Chapter 2

Scene:--An old-fashioned, comfortable, oak-panelled room. The furniture dark and cumbersome. Down stage R., a door. Up stage, R., C, capacious fireplace, with solid mantel-piece above it. At back R., and L., two substantial casement windows. The windows are in deep recesses, about two steps above the stage level. These recesses are sheltered by heavy draperies. Between the windows, up stage, C., a massive bureau, opened, with writing materials upon it. Before bureau a square stool. On L., of bureau a chair. Up stage L., a door. Below door L., a settee; above settee, a bell rope. Before fire a comfortable arm-chair; L. of arm-chair, a small table with a reading lamp upon it. On mantel-piece, a clock to strike; other articles of furniture, etc., to fill spaces. The flooring of dark oak, square carpeting R., of stage. The whole to produce the effect of "a woman's room" Curtains closed, L. window unfastened. See written letter on bureau. All gas out behind. Gas one-half up inside. Music for act drop.

It is night time--no moon. The lighting to be sombre throughout the act.

_(Before the curtain rises Felicity's voice is heard singing off R.)_

There's a jingle to make a maiden glad And flush the skies above her, The clink of the spurs of her soldier lad, "I am a faithful lover."

Sun is shining, flow'rs are blooming, Light and bloom are not for aye; What if sob and sigh are looming, Hear the jingle while you may!

CURTAIN.

There's a jingle to make a maiden glad, etc.

_(Kate enters at close of song--puts keys on table.)_

{Kate.} _(leans over back of arm-chair--listening)_ Poor little bird, singing of her soldier lover. How am I to tell her that her soldier's heart is not of so bright a colour as his jacket? How can I tell her, when there is another soldier lover in the world so good and so true? _(sits R., of table--she opens her locket; it contains a likeness of Eric)_ Eric! Ah! the man who painted this miniature hasn't done Eric justice; the face is too white and pink, and the moustache isn't at all the right shade. I know I could catch the exact tone of Eric's moustache if I were a painter. It's a kind of browny, yellowy, red-tinted, a sad auburn, with a sea-weedy wash about it. Under the nose it suggests one of our daybreak skies, and there, where the ends droop, a sunset of Turner's. Dear old Eric! _(kisses locket)_

_(There is a knock at the door L.,; Kate hastily closes the locket and glances at clock.)_

It's late! _(aloud)_ Who is it? _(The door opens, L., and Christiana enters, knitting stocking.)_

{Chris.} Gilbert Hythe and Gunnion, with a box of clothes for the girl, _(down by settee L.)_

_(Gilbert and Gunnion enter--Gil. carrying a very diminutive wooden trunk; he places the box down L. C., and doffs his hat. Gil. still has his gun with him; he goes up to bureau.)_

{Gun.} Good-night to you, Squire. Gilbert Hythe's been so kind as to lend me a hand with this blessed box. _(pointing to box)_ My child's wardrobe, Squire, scraped together by the sweat of my brow.

{Kate.} Sit down, Gilbert. _(Gilbert puts his gun down L., of bureau and gets to R., of it, standing)_ Take Felicity's wardrobe upstairs into Felicity's room, Mr. Gunnion. _(Gun. goes to take box--Chris. down L.)_

{Chris.} Excuse me, Squire, but before Gunnion goes I should like you to make note of the ale _(Gun. drops box)_ that's been drawn from the new cask. The ale was in my keeping and it's due to me for you to know of the loss.

{Gun.} _(on his knees--to Chris.)_ Drat you for a mischievous hussy! Why, your own flesh and blood helped me to drive the tap in with a mallet, and drank double what I did.

{Chris.} More shame for an old man to lead a poor boy astray!

{Kate.} _(shaking her finger at Gun.)_ Oh! Mr. Gunnion, how could you!

{Gun.} _(rises--gets nearer table)_ Well, Squire, it's not a thing I've done afore, and it's not a thing I'm like to do again.

{Kate.} Come, come, that's all right.

{Gun.} And I've paid the penalty precious dear. I've had my yead under the pump from four o'clock till past sunset, and wettin' my yead is a thing I dursn't do.

{Kate.} Oh, dear!

{Gun.} As for the drop o' drink, I was druv to it by grief.

{Kate.} By grief?

{Gun.} I'm an old man, I am, I ain't got a tooth to my yead. I've had thirteen children, and now the last of 'em's gone. It ain't for an old man to see the only set of teeth in his house walk out of the front door without takin' on a bit.

_(Felicity sings again off R.)_

Why, confound the brat, she's squalling in the Squire's place now. Don't 'ee stand it, Squire!

_(Felicity comes from door R., carrying a book and a little silken shawl. She gives book to Kate, and gently places the shawl on Kate's chair.)_

Drat you, what do you mean by vocalizing free and easy like this? You ain't been called on for it. Do you want to make your father look small?

{Fel.} _(R.)_ I beg Squire's pardon. If I didn't sing I should cry. That's the worst of being too happy--it makes people chokey. _(Kate pats her cheek--seeing her box)_ Oh, father's brought my bits o' things, _(crosses in front--she runs over to box, throws open the lid and hurriedly empties it of the few mean articles of clothing it contains. From the bottom of the box she takes out a small gaudily framed picture)_ Oh, I am so glad! There's my linsey, and my goloshes--my workbox!

{Gun.} What do you mean by bits o' things? Leave your wardrobe alone.

_(Gun. hastily replaces the clothing. Fel. runs over to Kate and gives her the portrait.)_

{Fel.} Look, Squire--Tom Morris--ain't he handsome?

{Gun.} _(replacing clothes)_ Darn these things! _(mumbling)_ What d'ye mean by tossing your things on the floor in that way? _(lifting box)_ Good-night to you, Squire.

_(Christie goes up to chair by L., D.)_

I'll leave this in the gell's room and be off.

{Kate.} Good-night, Gunnion.

{Fel.} _(goes to Gun.)_ Good-night, father. Go straight home.

{Gun.} Drat 'ee, what d'ye mean by that!

_(Fel. goes round back of Kate's chair to stool R., and sits looking at photo.)_

Good-night to ye, Gilbert Hythe, and thank 'ee for your help. Good-night, Christie, _(shouldering box)_ Darn this wardrobe! _(turning to look at Fel.)_ Ah! your twelve brothers and sisters never had a start in the world like o' this!

_(He goes off--Chris, closes the door after him, then sits on chair up L., knitting. Gil. comes to table, puts hat down.)_

{Gil.} The time's come for us to part company. I've brought my books and odds and ends, Squire, as I promised.

{Kate.} But you must make one at the Harvest Feast, Gilbert. Who is to play with the children, and to set the old folks laughing, if you are missing?

{Gil.} Folks will have to laugh at me, Squire, if they are to get a laugh out of me, to-morrow, _(he takes a few rusty keys and some small dog-eared books from his pocket, and places them on table before Kate)_ Here are the keys--the Red Barn, the barn below Fenning's field, the store house. The key of the oats house--_(Kate puts key and money in key basket)_--Gunnion's got. _(puts books on table)_ There's my account--it's poor book-keeping, Squire, but plain. Will you cast your eye over it?

{Kate.} _(shaking her head)_ No!

{Gil.} Thank you, Squire, _(places a little bag of money before her)_ John Buckle's rent, and Mrs. Tester's arrears--less some job wages paid by me since Saturday. And that's all.

{Kate.} Thank you Gilbert.

{Gil.} And now, Squire, I can't say good-bye to you in two words. Will you hear what I've to say?

{Kate.} Certainly, Gilbert, _(gives book to Felicity)_

_(Gil. looks at Fel. and at Chris, and learn over the back of Kate's chair.)_

{Gil.} _(in an undertone to Kate)_ Can't it be between us two, Squire?

{Kate.} No!

{Gil.} _(aside in Kate's ear)_ Kate, I'm almost a desperate man. Take care how you treat me to-night.

{Kate.} _(without moving, aside to Gil.)_ How dare you speak to me like that?

{Gil.} _(aside to Kate)_ Reason before you let your good friends slip from you. I'll give you a chance to consider what you are doing, _(turns up to bureau --aloud)_ Squire, I want to scribble a few words to you. _(pointing to bureau)_ May I write here?

{Kate.} If you please.

_(Gil. sits at bureau and writes quickly.)_

_(fretfully)_ What are all these, Felicity?

{Fel.} _(opening book and reading)_ "Gilbert Hythe's cures for cows." Shall I read 'em, Squire?

{Kate.} Oh no.

{Fel.} _(from another book)_ "Poor mother's receipt for brewing herb beer. Note: but nobody can brew it like poor mother could."

{Kate.} _(takes the book from Fel. and reads-- aside to Fel.)_ Gilbert's mother was my nurse, _(takes book from Fel.--looking over her shoulder at Gil., who is writing)_ Poor fellow!

{Fel.} _(opens another book)_ "An account of Joe Skilliter's pig, who could say 'Yes' and 'No,' by moving his ears. Note: When Joe's pig was killed it was tough eating. Another argument against the spread of education."

{Gil.} _(rises and comes down to table. He places a note before Kate)_ The few words, Squire, _(she takes the note)_ Ah! don't read 'em till I've gone. _(Kate replaces the note with a shrug of the shoulders. Christie rises--to Fel.)_ Good-bye, little woman.

{Fel.} _(rises with a curtesy)_ Good-bye to ye, Mr. Hythe. _(sits again)_

_(Gil. is going.)_

{Kate.} _(holds out her hand)_ Good-night, Gilbert.

_(Gil. looks at Chris., who is busy knitting, then speaks aside to Kate.)_

{Gil.} _(in an undertone)_ You haven't read my note yet, Squire. _(Kate elevates her eyebrows in surprise--Gil. crosses to L., to Chris.)_ Good-bye, Chris., my girl.

{Chris.} Turn up your collar, Gilbert, it's bitter cold, _(turns it up for him)_

{Gil.} You're right, there's a wet mist; we're going to have a bad night, take my word for it. Good-night to you.

_(He goes out L., Kate rises and goes to window R.)_

{Kate.} _(looking out)_ Good-night. It is as black as ink. _(shivering)_ Christie, make up a fire here. I shall read for a little while before I go to bed. _(puts money and key basket in bureau drawer, and sits on stool by bureau)_

{Chris.} _(looking at Fel., who is reading the little books)_ My hands are as white as hers, but I suppose she is to be the lady's maid.

{Kate.} Oh, Christie, Christie, after all these years! Surely you are my friend still, _(takes book from table)_

{Chris.} I know I'm your servant; whether or not I'm your friend, Squire, is another matter; but I'm not her friend, and I own it.

{Kate.} You're very foolish, and very jealous.

{Chris.} That's it, I'm jealous; I hope there'll never be a worse name for it.

_(She goes out, door L., Kate sits on sofa L.)_

{Kate.} _(to Fel.)_ You can run off to bed, little maid.

{Fel.} Thank'ee, Squire, _(puts books down)_

{Kate.} I shan't want you any more to-night.

_(Fel. curtseys--crosses to door L., carrying the soldier's portrait.)_

Don't forget to say your prayers.

{Fel.} _(coming down)_ Squire, _(looks round nervously, twitching apron. Kate looks up from her book)_

{Kate.} _(raising her head--fretfully)_ What is it?

{Fel.} I suppose there's no harm in a girl praying for her sweetheart?

{Kate.} No--if he's a good fellow and worthy of her.

{Fel.} If he's a bad 'un, praying's likely to be of more good to him. _(she comes nearer Kate and speaks in an undertone)_ Because, Squire--don't be vexed at me--because, if you like, when I'm praying for Tom I might make a small mention of--er--the other gentleman, _(close to Kate)_

{Kate.} What other gentleman?

{Fel.} _(bending forward and whispering)_ The young lieutenant, Squire. _(Kate rises angrily)_

{Kate.} How dare you! I am very angry with you! There's not the slightest--Oh, Felicity, how came you to think of such a thing? _(she draws Fel. to her. Fel. claps her hands and laughs)_

{Fel.} He's such a nice young man, Squire--you couldn't help it.

{Kate.} Be quiet, child. We don't always fall in love with nice young men.

{Fel.} We do generally, Squire. May I just mention him along with Tom? Parson won't know.

{Kate.} Well, Felicity, there's no harm in praying for a man, even if one is not over-fond of him.

{Fel.} No, Squire.

{Kate.} So, if you like, just a little for the young lieutenant--

{Fel.} Yes, Squire?

{Kate.} And--

{Fel.} And who, Squire?

{Kate.} And the woman he loves. Good-night, dear, _(pats her cheeks--Fel. goes up L.)_

_(Chris, enters door L., followed by Izod carrying wood fuel. Chris, takes the wood from Izod, and crosses to fireplace R.)_

Why, Christie, what is he doing here?

{Chris.} _(R. on her knees before fire)_ He's been sleeping off the effects of that wicked old man's temptation, poor dear, _(takes up bellows)_

{Izod.} _(C.)_ I'm better now, Squire, thank you. I've been precious queer all the afternoon.

{Kate.} _(L. C.)_ Have you, indeed! Well, now you've carried up the wood, you can be off home.

_(Fel. has gone up to door L.)_

{Fel.} _(up L., turning)_ Good-night, Miss Christiana.

{Chris.} _(sulkily--lighting fire)_ Good-night. _(blowing fire)_

_(Izod, unnoticed by Kate, gives Fel. a low mock bow.)_

{Fel.} _(timidly)_ Good-night, sir.

{Izod.} Good-night, Miss Gunnion. _(makes a grimace at her)_

_(She goes out hurriedly.)_

{Chris.} _(R.)_ My poor brother has something to say to you, Squire.

{Izod.} _(C.)_ It's this, Squire. I hear that Gilbert Hythe has had enough of the Priors, and that there's room for a new handyman.

{Kate.} Gunnion takes Gilbert Hythe's place--you know that.

{Izod.} Yes, Squire--but in consequence of the old man's awful dishonesty with the harvest ale, I thought perhaps you'd like to chuck him over. _(Chris, gets to R., of Izod)_ Now, Squire, I'm doing nothing just at present--a gentleman, so to speak--give me a turn-- have me at your own price, Squire, and you get me cheap.

{Kate.} _(rising)_ Look here, Master Haggerston, I don't want to do you an injustice, but I don't like you. There's no room on my farm for you. I shall be glad to hear that you're doing well elsewhere.

_(Kate crosses to fireplace--the fire is now burning brightly. Kate leans against mantel-piece as Chris. goes over to Izod. L.)_

{Izod.} _(L. C., to Chris., aside)_ There, I told you so, she's a cat!

{Chris.} _(C.)_ Poor boy. _(to Kate, whose back is turned to them)_ Will you want me again to-night, Squire?

{Kate.} _(R. without turning)_ No. Go to bed, Christie.

{Chris.} And I suppose Izod can be off about his business?

{Kate.} Yes.

{Chris.} _(aside to Izod, clutching his arm)_ Izod, I'll see you out past the dog, dear--then go and lie by the ricks near the Five Trees, and watch who passes under the archway to-night.

{Izod.} _(in a whisper)_ How long am I to wait?

{Chris.} Wait till a man walks from the Market-Sinfield road, and you won't wait long, _(to Kate)_ Good-night, Squire, dear.

{Kate.} _(turning)_ Good-night, Christie.

_(Chris, and Izod go out L., closing the door after them. The clock strikes nine.)_

_(Looks at her watch)_ Already! Oh, if that boy should not have passed the Five Trees before Eric comes! How provoking! _(she crosses to door L., listens, then turns the key)_ There's something about to-night that I don't like. Christie! How unkind of Christie to be so jealous! _(still listening, she goes to window L., pulls tack the curtain and opens window)_ That's Christie and her brother walking over the stones, _(looking out)_ And there's the light in Felicity's room still burning--I can see the shadows. When will the house be still? Ugh! What a dark night for Eric's lonely walk, _(the bell rings in the court below. Katie draws back)_ The bell! So late--what can that mean? _(she comes from the window and draws the curtain over the recess)_ Something wrong in the village--someone ill. _(she crosses to fireplace, nervously)_ Perhaps poor Mrs. Tester has sent for me to read to her, or old Mr. Parsley wants me to witness another will--I've witnessed eight of them--he has only a few spoons to leave behind him--I can't go to-night. _(A knocking at the door L.)_ Who is that?

{Chris.} _(outside)_ Christiana.

_(Kate crosses quickly to door L., and unlocks it.)_

{Kate.} Christiana! _(opening the door)_ What is wrong, Christie?

_(Christiana enters.)_

{Chris.} Parson Dormer has walked over from Market-Sinfield and must see you to-night.

{Kate.} Not to-night--not to-night--to-morrow.

_(Dormer enters; he wears an old Inverness cape and woollen gloves.)_

{Dormer.} I suppose a man ought to apologize for calling at this hour. It's cold enough, so one pays the penalty, _(takes off cape, gloves, and hat, and puts them on settee L.)_

{Kate.} _(crosses distractedly to fireplace)_ Come to the fire, parson, _(he crosses to Kate.)_ Something unusual must have brought you so late, _(crosses towards fire below table)_

{Dormer.} _(pauses below table)_ Perhaps, _(crosses to fire)_

_(While he does so, Chris, up stage gently looks through the curtain into the window recess.)_

{Chris.} _(at L. C.--aside)_ She has opened the window--the saint! Poor Izod won't have to wait long, _(going to door L.)_ Shall I sit up, Squire?

{Kate.} No, I will see the parson through the archway.

_(Chris, goes out.)_

{Dormer.} Something unusual has brought me to you.

{Kate.} _(with exclamation and quickly)_ I feared so.

{Dormer.} I am here to render a service to John Verity's daughter.

{Kate.} Thank you.

{Dormer.} _(stands with his back to fire--the red glow is upon them)_ People think me a strange man, but I am strange even to myself when I find my heart running away with me as it does to-night.

{Kate.} You make me frightened of what you have to say to me.

{Dormer.} It rests with you whether I shall speak or hold my tongue.

{Kate.} _(moves front chair R., of table)_ No---say what you have to say.

{Dormer.} Will you be truthful with me?

{Kate.} What do you mean by that?

{Dormer.} Strange thing for a rough man, such as I, to aim at. I want to save you pain, _(puts his hand on her shoulder)_

{Kate.} Pain! I thought so.

{Dormer.} If it had pleased Heaven to give me that one woman for a wife, and that woman had borne me a daughter, to that daughter I should have spoken as I speak to you now.

{Kate.} _(slowly places her hand in his--with pain)_ Is anyone, who might be dear to me, dead?

{Dormer.} No. _(Kate sinks back)_ Some one has returned to life.

{Kate.} Can it concern me?

{Dormer.} I hope--no! Answer me one question honestly--do you love this young soldier whom I saw here to-day?

{Kate.} Suppose I say--"no."

{Dormer.} Then I _leave you_ without another word.

{Kate.} If I say--"yes?"

{Dormer.} Then I deliver to you a message.

{Kate.} A message! From whom?

{Dormer.} From the one who has returned to life. Yes or No?

{Kate.} Heaven help me--I love Eric!

"There's a jingle," _(In the distance there is the faint sound of Fel's song, supposed to proceed from the room above through the open window. Dor. crosses at back and listens.)_

"Sun is shining,"

{Dormer.} What is that? _(crosses behind table to c.)_

{Kate.} _(calmly)_ The child singing. She is happy. Go on--I want the message. _(Dormer takes some papers from pocket-book)_

--"Hear the jingle,"

{Dormer.} It is here--in writing, _(at bureau)_

{Kate.} Addressed--to whom?

"--while you may."

{Dormer.} To the woman who loves Eric Thorndyke.

{Kate.} I am she--who sends it?

"--above her."

{Dormer.} The stranger at the White Lion.

{Kate.} _(after a pause)_ Who is the stranger at the White Lion?

"--lover."

{Dormer.} _(L. of table)_ Eric Thorndyke's wife.

_(Kate rises slowly, supporting herself upon the table; she and Dor. stand face to face. The song above ceases.)_

{Kate.} Eric--Thorndyke's--wife. Yes? _(falls back into chair)_

{Dormer.} Shall I read the message?

{Kate.} If you please.

_(Dormer goes up to the bureau, puts on his spectacles and by the light of the lamp arranges his papers.)_

{Dormer.} It is written in French. I have translated it faithfully, _(he places a paper before Kate)_ That is the original.

_(She takes it mechanically, looks at it, then lets it fall upon the floor. At the same moment the shadow of a man is seen at the window L., and the curtains move slightly.)_

Shall I read the translation to you? _(opens paper with one hand; pushes it off table)_

{Kate.} If you please, _(goes toward lamps)_

_(The movement of the curtain stops. Dor. reads slowly.)_

{Dormer.} _(reading)_ "I was a singer in Brussels, with a sweet voice. They called me La Sirène."

{Kate.} _(in a low tone)_ Stop--the Siren. Yes.

{Dormer.} _(continuing)_ "I am a Protestant, born at Chaudefontaine, five miles from Liège. My father was an Englishman, my mother a Belgian woman. They died when I was a child."

{Kate.} An orphan, like me. _(touches lamp again)_

{Dormer.} _(continuing)_ "Three years ago a student, Eric Thorndyke--

_(Eric appears at L. C., holding back curtain.)_

married me secretly but legally at the Protestant church in the Rue de Stassart in Brussels." Are you listening?

{Kate.} Yes.

{Dormer.} _(continuing)_ "I married for money and station. I won neither. I found myself wedded to a man who was dependent on a wretched allowance, and who dared not disclose his marriage. We were never happy, and I grew to hate him. One terrible night he discovered me in a gaming house pledging his name to pay my losses. I feared him for the first time in my life, and I fled."

{Kate.} Is this--a woman?

{Dormer.} _(continuing)_ "The fatigue of my journey threw me into a fever. For many a day I lay at death's door, and throughout the country where the Siren's was a familiar voice I was thought dead."

{Kate.} Dead. I see.

{Dormer.} _(continuing)_ "When I recovered, my sweet voice and pretty face had gone from me forever. I had nothing but a mad loathing for the man whom I had never loved, and I formed a plan to ruin him."

{Kate.} Oh!

{Dormer.} _(continuing)_ "I took a new name and fostered the report of my death, saying to myself, 'He will love and marry again, and then I, the wreck of what I have been, will come back to life and destroy his peace,'"

_(Eric disappears.)_

{Kate.} Not a woman--not a woman!

{Dormer.} _(continuing)_ "But in time my heart softened and my hate died away. My conscience won't let me rest, and now, when remorse has broken me, I drag myself to where Eric is, to learn what evil I have caused. If there be any wrong, it is I that have worked it--not my deceived husband, whom I have not the courage to face." Signed "Mathilde."

{Kate.} Is that all?

{Dormer.} _(pocketing paper)_ That is all. _(Kate rises)_

{Kate.} How comes this--creature to know of the existence of the woman who loves Eric Thorndyke?

{Dormer.} She asked me if I thought such a woman existed. I replied, yes. "Then," said she, "whoever this woman is, and wherever she may be, carry my warning to her before it is too late." _(puts paper away and goes to sofa L.)_

_(Kate struggles with herself for a moment; her manner becomes completely changed.)_

{Kate.} _(lightly)_ Ah, thank you, Parson Dormer, for your goodness, and for your cold journey. May I give you some wine?

{Dormer.} No. _(he resumes his cape and gloves, then holds out his hand to Kate)_ Good-night, _(she takes his hand)_ Don't come down, I can find my way out. _(looking round)_ I used to quarrel here with your father.

{Kate.} Good-night. I shall look for you to-morrow at our harvest supper--it is the happiest night in our year, _(screams and falls back, Dormer catches her--he is going--she clutches his sleeve)_ Parson! Parson! look! _(she points to the written confession which lies upon the floor)_ Don't leave me alone with that!

{Dormer.} That--what?

{Kate.} That. Take it away with you--take it away!

_(Dormer crosses to table, takes up paper and puts it in his pocket, and crosses back to L.)_

_(lightly again)_ Strange creatures, we women, aren't we--and superstitious, a little. Remember, Parson dear, we must keep our secret. Think of the scandal and misery for poor Eric if this history became known. For Eric's sake, remember.

{Dormer.} You bear the young gentleman no grudge?

{Kate.} I--no.

{Dormer.} _(looking at her)_ Ah, you'll eat a breakfast to-morrow--I shan't--and my wound is twenty years old. Good-night to you.

_(He goes out. Kate listens to his receding steps L. D.)_

{Kate.} _(softly)_ Good-night! Good-night! _(There is the sound of the closing of a door in the distance)_ Gone! _(she looks round)_ Quite alone _(She shuts the door softly, then with uncertain steps walks to the settee L., upon which she sinks with a low moan--starts up wildly)_ It's late! Let me see! _(she takes her wedding ring from her pocket)_ My wedding ring--I'll hide that; it is such a lie to carry about with me. _(She hurriedly opens a small drawer in the bureau R., of it and brings it to table)_ It will rest there, and can never be laughed at. _(she takes off her bracelets)_ These too--Eric's gifts, _(she throws them into the open drawer, then takes the locket from her neck)_ Eric's portrait, _(she opens the locket and gazes at the portrait, earnestly)_ Another woman's husband! _(she rises)_ Nobody sees me. _(music--kisses locket--Eric covers his face with his hands. Kate throws locket into the drawer. As she does so, she catches sight of the papers lying there. She seizes them)_ Papers! I had almost forgotten. They would tell tales, if--if anything bad happened to me. _(She examines them. Eric comes from the recess as if about to speak. Kate opens a letter. From Eric when his regiment was quartered at--(reading)_--"My own Kate." Oh! _(Eric sinks horror-stricken, upon the chair by the bureau--his head drops upon his arm. Kate finds an old photograph)_ Ah! a photograph of the church where we were married. I remember--we entered at that door --not the one under the porch--and it brought us to the chancel. Ah, here it is--_(reading)_ "The Parish Church of St. Paul, at Blissworth, in Yorkshire." How pretty. It's one hundred and fifty miles away. What a long journey for such a marriage. A valentine! _(she takes the papers and kneels at the fire-place. She goes down on her knees before fire and burns the papers, first kissing them. Eric raises his head)_ A lucky thing that Christie made such a bright fire for me. _(shivering)_ And yet it is cold. Ha! I suppose heat never comes from burnt love letters, _(to the letters)_ Good-bye! Good-bye! _(Eric rises and slowly comes down C.)_

{Eric.} _(hoarsely)_ Kate!

{Kate.} _(with a cry she starts up and faces him)_ Eric!

_(Music stops.)_

{Eric.} I know everything. I have heard. What have you to say to me?

_(Kate walks feebly towards him behind chair.)_

{Kate.} _(leaning on chair for support)_ Nothing but--leave me. I am looking at you now for the last time, _(passes behind table to C. R., of bureau)_

{Eric.} How can I leave you when we are bound by such ties? My love chains me to you--nothing earthly can break that?

{Kate.} The same words with which you wooed that other woman! _(passes to front of table)_

{Eric.} Kate! _(advancing)_

{Kate.} Don't touch me or I shall drop dead with shame.

_(Eric advances again.)_

Don't touch me--I can bear anything now but that!

{Eric.} You must hear me! _(moves L. C.)_

{Kate.} Hear you! What can you tell me but that the pretty music you have played in my ears has been but the dull echo of your old love-making? What can you tell me but that I am a dishonoured woman, _(Eric turns away)_ with no husband, yet not a widow --like to be a mother, and never to be a wife!\ _(advances a step)_

{Eric.} You will listen to me to-morrow? _(turns up a little)_

{Kate.} To-morrow! I have no to-morrow. I am living my life now. My life! my life! oh, what it might have been! _(she sinks on her knees with her head upon the floor by table. Eric bends over her)_

{Eric.} Kate, don't shrink from me! I go down in the same wreck with you. You are a hopeless woman --I stand beside you a hopeless man.

{Kate.} _(moaning)_ You never told me of the past. Oh, the times I have looked in the glass, with the flush on my cheek that you have painted there, and called myself Eric's First Sweetheart, _(moves)_ If you had told me of the past!

{Eric.} I could not believe in its reality. She never loved me, Kate--she threw me away like an old glove or a broken feather. I believed her dead. Ah, Kate, do you think I would have stolen one look from you if I hadn't believed myself to be a free man?

{Kate.} Oh, Eric, Eric!

{Eric.} I had news from a distance that she had died, a repentant woman. In my dreams I have seen the grass and the flowers springing up from her grave.

{Kate.} Oh, Eric, Eric!

{Eric.} _(moves to L., C., a bit)_ What dreams will haunt me this night--the grave of your life and mine? _(hand to head)_

{Kate.} Dreams that picture despair and parting. _(walks up and returns)_

{Eric.} _(advances L., rousing himself)_ Tell me where to turn, where to go. If I die, what then? If I live, what then? I'll do anything you bid me, _(returns to her)_ but if you shrink from me at parting it is more than I can bear, only look at me. One last look--a look for me to cherish. Kate! _(advancing, Moves down, back to audience.)_

{Kate.} _(rises)_ No, no! _(he covers his eyes with his hand--there is a pause)_ Let me see your face, Eric _(he turns, they look each other in the face-- pityingly)_ Trouble makes you pale. Oh, how selfish I am. Poor Eric!

{Eric.} I am thinking of the day we first met! How bright! And now, what a parting!

{Kate.} Hush! I shall go mad if you make me think. _(The clock chimes again--starting)_ Look at the hour--Good-night! _(goes R., a little)_

_(He turns to go--stops.)_

{Eric.} _(holds out his hand)_ Touch my hand but once.

{Kate.} _(looking at him)_ We are suffering so much together, aren't we? I don't know what I've said to you, but it is no fault of yours, dear. We were wedded in happiness--we are divorced in grief. Yes --I will just take your hand.

_(Without approaching too nearly, she lays her hand in his--their eyes meet.)_

{Eric.} Oh, Kate, the future! _(With a cry they go to each other, but as Eric is about to press his lips to hers, she recoils with horror.)_

{Kate.} Oh, no! I, that have prayed God to make me good all my life, what should I be if you kissed me now?

{Eric.} Oh, Kate!

{Kate.} Go, go. Eric, you love me too well for that, don't you?

{Eric.} Heaven give me strength, yes!

_(The door L., opens, and Gilbert appears with a fixed and determined look, carrying his gun.)_

{Gil.} _(L.)_ Mr. Thorndyke! _(at door)_

{Eric.} _(c. calmly)_ Well, sir. _(a pause)_

{Kate.} Why have you come back to the house?

{Gil.} _(puts hat on chair and shuts door)_ I have not left the house. I come for an answer to my letter.

{Kate.} _(putting her hand to her head)_ Your letter? _(the letter lies unopened upon the table, Kate sees it)_ Oh, there it is, unopened.

_(Gil. walks firmly into the room, and points towards the letter.)_

{Gil.} Read it, please, _(down L. C.)_

_(Kate opens the letter, draws her hands across her eyes and reads, sitting R., of table.)_

{Kate.} _(reading)_ "Squire Kate--I will be satisfied that this Thorndyke's name is not to blacken yours in the mouths of the people of Market-Sinfield. I shall remain concealed in this house till I can speak to you alone. Remember--my love makes me desperate--one more harsh word from you may bring mischief to another. Gilbert." Mischief to another?

{Eric.} _(C. slowly takes the letter from Kate)_ What gives you a right to control this lady?

{Gil.} Her loneliness--my love. I was born and reared on these lands--we plucked wild flowers together, as children.

{Eric.} Are you her guardian, now that she is a woman?

{Gil.} I am--and of any weak soul in peril.

{Kate.} _(rises)_ What do you want of me?

{Gil.} Nothing; because I am face to face with _him_.

{Eric.} Quickly, then, sir, your business with me? _(throws paper down)_

{Gil.} Mr. Thorndyke, you, who are supposed to be a sunshine acquaintance of our Squire's, are found here at dead of night, in the house of one whom all honest folks know as _Miss_ Verity.

{Eric.} Well, sir?

{Gil.} _(pointing to Kate)_ I can't--I won't believe but that that lady is good and pure. You either have a sacred right here, or you are an intruder and worse than a thief. You have to answer for this to me.

{Eric.} Sir, you are in the presence of a sorrow too profound to be disturbed by sharp questions and hot answers. In justice to this lady, we may meet to-morrow.

{Gil.} Not to-morrow, when I trap my game to-night.

{Eric.} _(indignantly)_ Ah!

{Kate.} Gilbert, you used to be so gentle! _(Eric restrains her)_

{Gil.} Pardon me, Squire, my reckoning is with him. Mr. Thorndyke, you have robbed me of a love which I have laboured for for years. Ceaseless yearning--heart-sickness--hope raised and hope deferred--sleep without rest--thirst for which there is no drink. That is my account. What is yours? I find you now where you can have no right but the sacred one of husband. _(Eric and Kate exchange a look--he comes nearer to Eric and looks in his face)_ Is that lady your wife?

{Eric.} You approach me, sir, with the light of a murderer in your eyes, and carrying a weapon. Your very tone, sir, is a sacrilege. I tell you, man, there is a grief so deep that it is holy before Heaven.

{Gil.} Is that lady your wife?

{Kate.} _(advancing)_ Gilbert, you shall know--!

{Eric.} _(stopping her)_ Hush! _(to Gil.)_ Do you threaten me?

{Gil.} I am the protector of a helpless woman-- I do.

{Eric.} You are a coward.

{Gil.} _(stamping his foot)_ Is that lady your wife?

{Eric.} Then, sir, in the sight of heaven, yes.

{Gil.} _(madly)_ In the sight of the law?

{Eric.} No.

{Gil.} Heaven forgive you--stand back! _(He raises his gun. Kate rushes forward with a cry, and catches his uplifted arm.)_

{Kate.} Gilbert! Gilbert! The father of my child!

_(music.)_

_(She falls in a swoon at his feet. Gil. with a cry drops his gun, and looks down with horror upon Kate. Eric kneels beside her, as the curtain falls quickly.)_

QUICK ACT DROP.

_(Picture--Eric supporting Kate's head, L., of her, {Gil.} looking on dumbfounded.)_

END OF ACT II.