University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

The hall in the cottage of Norman Maurice. Time—midnight. Enter Maurice in night-gown, as just started from his couch. His hair dishevelled—his manner wild and agitated—his whole appearance that of a man painfully excited and distressed.
Maurice.
That I should be unmann'd! That a mere dream,
The blear and frightful aspects of a vision,
Should rouse me to such terror,—shake my soul
From the strong moorings of a steadfast will,
And drive it, a mere wreck, upon the seas,
No hand upon the helm! Ah! my Clarice.

[Enter Clarice.
Clarice.
My husband—

Maurice.
I would thou had'st not seen me thus, Clarice.

Clarice.
What means this terror—wherefore did you cry?

Maurice.
Surely I did not.

Clarice.
Yes, a terrible shriek,
As one who rushes desperate on his foe!

Maurice.
No mortal foe has ever from my lips,
Sleeping or waking, forced acknowledgment,
That humbles me like this—

Clarice.
What dost thou mean?
What fear?

Maurice.
What answer shall I make to thee?—
How tell thee, my Clarice, 'twas a mere dream,
That filled me with that agonizing fear,
Whose shriek thou heard'st. Yet, such a dream, my wife,
As still pursues me with its hideous forms,
And shakes me yet with terror. That a man,
Conscious of strength and will, with conscience free,
Should, in a mere disorder of his blood,
In midnight sleep, feel all his soul unsinew'd,
And sink into the coward!

Clarice.
Thou art none!

Maurice.
Yet such a vision—and methinks I see!—
Hist,—is there nothing crawling by the hearth,
Crouching and winding, and with serpent folds,
Preparing its dread venom?

Clarice.
There is nothing, husband—
The hearth holds only the small jar of flowers.

Maurice.
The reptile ever seeks such crouching place,
And garbs his spotty hide with heedless blossoms,
That know not what they harbor. Fling it hence!
'Twas on the hearth it crouch'd. But, hear me, wife;
That dream! 'Twas of a serpent on our hearth,
Thou heedless, with thy hand upon the flowers,
Disposing them for show. Unseen and soft—
It wound about thee its insidious coil,
And, at the moment when I first beheld,
Its brazen head was lifted, its sharp fang
Was darting at thy heart! 'Twas then I shriek'd
And rush'd upon the monster thus, and smote!—
[Dashing the vase to pieces.
Heedless of every sting, I trampled it;
But, even as it writhed beneath my heel,
Methought, it lifted up a human face
That look'd like Robert Warren!

Clarice.
What a dream!

Maurice.
I cannot shake it off. Did'st hear a sound
Most like a hiss?

Clarice.
Nay, nay! 'twas but a dream!
Come—come to bed.

Maurice.
Why should I dream of him?

Clarice.
You think of him, perchance.

Maurice.
And, as a reptile!
The terrible image still before me crawls—
Oh! that I might, with but a bound and struggle,
Though still at life's worst peril, trample him!

Clarice.
Yet wherefore?

Maurice.
There are instincts of the soul,
That have a deep and true significance,
And, though no more in danger from his malice,
I feel within me that he works unsleeping,
In venomous toils against me.

Clarice.
But, in vain.
Come, Norman, come to bed. You frighten me.

Maurice.
Forgive me! There! I have thee at my lips,
I strain thee to my bosom with a joy
That leaves no rapture wanting—yet, methinks,
I hear a sound of hissing, and still see
Glimpses of folding serpents that, behind,
Crawl after us—

Clarice.
My Norman!

Maurice.
I grieve thee!
I will forget this vision in the blessing
This grasp makes real to rapture. Let us in.

[He folds his arm about her, and they leave the apartment, he still looking behind him suspiciously—she looking up to him.