 | The Sisters |  |
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ACT II.
Scene I.
—Another part of the grounds.Enter Sir Arthur Clavering and Reginald.
SIR ARTHUR.
I'm glad you love the old place: to have you here—
You and the Dilstons—brings my father's time
Back. I might almost be your father, though;
Yours, or your cousins'—Frank's or Mabel's. Time
Slips on like water.
REGINALD.
Very softly, here;
Less like the Kielder than the Deadwater
Till both make up the Tyne.
SIR ARTHUR.
It wearies you,
Cousin? Make haste then and grow strong and stout,
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I mean to keep you prisoner and be proud
I have a guest who struck beside the Duke
An English stroke at Waterloo.
REGINALD.
Beside,
Arthur? There's no one born can boast of that.
The best we can—the very best of us—
Say for each other, is just, we followed him—
His hand and eye and word and thought—and did
What might be of our duty.
SIR ARTHUR.
Well, my boy,
Did he do more? You're just a hothead still—
The very schoolboy that I knew you first—
On fire with admiration and with love
Of some one or of something, always. Now,
Who is it—besides your general? who—or which?
Anne's chestnut shell, or Mabel's golden fire—
Her emerald eyes, or Anne's dark violets—eh?
You have them both (a happy hero you!)
Dancing attendance on your highness. Here
Comes Mabel: have you not a glove to throw?
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Dear cousin, make him talk to you: to me
He will not; and I have not time to dance
Attendance on him.
[Exit.
REGINALD.
Arthur's jokes are not
Diamonds for brilliance: but he's good.
MABEL.
Are you?
REGINALD.
You never asked me that of old times.
MABEL.
No:
That was superfluous: all the household knew
How good a boy you were.
REGINALD.
And you? A girl
There was who loved the saddle as well as I,
And was not slower at breaking bounds.
MABEL.
You have not
Forgiven me what you suffered for my sake
So often—much too often.
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No, of course.
How should I?
MABEL.
You remember our old rides—
Tell me about your ride at Waterloo.
REGINALD.
More like a swim against a charging sea
It was, than like a race across the moors
Yonder.
MABEL.
But when a breaker got you down—
When you lay hurt it might have been to death—
Will you not tell me what you thought of then?
REGINALD.
No.
MABEL.
Nothing?
REGINALD.
Nothing I can tell you of.
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Was all a mist and whirlwind—like the shore
Out yonder when the north-east wind is high?
That I can fancy. But when sense came back
You thought of nothing you can tell me of,
Reginald? nothing?
REGINALD.
Nothing I can tell
Any one—least of all, women or men,
Frank's wife that is to be, Mabel.
MABEL.
And where
Has Frank concealed her from all eyes but yours?
You are too sharp-sighted, Redgie.
REGINALD.
Did she not
Ask me just now what if she knew—she must
Have known the answer that I could not make—
It was not right or kind to ask?
MABEL.
Not she.
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Mabel!
MABEL.
She's innocent, at least.
REGINALD.
You mean—?
MABEL.
I mean she is not here. Nor anywhere
But in the silliest dreamiest brain alive—
The blindest head cheating the trustiest heart
That ever made a man—untrustworthy.
You did not dream or think of any old friend—
Anne, Frank, or me—when you were lying, cut down,
Helpless, that hideous summer night? And now
You will not speak or stir? O, Reginald,
Must I say everything—and more—and you
Nothing?
REGINALD.
My love! Mabel! What can I?
MABEL.
Say
Just that again.
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How can it be?
MABEL.
My love,
How could it not be?
REGINALD.
How have I deserved
This?
MABEL.
How can I tell you? Do you tell me
Now, what you would not tell Frank's wife.
REGINALD.
You know
I need not tell you.
MABEL.
Tell me, though.
REGINALD.
I thought,
Between the shoots and swoonings, off and on,
How hard it was, if anything was hard
When one was dying for England, not to see
Mabel, when I could see the stars. I thought
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Asleep or waking, here at home. I thought
I could have wished, and should not wish, to send
My whole heart's love back as my life went out,
To find her here and clasp her close and say
What I could never—how much I had loved her. Then
I thought how base and bad a fool I was
To dream of wishing what would grieve her. Then
I think I fell asleep.
MABEL.
And that was all,
Redgie?
REGINALD.
And that was all, Mabel.
MABEL.
You did—
You did not think, if she had known—if she,
Asleep and dreaming here, had dreamed of it—
What love she would have sent you back for yours—
Yours—how could she be worth it? Did you not
See, as you lay—know, as your pain sank down
And died and left you yet not quite asleep—
How past all words she loved you? Reginald!
You did not?
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How should I have dreamed of heaven?
I'm not a saint, Mabel.
MABEL.
And what am I
Who ask a man what, being the man he is,
He will not ask me—and am not ashamed?
REGINALD.
You are more than ever a man whom heaven loved best
Saw shining out of heaven in dreams—more dear,
More wonderful than angels. How you can
Care for me really and truly—care for me,
It beats my wits to guess.
MABEL.
It's very strange,
Of course: what is there in you to be loved?
REGINALD.
There's many a true word said in jest. But you!
Why, all the world might fall down at your feet
And you not find a man in all the world
Worth reaching out your hand to raise. And I!
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They say; but no man living could deserve
This.
MABEL.
Well, you always were the best to me;
The brightest, bravest, kindest boy you were
That ever let a girl misuse him—make
His loving sense of honour, courage, faith,
Devotion, rods to whip him—literally,
You know—and never by one word or look
Protested. You were born a hero, sir.
Deny it, and tell a louder lie than when
You used to take my faults upon you. How
I loved you then, and always! Now, at last,
You see, you make me tell it: which is not
As kind as might be, or as then you were.
REGINALD.
I never was or could be fit for you
To glance on or to tread on. You, whose face
Was always all the light of all the world
To me—the sun of suns, the flower of flowers,
The wonder of all wonders—and your smile
The light that lit the dawn up, and your voice
A charm that might have thrilled and stilled the sea—
You, to put out that heavenly hand of yours
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But those God gave you for your eyes on earth
That all might know his angel!
MABEL.
There—be still.
Enter Frank (at a distance).
Here comes our bridesman—and our matchmaker.
He told me that he loved me yesterday,
But that you loved me better—more than he,
And, Redgie, that you would not tell me so
Till I had made an offer for your hand.
A prophet, was he not?
REGINALD.
Did he say that?
I'd like to black his boots.
MABEL.
You weren't his fag,
Were you?—Well, Frank, you told me yesterday
Nothing but truth: and this has come of it.
FRANK.
Your hand in Redgie's? All goes right, then?
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All.
I did not give him, I confess, a chance.
REGINALD.
Frank, I can't look you in the face—and yet
I hope and think I have not played you false.
FRANK.
Well, if you swore you had, Redgie my boy,
I'd not believe you. You play false, indeed!
To look me in the face and tell me that
Would need more brass than nature gave your brows.
REGINALD.
But how to look your father in the face—
Upon my honour! You must help me, Frank.
FRANK.
And that I will, Redgie. But don't you dream
He'll think there's any need of any help,
Excuse, or pretext for you. Any fool
Must have foreseen it.
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Yes—I think he must.
Any but one, at least—who would not see.
Frank, I proposed to him—I did. He is
So scandalously stupid!
FRANK.
Ah, you know,
I told you. That was unavoidable.
REGINALD.
You sons and daughters of good luck and wealth
Make no allowance—cannot, I suppose—
For such poor devils as poor relations. Frank,
I think I see you—in my place, I mean—
Making the least love in the world to her—
Letting her dream you loved her!
FRANK.
Well, did you?
MABEL.
He did.
REGINALD.
I don't know how I did.
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But I
Know.
FRANK.
I can guess. He never dropped a word
Nor looked a look to say it—and so you knew.
MABEL.
Yes; that was it.
FRANK.
When I go courting, then,
I'll take a leaf out of old Redgie's book,
And never risk a whisper—never be
Decently civil. Well, it's good to see
How happy you two are.
MABEL.
Hush! Here comes Anne.
Enter Anne.
ANNE.
I heard what Frank said. And I hope you are
Happy, and always will be.
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Thanks. And yet
I know I ought not.
ANNE.
Complimentary, that,
To Mabel.
REGINALD.
Mabel understands.
ANNE.
Of course.
She always understood you.
REGINALD.
Did she? No:
She always made too much of me—and now
Much more too much than ever. God knows why.
ANNE.
God knows what happiness I wish you both.
REGINALD.
Thank her, Mabel.
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I can't. She frightens me.
Anne!
ANNE.
Am I grown frightful to all of you?
Are you afraid of me, Reginald?
REGINALD.
What
Can ail you, Mabel? What can frighten you?
ANNE.
Excitement—passionate happiness—I see.
Enough to make a girl—before men's eyes—
Shrink almost from her sister.
MABEL.
Anne, you knew
This was to be—if Redgie pleased.
ANNE.
I did;
And did not doubt it would be.
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These are strange
Congratulations. Anne, you must have thought
It would not.
ANNE.
What I thought or did not think
I know perhaps as well as you. And now
I need not surely twice congratulate
My sister and my brother—soon to be.
MABEL.
Let us go in.
ANNE.
You seem so happy too
That we must all congratulate you, Frank.
[Exeunt.
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