 | Poems: By Menella Bute Smedley |  |
SCENE II.
Enter Lady Grace, musing.Time quenches all,—I am athirst for time;
Could I but press a year into an hour,
And scan mine anguish with the tranquil eyes
Of one who says “it was.” Across the stream
Is calm, but I am crying from the depths.
Now must I count my bitter thoughts, and say,—
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So many faint appeals to fairer hope,
So many swift relapses unto pain,—
There shall be conquest. Over what? A heart
Slain but not healed, never to bleed again
Because it cannot. If I had done a sin
I were content to suffer; all I did
Was to be ignorant of what I did.
I knew not, saw not, felt not, that the rein
Was sliding from my fingers (that is sin
In women) till I lost it, on the brink,
And fell through flowers that mask a precipice.
I am down now. O, that I stood again
Upon the pleasant levels!—that I walked
With passionless decision, like a nun,
Watching my steps. I cling among the thorns;
I'll fall no lower,—let them pierce me here
As I strive upwards.
(Enter a maid with a packet.)
MAID.
Madam, from Lord Lynton.
(Gives it.)
LADY GRACE.
From whom? From him? I had forgotten him.
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Will you be pleased to read? The servant waits.
LADY GRACE.
I must be pleased. A message from the master
Whom for myself I chose. What have I done?
Let me not wrong him,—'twere to strike the hand
Stretched out to save me. (Opens the packet, takes out a bracelet, and reads.)
“Do not scorn my first gift, but wear it, if only
in remembrance of my joy.
“Lynton.”
Who only lives to serve me, but I am not.
This joy but comes to whet the after-grief
That it should cut the deeper. I have done
Two wrongs, in loving where I should not love,
And making love my duty where I cannot.
I am like one who, being sick to death,
Takes poison to be rid of his disease,
And dies the sooner. O, that it were night!
And O! that it were morning after night,
And I were past the waves and wrecks of youth,
Softly at anchor in some tideless sea,
Till the slow sunset reach me! Where's my niece?
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Madam, I know not.
LADY GRACE.
You look strangely at me.
No pain is like the preface to a pain.
Tell me at once,—she is dead!
MAID.
Now Heaven forbid!
She passed me with a festal countenance
When she went out just now.
LADY GRACE.
I am afraid
If but an eyelash quiver. She went out,—
Was she alone?
MAID.
No, Madam.
LADY GRACE.
With her cousin?
MAID.
No, Madam.
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Prithee speak; thou stiflest me
With these “No, Madams.”
MAID.
Well, then, if she kills me
I'll tell the truth. She wore a walking-dress,
And went with Sir George Sandys.
LADY GRACE.
At this hour!
A girl! alone! 'tis more than foolishness.
Where went they?
MAID.
As I gathered from their talk,
Across the park.
LADY GRACE.
But where?
MAID.
If I must say,
They went together to Sir George's rooms.
I heard her say that she had wished to see
How men live in their single palaces,
And he said he would show her.
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after standing speechless for a moment.
Get my cloak.
MAID.
Madam, I hope if she is wroth with me,
You will excuse me; I have never been
A talebearer.
LADY GRACE.
Go, child; you have done no wrong.
'Tis my mistake; I should have gone with them,
And I must follow. Fetch my mantle, quick.
I would not make them wait. (Exit maid.)
This is some jest,
In her a frolic, but in him a crime.
She throws her name to him without a fear;
He, having caught it, stains it. Oh, 'tis vile,
Out of the lightness of an hour to draw
That unrelieved repentance of a life
Which finds no help. I must be swift to hide
And bold to speak.
(Re-enter maid with a hat and cloak.)
That's well. You must not say
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We must be careful, girl; there is no cure
For this tongue-venom, if you have a place
Where it can sting; you must be all in mail.
Be sure you tell it not.
(She puts on the hat and cloak.)
MAID.
I will not breathe it
Against my pillow.
LADY GRACE,
gives her money.
There is for your promise.
You shall have double if 'tis kept a year.
MAID.
I'll keep it twenty years at a such a price.
(Exeunt separate ways.)
| Poems: By Menella Bute Smedley | |