University of Virginia Library

Scene II.—

In the Garden, as before. Time, morning. Winifred and Jenny discovered. The former seated at a table, under a verandah, writing, while boats and barges come and go upon the river.
WINIFRED.
Well, Jenny, is that all?

JENNY.
You've said, Miss Wynny,
About the drink got in those lurking-places
Sir Pierce has set by every waterfall,
And mill, and mine, and quarry, and street-corner?

WINIFRED.
Yes, Jenny, I have given him your warning.

JENNY.
Then, give him just my blessing, and I'll put
A cross again it. Now, write ‘Owen Owen’
Upon the cover; now write ‘Dwygyfylchi,’—
Then ‘Conway,’—that will be shorthand, Miss Wynny,
For Dwygyfylchi. Will it find him?

WINIFRED.
Yes.

JENNY.
They're calling me.

[Exit Jenny.
WINIFRED.
[Alone, reading.]
‘Jail, Conway; ’dear old Jenny;
Shorthand, indeed; poor soul, she does not know
The long arm of the Law has hold of him!
Now I shall take these sheets to Mill and Grinder. [Folds up MS.

Re-enter Jenny.
I'll post your letter, Jenny, in my walk,
I promised you I'd walk—

JENNY.
Yes, in the fields
You said to-day; but there,—fine folks are fickle.

WINIFRED.
Yes.

JENNY.
What a sight o'paper you have spoiled;
Surely, Miss Wynny, it's your life you're writing?

WINIFRED.
No, Jenny, dear; I have no life to write.

JENNY.
The folks that have could never spare the time.
I've seen a deal o'life; but I must go
Pick those black-currants, or you'll have sore-throats
And won't have jelly; and the lavender,—
I must be tying that, or you'll have linen,
And naught to sweeten it! You'll see life too,
And life enough; it mostly comes with marriage.

WINIFRED.
Then it will never come for me.

JENNY.
That means
The right man has not come to offer it.

WINIFRED.
It means just this,—that if in days long hence,
When time has robbed me, as it robs the best,
I ever shall be free to give myself,
The gift will be too worthless for my granting.

JENNY.
Leave those that ask the gift to judge o'that.

WINIFRED.
No, I must go full-handed, or stand back
For ever.

JENNY.
There spoke pride, Miss Wynny. Yours
Will eat your heart out, ere 'tis done with you.

[Exit Jenny.
WINIFRED.
So let it. I shall need it all to hold
My purpose fast, and I will feed it well.
Yes, it shall eat my heart, this pride of mine,
If nothing less suffice. But I was wrong.
I have a life,—a life that overflows,
Whose tide is at the spring. The work is hard
That goes against its stream. But I have sworn,
If only to myself, still to myself;
And shall I hold that self, crowned with his love,
So poor a thing, that I break faith with it
Unblushingly, because it had no witness?
Nay, rather break my heart, if it be made
Of such slight stuff. But wherefore talk of breaking?
Both heart and faith will hold until this purpose,
Grown dear with sacrifice, is consummated,
And two young Wynnes have won back old Wynhavod. [Exit Winifred
Re-enter Jenny, with a tray and basin.


JENNY.
I'll pick the currants here, and watch the sun
At work upon the lavender. He gives
Such cheery help, and livens up old bones.
[Voice approaching from the water, singing words of song as before.
That's Mr. Drayton's voice; he takes no thought
More than the birds, but spends his life a-singing.
A little share of Master Mostyn's work
Would sort his rhymes with reason. Rhymes may jingle,—
They won't buy house or land; what's wanted here Is money.

Enter Norman at the garden gate.
NORMAN.
Your young lady is within?

JENNY.
No, Sir, she takes her morning exercise.

NORMAN.
And you her place the while.

JENNY.
No, Sir, I know
My own too well. That is Miss Wynny's chair.

NORMAN.
Of which she makes a throne. I called to tell her
A thing I chanced to see last night, but which
Is scarcely worth her hearing; I will write
A line and leave it; you will give it her. [Feels in his pocket for paper, and brings out a roll, of which he takes off the wrapper.
[Aside.]

I thought to show her I could keep my pledge,—
Present a placid surface, though the storm
Had stirred the depths so newly; it is well
The trial should stand over till to-morrow,—
Her empty place seems yet too full for me.

[Writes on the paper cover, having let fall the roll of notes.
JENNY.
Here is your money, Sir.

NORMAN
What money?

JENNY.
Notes,
A sight o'them; you dropped them from that paper.

NORMAN.
Notes in this paper?

JENNY.
In deed, an'truth they were, Sir.

NORMAN
One thousand pounds! two, four, six What is this!

JENNY.
A deal o' cash to carry in your pocket!

NORMAN.
[Speaking to himself.]
I think my father thinks my poverty
Is a blind beggar that will take all gifts
Absolved of gratitude. This comes from him;—
But how?

JENNY.
It's been in water.

NORMAN.
Hah, and here
Are dints of teeth—dog's teeth, I see. 'Twas Gelert,—
Yes, it was Gelert brought them to the boat.
He swam to me, this roll within his mouth;
And as I take each stick or straw he brings me,—
Feigning to prize it, just to pleasure him,
Because, poor brute, he pants to pleasure me,—
I put them here; so,—but for that, this treasure,
By whomsoever lost, would now be pulp,
Floating upon the Thames. [Meditating.]

Now, what to do?
A child astray,—we ask it where it dwells;
Good; to the Bank, where money is at home.
This for Miss Wynne. [Giving it to Jenny.
[Aside.]

For her in unknown cypher.

[Exit Norman.
JENNY.
Verses, again; he needs must sing on paper;
It wants no English to know rhyme from reason. [Door-bell rings. Exit Jenny into the house.


Re-enter Jenny, with Mr. Murdock and Sir Pierce Thorne.
JENNY.
If you've a mind to wait, it's pleasanter
Here in the garden. My young lady, Sir,
Is gone to take her airing; Mr. Mostyn
Is on a journey.

MR. MURDOCK.
Ha! Is on a journey?
D'ye know where to?

JENNY.
I think to his estates
In Wales, but all was done in such a hurry,
I scarce know where he is, or where I am.

MR. MURDOCK.
[Low, to Sir P. Thorne.]
A sudden evil impulse.

SIR PIERCE
His estates
In Wales,—if he could pocket them, perhaps!

MR. MURDOCK.
Yes, we will wait. Miss Wynne will not be long

JENNY.
No, Sir, for she's on foot,—by doctor's orders.
Gelert is with her. [Aside.]
He's not like to think
Gelert a dog. He'll take him for her footman.

[Exit Jenny into the house.
MR. MURDOCK
He would be off, of course, but we shall gather
Somewhat from her.

SIR PIERCE.
No doubt. I'll watch her closely.

MR. MURDOCK.
I count on that.

SIR PIERCE.
How came this thing to light?

MR. MURDOCK.
[Looking round, and speaking low.]
An accident,—an open drawer! the cover
Addressed to ‘Cass and Co.,’ lying within
My son,—no word of this. He left last night.
It was a shock,—an unexpected shock.
He could not face it,—they were friends of his;
But duty,—and besides, six thousand pounds!
He came to me—

[Pausing, and looking round.
SIR PIERCE.
He came to you?

MR. MURDOCK.
He came
And asked me, by the way, as it would seem,
If we had sent, within this day or two,
Remittances to Cass and Co., New York.
I said we had, but what of that. He turned,
And walked uneasily a pace or two;
Then summoned resolution, and came back
And asked—still loth to look me in the face—
By whom the parcel had been sent to post?
When I said Wynne had taken it, I knew
Some doubt was stirred; I saw him start; but still
I had hard work to worm it out of him,—
But I have dealt with men before to-day.

SIR PIERCE.
He knows your errand here?

MR. MURDOCK.
Oh, yes; he knows
All, to the hour; 'tis a large sum to lose.

SIR PIERCE.
Poor Wynne! A vain, mad boy; his folly soon
Has landed him in crime.

MR. MURDOCK.
His dream, I'm told,
Was to get back Wynhavod?

SIR PIERCE.
Yes, from me!

MR. MURDOCK.
It was that dream that tempted him.

SIR PIERCE.
Exactly. Six thousand pounds it cost me, farm and homestead;
It scarcely paid the mortgage,—but you see
The sum has fitted roundly in his dream.

MR. MURDOCK.
Yes, it is strange. He worked so hard; and how
Could he avail himself when all was done?

SIR PIERCE.
Mad, mad! all boys are mad, in these mad days.
I know it, to my cost; all mad, all moon-struck!

MR. MURDOCK.
I think my son is sane.

SIR PIERCE.
Yes, you are happy.

MR. MURDOCK.
Miss Wynne will soon be here. We must be firm.

SIR PIERCE.
You think she's in his secret?

MR. MURDOCK.
Would be, surely.

SIR PIERCE.
I wonder if she's clever as an actress?

MR. MURDOCK.
That's to be seen. I wish it were well over.
They say she's handsome.

SIR PIERCE.
Have you never seen her?

MR. MURDOCK.
Never.

SIR PIERCE.
Nor I.

MR. MURDOCK.
We must not let that weigh.

SIR PIERCE.
No,—straight to the point.

MR. MURDOCK.
Yes, yes, I'll tackle her,
You'll see. It's painful, so are many things!
It's better to be sudden,—to surprise her,—
Leave her no time for—Here she is.

Enter Winifred, by garden. Mr. Murdock and Sir Pierce both stand back.
BOTH.
[Bowing.]
Good morning.

WINIFRED.
[Regarding them.]
To whom have I the pleasure—?

MR. MURDOCK.
You will know
My name, if not myself—

WINIFRED.
Your name is—?

MR. MURDOCK.
Murdock.
My business here— Allow me to present
My friend, Sir Pierce; you know his name, too,—
Thorne.

WINIFRED.
I naturally know both names; your own,
Not only as a name, but as a power.

MR. MURDOCK.
Which I would always have you feel benign.

WINIFRED.
I have been satisfied to think it just.

MR. MURDOCK.
Untempered justice would be— But you know
I am not here to speak of abstract justice,
[Winifred bows.
Nor any generalities. I come—

WINIFRED.
You come?

MR. MURDOCK.
I need not tell you—

WINIFRED.
Pardon me.

MR. MURDOCK.
You know my errand?

WINIFRED.
No, not quite.

MR. MURDOCK.
You guess it?

WINIFRED.
I hardly feel it worth the while to guess,
Seeing that you are on the way to tell it.

MR. MURDOCK.
[To Sir Pierce.]
You try her, Thorne,—you have not spoken yet.

SIR PIERCE.
You're well aware that that mad boy I hear of
As being in Flintshire—tho' I doubt the fact—
Has gone—

WINIFRED.
Oh, tell me what you know of him!

SIR PIERCE.
We rather wished to hear what you might know.

WINIFRED.
Nothing, but that he did this grievous thing
Unwittingly, unthinking, overtaken—

MR. MURDOCK.
[Eagerly.]
You grant he did it?

WINIFRED.
He was not himself.

SIR PIERCE.
The law will hardly—

WINIFRED.
Oh, the law is cruel;
But you, Sir Pierce, who know him,—you, who hold
His fate within your hands—

SIR PIERCE.
You over-rate
My power; this foolish boy has done—has done—
What lays him open—

WINIFRED.
Yes, I know,—his sentence—
Could it be transportation?

MR. MURDOCK.
[Low, to Sir Pierce.]
She knows all.

WINIFRED.
[To Sir Pierce.]
But you will hear me plead for him, he was
My playmate when a child. No claim on you,
But such a claim on me as must excuse
My urgency; he is so young, has worked
So gallantly; he comes of such a stock,
So faithful, so devoted, and has been
A credit to his kin, until temptation
Undid him. Oh! Sir Pierce, you must forgive me,—
Temptation which he owes to you as owner
Of that which once was ours; you, who have brought
This evil on him, will not let it crush him;
Be for him, not against him, in this matter.
Have you a son?

SIR PIERCE.
And if I have, what then?

WINIFRED.
He might be far away from you, be left
Without your counsel, have to struggle singly
Against the world, and all that threatens youth;
This boy I call my brother was so left;
Think of your son as he might be, so lonely,
So friendless,—and so fallen.

SIR PIERCE.
Lucifer,
Who fell, was not so proud as is my son,
But he is firm, and hard as rock. I suffer.

WINIFRED
I have been indiscreet; my words were arrows
Aimed at a venture. You are moved, you feel,
And will have mercy.

SIR PIERCE.
Such a voice might move—

MR. MURDOCK.
[To Sir Pierce.]
Is this your firmness? [To Winifred.]

This is not a matter
For feeling, but for duty to dispose of.
Sir Pierce is my good friend, but I can heed
No counsel and no pleading in this case.
The offence is far too grave,—a breach of trust,—
A felony so daring—

WINIFRED.
Felony!

MR. MURDOCK.
Yes, felony, what else but felony?
The theft of such a sum—

WINIFRED.
Did you say theft

MR. MURDOCK.
I did say theft; had I said robbery,
Would that have made it better?

WINIFRED.
O poor Jenny!
Shame,—shame for her; the thought will be her death!

MR. MURDOCK.
What does this mean?

WINIFRED.
You'll let me break it to her?
Poor Jenny! poor, poor mother! she so proud,
So fond of him; you'll let me break it to her.

MR. MURDOCK.
Break what,—to whom?

SIR PIERCE.
She's mad, too, like the rest,
All mad together, boys and girls,—stark mad.

WINIFRED.
Being so poor, you think she will not feel
The sting of the disgrace; but she will feel it,
Will die of it, I fear. You'll let me tell her
As gently as such horror may be told?

MR. MURDOCK.
I cannot follow you. Who must be told?

WINIFRED.
The mother of this wretched boy. She knows
Nothing of what has happened. We ourselves
Believed him guilty but of some assault,—
A party in a drunken fray.

MR. MURDOCK.
There is
Confusion here. We speak of Mostyn Wynne,
Your brother.

[A pause.
WINIFRED.
What of him?

MR. MURDOCK.
[To Sir Pierce.]
I cannot tell her!
She does not know. There has been some mistake.

WINIFRED.
An accident! My brother! He is killed!
I see it in your faces!

MR. MURDOCK.
No, not killed.

WINIFRED.
But injured—maimed! Oh, let me go to him!

MR. MURDOCK.
Not maimed. No accident.

WINIFRED
You torture me!
Speak out!

MR. MURDOCK.
You thought him dead. He is not dead

WINIFRED.
Not dead,—not injured! What, then, is to tell
Or hear that needs such fencing?

MR. MURDOCK.
Nerve yourself;
A sum in notes committed to his charge—
A heavy sum—your brother has found means—

WINIFRED.
Found means! My brother—

MR. MURDOCK.
Pardon me the pang
I must inflict; the cover has been traced to—
Been seen in his possession,—he is gone;
He could not brave it out; the evidence
Is dead against him.

WINIFRED.
I am dull, I think;
Pray put your meaning into plainest words,—
As brutal as you will, but short and plain.

MR. MURDOCK.
If you must have it so, we think your brother
Has robbed the Bank of several thousand pounds,
And we are here to search for further proof.

WINIFRED.
I see it—Mostyn Wynne, then—is—the THIEF!

MR. MURDOCK.
The word is yours, not ours; but help!

SIR PIERCE.
Miss Wynne
Is fainting.

WINIFRED.
[Waving them off.]
No, no; stand away!

MR. MURDOCK and SIR PIERCE.
Help, help!
Enter Jenny, from within.

JENNY.
Dear heart! she's dead!

WINIFRED.
Not dead, nor like to die,
Having outlived the bludgeons of these men.
Take—take these keys; show them the house, the drawers,
His desk,—that opens it. These gentlemen
Are—are detectives, searchers.

JENNY.
[Aside.]
Aye, for those notes!
She does not know, and I had best be dumb.

[Exeunt Jenny, Mr.Murdock, and Sir Pierce, into the house.
WINIFRED.
[Alone.]
Theft, robbery! No,—we must punish this.
How will these wretches face me when they come
Shamed from their bootless search? What do they seek?
Can they believe a thief would leave his plunder
Behind him in his den? Oh, poverty,
We thought you had no sting; but insult, outrage,
These are your kin!

Re-enter Mr. Murdock, Sir Pierce, and Jenny.
Well, have you done,—so soon?
MR. MURDOCK.
Alas! it was not far to seek; this proof
Is damning.

WINIFRED.
[Seizes and examines the half-torn cover.]
Proof!

MR. MURDOCK.
Yes, proof; the proof we sought,
Forgotten in his haste; the slender clue
That binds together criminal and crime.
It seems a law of ill that it should leave
Some tell-tale on its track; the deepest plots
Have failed from some such—

WINIFRED.
Hah! it is a plot;
Whose plot, and to what end, remains to see,—
Some proof of that will not be far to find!
Now, if your work is done, I'll thank you, gentlemen,
To leave me, since my work should now begin.

MR. MURDOCK.
I beg you to believe, my dear young lady—

WINIFRED.
Nothing that you can show or say; my thoughts
Are busy; give them room, that they may work.

MR. MURDOCK.
We grieve—

SIR PIERCE.
Our hearts are wrung—

WINIFRED.
Comfort each other,
I have no time to hear or soothe your sorrows.
But if you pity me, you waste your pity;
If you would blacken him, waste villainy.
We Wynnes have been a fighting race; a blow
Aimed at our honour calls to active life
The spirits of the heroes of our line.
You see us two alone and poor, and think
That you may trample us. I tell you no;
A thousand voices call aloud in us,
Our hearts are quickened, and our hands are nerved
As by an unseen army; we have backers
That you know nothing of; the mire, the lies,
You cast at us defile your hands, but leave
Those spotless you insult, but cannot shame.

MR. MURDOCK.
We take our leave; you make our duty hard.

SIR PIERCE.
[Aside.]
I feel the felon. [To Winifred.]

Should you ever need—

WINIFRED.
No, never!
[Exit Mr. Murdock and Sir Pierce.
Jenny, these are stirring times.
Mostyn went yesterday, and now to-day
I needs must follow after; this is news
That, coming unawares, might,—stagger him.
Then, he has work in Wales he cannot leave
Unfinished, and we must confer together
While he is free! Who knows what they may dare
To do with him?—but only for a while.
Hah! we shall have reprisals.

JENNY.
[Aside.]
Shall I tell her?
Oh, Gelert, that I were but dumb like you!
I know not if to hold or loose my tongue.
Nay, I'll say naught, but try what this will say,
Here is a paper left by Mr.Drayton.

WINIFRED.
[Takes paper.]
I know that name; but none who live outside
The circle of my thought can live for me.
[Looking at paper.
He sang this at my window, not last night,—
No, ages long ago, when there were stars.
[Reading, with emotion.
‘Fair lamp, that shinest softly on the night,
Fair love, that mak'st for mine a track of light—’
[Lays down the paper.
No more; one day I gave away my heart;
Now, I must have it back, for I may need
To use it roughly, as we can our own;
Perhaps to give it to redeem our name.
We Wynnes can suffer any loss but honour,
As we can carry any load but shame.
Enter Servant, with telegram.
But what is this? A message, and from Wales.
[Reads hastily.
This news has been before me; he is sick—
No wonder—sick, and at Festigniog!
How comes he at Festigniog?

JENNY.
O the day!

WINIFRED.
There was some mystery—with—him I loved.
My brother would not tell him where he went.
That's nothing! Just a passing mist, no more,
Which Mostyn's truth looks through, and shines the whiter.
But he is sick, and at Festigniog,—
To-night I shall be at Festigniog too,
And well enough to make it ill for them
Who think to blight our hope and blot our fame.
There, Jenny, cease to wring your hands; I feel
The battle-fever on me. You must be
My henchman; come, and arm me for the fight.
You shall be Glaucé, I am Britomart,
My brother Satyrane; we'll overthrow
Liars and lies! I feel my courage rising
As flames from pitch! Now to Festigniog!—hah!
'Tis well this came to guide my course. Festigniog!

[Exeunt Winifred and Jenny.