University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI.

An apartment, the walls of which are lined with oak, and partly hung with arras.
Enter a Maid Servant, carrying a lamp and a basket, &c.
Maid
(speaking as she enters).
I trow, when we have burnt this second parcel,
The sickly air must needs be purified.
But what does all this fuming signify,
Since we must die at our appointed time?
What dost thou think—
(looking round and seeming alarmed)
—She has not follow'd me.
I thought she was behind me. Lord preserve us!
Here in this ghastly chamber all alone!
[Going to the door and calling.
Art thou not coming. Marjory? Where art thou?
I say, where art thou? I have need of thee.

Enter a 2d Maid.
2d maid.
Why didst thou call so loud? What is the matter?

1st maid.
I thought thou wast behind me: merey on us!
A kind of qualm came o'er me, when I look'd
On all within this silent dismal room,
And to that corner where the death-bed stood,—
A sudden qualm came o'er me.

2d maid.
Let us be busy—there's no time to lose;
The provost and his daughter will be here
Ere we have done our work.

[They take gums and dried herbs from the basket, which they set fire to by the lamp, and fumigate the chamber, speaking the while occasionally.
1st maid.
The Lord preserve us! 'tis an awful thing.

2d maid.
It was a sudden call: so young,—so good!

1st maid.
Ay, many a sore heart thinks of her this night.

2d maid.
And he, the most of all, that noble gentleman:
Lord pardon him for being what he is!

1st maid.
And what is that?

2d maid.
A rank and Roman papist.

1st maid.
The Lord forgive him that, if it be so!—
And quickly, too; for this same deadly fever,
As I hear say, has seized upon him also.

Enter Provost.
Provost.
That's well, good damsels; you have done your task
Right thoroughly: a whelesome, fragrant smell
Is floating all about. Where is your master?

1st maid.
In his own chamber. When he knows your honour
Is in the house, he will attend you presently.

2d maid.
And it will do him good to see your honour.

Provost.
I fear, my joe, the good that I can do him,
Or e'en the minister, if he were here,
Would be but little. Grief must have its time.
Some opiate drug would be to him, I reckon,
Worth all my company, and something more.
Howbeit, I'll go to him. My good old friend!
My heart bleeds for him.—Ye have done enough;
The ladies are at hand.

[Exit by the opposite side.
Enter Alice and Marian.
Marian.
Take hold of me; thy summon'd strength, I fear,
Forsakes thee now.
[She supports Alice, and they walk slowly to the middle of the room.
Ay, thou lookst round, as if in search of something?

Alice.
They have removed it.

Marian.
What have they removed?

Alice.
The bed on which she lay. Oh, woe is me!
The last time I was in this chamber, Marian,
Becoming suddenly, from some slight cause,
A passing sufferer, she laid my head
On her own pillow, and her own soft hand
Press'd me so gently; I was then the patient,
And she the tender nurse. I little thought
So short a time—Alas! my dear, dear friend!

Marian.
Short time indeed for such a dismal change:
I may not chide thy tears.

Alice.
Here are the virginals on which she play'd;
And here's her musie, too.
[Taking up a book from the virginals, and opening it.
Ah, woe is me!
The very tune which last she play'd to me
Has open'd to my hand, and 'twixt the leaves
The little flower lies press'd which then I gave her!

Marian.
'Tis sweet to find it so.

Alice.
But, oh! how sad!
She was—she was—
[Bursting into tears.
Well may I weep for her!

Marian.
Be comforted, dear Alice! she is gone
Where neither pain nor woe can touch her more.

Alice.
I know—I know it well: but she is gone!
She who was fair, and gifted, and beloved:
And so beloved!—Had it been heaven's blest will
To take me in her stead, tears had been shed,
But what had been their woe, compared to this?

Marian.
Whose woe, dear Alice?

Alice.
His woe—their woe; poor Claude's, and Malcolm's too.
Death seizes on the dearest and the best!

Marian
(embracing her).
I will not hear thee say so, gentle Alice.
A dearer and a better than thyself
'Twere hard to find. No; nor do I believe
That she whom thou lamentest did surpass thee.

Alice.
Hush! say it not!—I pray thee, say not so:
In pitying me thou must not rob the dead.
That he preferr'd a creature of such excellence,
Took from the wound its sting and bitterness.
Thou mayst not wrong the dead!

Marian.
I will not, then,

Alice
(looking round).
There is the arras that conceals the place:
Her awful words are sounding in my ears,
Which bade me search. I feel a secret awe!
But that her spirit from the earth has ta'en—
As I am well assured—its final leave,
I could believe that she is near me still,
To see the very act!

[Looking round her fearfully.
Marian.
Nay, check thy ardent fancy: 'tis not good
To let such dismal notions haunt thee so—
Thy father comes, with his afflicted friend.

Enter Provost, leading Graham by the hand.
[Alice advances affectionately to Graham, who opens his arms to receive her, and she weeps upon his neck, without speaking. She then leads him to a chair, and seats herself upon a stool at his feet, taking his hand in hers, and bending over it, while the Provost and Marian remain in the front.
Provost
(looking at them).
That poor old man! he utters not a word
Of sorrow or complaint; and all the more
I grieve for him. God help him! in whose hands
The hearts of men are kept.

Marian.
And he is help'd, for he is weeping now.

Provost.
He did not weep when we for him were weeping,
And he will weep when all our tears are dried.
—Our two young men, methinks, are long of coming.

Marian.
But are you sure your messenger hath found them?

Provost.
I scarcely doubt it. I have those in pay,
But little better than the prey they follow,
Who are expert in dogging stealthy rogues;
And it were strange indeed if artless men
Should foil their skill.—
And I am right—I hear their coming steps!

Enter Malcolm and Claude.
Mal.
(after doing silent obeisance to the Provost and Graham, who, with Alice, come forward to meet them, speaks in a low voice to Claude).
And here, night after night, in all her beauty,
She took her curtain'd rest, and here she died!
But that which I expected is not here:
Is this the very chamber?

Alice
(overhearing him, and in a low voice).
It is: but what thou lookst for is removed.
(Pointing.)
Upon that spot it stood.

Mal.
Yes, thou hast read my thought, most gentle Alice!

[Goes to the spot, where he remains in silence, covering his face with his hands.
Provost.
Shall we not now proceed upon the business
For which we are convened?
(To Graham.)
To you, my ancient friend, I have explain'd it.
Malcolm and Claude, know ye why in this chamber
Your presence has been solemnly requested.

Claude.
I guess it well. My sister has inform'd me
Of Emma's last request; and I to Malcolm,
As we came hither, have repeated it.

Provost
(to Alice).
Now, dearest child! it is for thee to act.

[Leads Alice to the bottom of the stage, where, taking aside the arras which covers the wall, a small door is discovered.
Claude
(to Malcolm, seeing him take a book from a book-case).
Why dost thou snatch that book so eagerly?

Malcolm.
It is the book I praised to her so much
A short while since; and see, she has procured it!

Claude.
Ah! thou mayst well be proud. But how is this?
Thy countenance all o' the sudden changed!
[Malcolm lets the book drop from his hand, and Claude takes it up eagerly, and opens it, reading.
“The gift of one most dear.”—Of one most dear!
Thou didst not give it to her?

Mal.
No; nor thou!

Marian.
Hush, hush! words of ungentle rivalry
Do ill become this solemn place. Be calm.
See! Alice in the cabinet hath found
That which the vision'd form so earnestly
Directed her to search for.

[Alice, returning to the front with a small box in her hands, places it on a table, the rest gathering eagerly round her, and endeavours to open it.
Alice.
I know this box: alas! I know it well,
And many a time have open'd it; but now—

Provost.
Thy hands have lost all power, thou tremblest so.
[Taking it from her and from Graham, who attempts to assist her.
Nay, friend, thou tremblest also: I will do it.

[Opens the box, and takes out a written paper.
Omnes.
What is it?

Provost.
Give me time to look upon it.

Gra.
Some deed or testament. Alas, poor child!
Had she prepared for such an early death?

Provost.
It is no testament.

Mal.
(impatiently).
What is it then?

Claude.
Nay, father, do not keep us in suspense!

Provost.
It is a formal contract of betrothment;
Vows sworn between herself and Basil Gordon.

Gra.
That popish cadet of a hostile house
To me and mine!—Let mine own eyes examine it.
Contracted secretly! to him contracted!
But she is in her grave, and I—O God!
Grant me with patience to endure Thy chastening!
Contracted! married!

Provost.
Not married; no,—a mutual solemn promise,
Made to each other in the sight of heav'n.
Thus run the words:—
(Reads.)
“I, Basil Gordon, will no woman wed
But Emma Graham.”—Then follows her engagement:—
“I, Emma Graham, will wed no other man
Than Basil Gordon: yet will never marry
But with consent of my much honour'd father,
When he, less prejudiced, shall know and own
The worth of him I love.”
[Spreading out the paper.
This is her writing, as you plainly see;
And this is Gordon's, for I know it well.

Gra.
(beating his breast).
This blow! this blow! a Gordon and a papist!

Provost.
True, he is both: the last, I must confess,
No trivial fault. Howbeit he is, in truth,
A brave and noble gentleman.

Alice.
Indeed he is, dear sir. Your gentle Emma
Could love no other. Valiant in the field,
As frequent foreign records have attested:
In private conduct good and honourable;
And loving her he loved, as he has done,
With ardent, tender constancy—

Mal.
Hold! hold!
He loved her not—by heav'n he loved her not!
When all who ever knew her, drown'd in sorrow,
Follow'd her hearse, he—he alone was absent.
Where was he then, I pray?

Provost.
I'll tell thee where:
Stretch'd on a sick-bed—smitten by the same
Most pestilent disease that slew his mistress.

Mal.
Ha! is it so!
(Turning to Claude.)
Then we must hold our peace.

Claude.
And with each other be at peace, dear Malcolm:
What is there now of rivalry between us?

Mal.
Speak not so gently to me, noble Claude!
I've been to thee so wayward and unjust,
Thy kindness wrings the heart which it should soften.
(After a pause.)
And all our fond delusion ends in this!
We've tack'd our shallow barks for the same course!
And the fair mimie isle, like Paradise,
Which seem'd to beckon us, was but a bank
Of ocean's fog, now into air dissolved!

Alice.
No; say not beckon'd. She was honourable
As she was fair: no wily woman's art
Did e'er disgrace her worth:—believe me, Malcolm.

Mal.
Yes; I believe thee, and I bless thee too,
Thou best and loveliest friend of one so lovely!
Pardon me, dearest Alice! generous Alice!
Pardon the hasty error of a word
Which had no meaning—no intended meaning
To cast one shade of blame on thy dear friend;
For henceforth by no other appellation
But thy dear friend shall she be named by me.
[Turning to Graham.
And you, dear sir! look not so sternly sad.
Her love outran her duty one short step,
But would no farther go, though happiness
Was thereby peril'd. Though his house and yours,
His creed and yours, were so at variance, still,
She might expect his noble qualities
Would in the end subdue a father's heart,
Who did so fondly love her.

Gra.
Cease! I am weak, bereft, and desolate,—
A poor old man, my pride of wisdom sear'd
And ground to dust: what power have I to judge?
May God forgive me if I did amiss!

Claude
(to Provost).
Did Gordon see her ere she breathed her last?

Provost.
He did. The nurse, who was her close attendant,
Says, that he came by stealth into her chamber,
And with her words and looks of tenderness
Exchanged, though near her last extremity.
And there he caught the fatal malady.

Claude.
A happy end for him, if it should prove so.

Enter a Servant, who draws the Provost aside.
Provost
(aside to servant).
Thou hast a woeful face! what has befallen?

[Servant speaks to him in a whisper.
Marian
(to Alice).
Thy father has received some woeful tidings.

Alice.
I fear he has; he stands in thoughtful silence.
Father, how is't? your thoughts are very sad.

Provost.
Ay; were this span of earthly being all,
'Twere sad to think how wealth and domination,
Man's valour, landed pride, and woman's beauty,
When over them the blighting wind hath pass'd,
Are turned to vanity, and known no more!

[The bell of a neighbouring church tolls five times.
Mal.
What bell is that?

Claude.
Some spirit is released from mortal thraldom.

Alice.
And passing on its way, we humbly hope,
To endless happiness.

Provost.
I trust it is, though stern divines may doubt:
'Tis Basil Gordon's knell!

[The bell tolls again at measured intervals, and, after a solemn pause, the curtain drops.