University of Virginia Library

Chapter V.

Scene—The interior of an old Indian temple; a single stream of light rests upon a fallen shrine and idol; broken pillars and masonry scattered around.
Enter Delmont, musing.
DELMONT.
[Footsteps heard approaching.]

ELLEN,
approaching timidly.
Blame me not, Delmont, that I hither come;
For there are rumours out against your honour,
Things which must sorely grieve you but to hear,
And which, when heard, must quickly be repugned.

DELMONT.
What is suspected, madam?

ELLEN.
Suspected?

DELMONT.
So; you mislike the term.
Suspicion, madam, owns a many masks;
It rarely leaves its features as they are.
Amongst the rest, 'tis oft its cue to wear
The mask of friendship; seemingly alive
But to one's benefit—yet sooth the while
It hints, and doubts, and fears, all is not well.
Sometimes it steals the very glance of love;
And whilst its tones but witness to affection,
Its thoughts are boiling o'er with calumny.
Suspected! what's suspected? Is't not so?
Or “rumours,” as you say. What of these “rumours?”

ELLEN.
Oh! calumnies! audacious calumnies!
Such as—that thou . . . . I cannot tell thee here.
Let us be gone.

DELMONT,
aside.
'Tis as I thought—she's heard—
Better to break at once, and know the worst.

ELLEN.
Come, quit this wild and desolate spot,
And when our boy embraces thee at home
('Tis very long since thou hast seen him, Delmont),
I'll tell thee all—nothing conceal, dear husband.

DELMONT.
Husband?—
I bade you say what rumours brought you here;
How knew you in this place I might be found?—
Husband?
What proof have ye of that which you assert?
Must I be husband to monotony;
The dull see-saw of matrimonial life,
If life it may be called where life is none?
But listless, vacant dulness, or perchance,
To spur the lazy spirit of the time,
Some everlasting tale of careless varlets.

ELLEN.
Whence comes this sudden unexpected passion?
What have I said—what done, to start this change?

DELMONT,
with increasing vehemence.
Change?
No: all are changeable but women!
They never change; no, never—they're immaculate!

ELLEN.
Oh, cruel triumph, first make sad the heart,
And then reproach it for its silentness!
First list indifferently to all that yields,
Or ought to yield, a father's breast delight,
And then, when long neglect hath dulled the sense,
Complain of dulness! What I have done
Seems barren to your wish; what left undone,
Is negligence or wrong. Nothing I do,
Or leave undone, is right: would I were dead!

DELMONT.
Mean you your death has ever been my wish?
Or if you mean not that, what is't you mean,
That you revolt my feelings with such words,
And urge forbearance to the uttermost?

ELLEN.
You have reviled me—when did I reply?
You have contemned me—when did I complain?
Oh, tyranny of temper, that would wound
Even the innocent to screen itself;
Would rather aggravate a wrong by aid
Of whispered falsehood, counterfeit report,
Or misconception wilfully provoked,
Than own one error, or confess one fault!
Oh, there's more mercy in a wicked act
Than in false tongue; more, more humanity
In brutes than in man's brutal temper!
When will Oppression cease to wound the weak,
And Power learn mercy?

DELMONT.
Most excellent!
Practise declaiming now, and you'll be eloquent;
Correcting others whilst you rail yourself.
But since in one respect we seem agreed,
Why drag a chain that galls the neck of both?
Why sharpen discord on the hone of hate?
Take passage straight for England; and if coin
Can pay you for obedience, it is yours.
But go or not, your son to England goes!
His mind shall not be warped against his sire;
His hate, at least, shall be a natural growth,
Not grafted by his mother in revenge.

ELLEN.
Heard I aright? O God, heard I aright?
My son? thou mean'st it not! Give up my son?
That which makes life amends for half its woes;
My only comfort, solace under heaven!
Oh, fix some bounds to this unnatural hate,
Some limit to this endless cruelty!
Have pity on a mother's helplessness!
Leave me not friendless, childless, husbandless,
Or—thou mayst have a murder at thy door
Not long remorse may cleanse!

[Passing Delmont, and pacing about distractedly.]
DELMONT,
aside.
This wretchedness
Undoes what I would do. Her tears—what then?
'Tis known that women's tears can find their eyes
Without their hearts; they weep for anything,
Or nothing, as their nerves may chance to be
Or in or out of order, temper, humour.
A tear is nought but selfishness dissolved;
Self-pride is hurt, and then self-pity weeps! [A pause.]

Must I wait long for your decision, madam?
I am not used to waver in resolve;
And that methinks you know. We must be brief.

ELLEN.
Is it a trifling task you give my heart?
I must have time; this sudden force may prove
A scheme to hurry me to some misact!
I ask for time to counsel with myself,
For I am in this world without a friend—
It seems as heaven itself abandoned me!
I must have time!—and time for what? for thought?
O God, have pity on my aching brain!
For man hath none;—I say, I must have time;
I will have time; I will not answer now.

DELMONT.
But I am now to act; therefore conclude,
Either the boy and you together go,
Or he alone!
The vessel sails at night; when it departs
No other ship may quit the coast for months.
I wait but your decision—ay or no.

ELLEN.
Distract me not! I wish to do the best
For my poor injured boy—you'll drive me mad!
I cannot act if you do drive me mad!
Not me alone, but you betray your child!
Is he fit quarry for that kite-like heart?
But Heaven's protracted vengeance yet shall fall:
The sequel of the wrong you here commit
Is with a higher power! Delmont, beware!
I have a brother; one whose deep revenge
Would hunt ye down, were he to chase the world:
While yet there's time, beware!—I say, beware!

DELMONT.
You threaten, madam!—By your own report
Our lives are not the happiest with each other;
No matter whose the fault, so stands the fact:
England's your native home—I offer wealth
In England with your son! Is that so hard?
What coin will give content, that coin is yours.

ELLEN.
Content?
What mockery! content?—oh, Delmont, Delmont!
What hath content on earth to do with me?
Without thy love wealth is but beggary:
I would have welcomed pain and penury,
So that they spared me thee—the same thou wert;
For thou wert loving once, and good, and generous,
All that a doting heart might idolise!
Think 'tis the morn the priest first joined our hands.

DELMONT,
vehemently.
I do deny the rite! You are no wife! [Ellen shrieks, and stands transfixed, gazing on him. A pause.]

This is but trifling, madam. When the ship-bell tolls
You must equip yourself within the hour;
For by the fiend I worship do I swear,
Whether you will or no—come but that hour—
The boy shall sail.

ELLEN.
Oh, monstrous cruelty! unheard-of perfidy!
False husband, faithless father, perjured friend;
Yes, burn all record of thy treachery—
All written document of thine offence—
Spurn the high sanctity of holy law,
Apostate both from nature and from God!
Yet, Delmont, from the ashes of my wrong
A spirit yet shall start thou canst not shrive.
Morn, noon, and fearful eve—at home, abroad,
In bed, at board, that voice shall haunt thee still;
Hear ye it not? 'tis dooming now thy soul. . . . .

[The ship-bell tolls at a distance—Ellen hears, totters towards Delmont, and, overpowered, sinks on her knees.]
DELMONT.
You hear!

ELLEN.
[She clings to him, Delmont throws her off.]

[She faints, and, as Delmont rushes out, four sailors enter from the steps of the upper Temple—Delmont points to Ellen.—Scene closes.