ RAFE _and_ CICELY _begin to sing Christmas carol, and_ ALLISON _throws off Cicely's hands and joins in song._]

CURTAIN