University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene I.—A Room in Carlton's House.

Enter Grey and Vernon, meeting.
GREY
I did not think to see you here.

VERNON
I hope
I am not unwelcome. This excuses me— [He gives a letter.

This, and a friendship more than brotherhood.

GREY
(reading)

‘Raymond Grey entreats your presence at the Fair Lawns, at twelve o'clock on Tuesday the 7th of July,

to hear the result of an operation, from which he hopes for the recovery of sight.

VERNON
Nay, sir, I am dark as you:
He told me nothing. I have ever found him
Ready with feeling, reticent of fact;
Feeling, he says, is rounded with a word,
You know its end and outset; 'tis an air
Which, passing, stirs the leaves, but, having passed,
Affects not their resumed tranquillity;
But facts are living things—let them not loose;
You know not where they run, nor what they do,
Nor with what freight they come to you again;
And so he holds them prisoner.

GREY
So he talks,
But such philosophy is doublefaced.—
The invisible air is full of life and death;
We know not which we breathe, till the touched heart,
Quickening or pausing, tells, perchance too late,
What power has grazed its vital mystery.
Why, common speech proclaims it—deeds are done,
But each intangible immortal thought
May cause a million deeds, and sweep through Time,
Strewing its future harvests till the end
When the strong reapers garner all the fruit
And reckon all the seeds.

VERNON
You speak as one
Who knows the future.

GREY
I am near enough
To see it plainly. Every tract of Time
Swings like a ship with all its souls aboard
Across the next horizon; but the crew
See not their fate alike; some stand aloft
And from the watchful summit of their years
Scan all the field—some only see the sky,
Some, only the cleft water—dangerous guides
Wrecked by the details which they overlook
Or overestimate. I pile my words
Merely to smother time. Must we sit still?

VERNON
What should we do?

GREY
It is a sin, I know,
To wrest grasped secrets from the coming hour
And crush them ere they open—but such sins
Precede temptation, and are done and rued
Before we know they court us. Shall we talk
Of our conjectures? I have noted him
Full of those starts and pauses which bewray
A brooding soul. I let them pass. I knew
He bore a heavy load. The moods and mists
Of one who suffers should be questionless;
He may pass through them into purer air,
But none can show him how. He stumbled on,
Crutched by a girl's unmeaning sympathy,
Which men will welcome when they turn from men.
She knew no more than I. Ha! here she comes
With her wise ignorance.

Enter Hope, followed by Avice.
HOPE
Father!

GREY
Why, what now?
Was there a ghost in your path?

HOPE
O no, an angel
Setting Heaven open. But I fear, I fear,
If, having seen what may be, I return
Only to keep what was, I should be found
Not strong enough to comfort him. O father,
Will you not tell me what you hope? Tell nothing! [Stopping her ears

I will not hear you if you speak. O, peace!
You shall not—nay, you must not!

GREY
So, so, so!
This is our heroine—take away your hands,
I am not one to play the headsman's part
Without commission. Child, be satisfied,
I too await the dawn.

HOPE
What can we do?
Methinks my soul is faithless. I should pray,
But I so quake and totter on this edge
That not a thought has room to shape itself.
Now God forgive me.

Enter Avice.
AVICE
Amen for us all.
Come, you white penitent, and show your sins:
They must be dreadful since you hide them so
That none can guess their names.

GREY
Are you come too?

AVICE
I know I have no place here—let me stay—
I'll hide in a teacup.

HOPE
(taking her hand)
You shall stay by me.
I know you are as earnest in your smiles
As we, with all our weeping.

AVICE
Truly spoken;
A woman I, amazed with gratitude
If I find merely justice.

Enter Carlton.
CARLTON
Welcome all.

GREY
No man says welcome to a funeral;
What is your news?

CARLTON
The best.

GREY
(shouting)
He sees!

HOPE
Where is he?

[As she rushes to the door Carlton interposes. Hope, starting back, falls on her knees. Avice goes to her.
AVICE
Quick, or she faints!

HOPE
No, no—no word of me—
Tell me, or take me to him! I forgot
To give God thanks.

CARLTON
A moment's patience, friends,
Before you greet him. You shall understand
That all is as you wish; he sees; he is well;
He is here—nay, gently! I have got a charge
To speak to you from him.

HOPE
O for a leap
Across this wordy chasm! I have no sense.
Until I reach him.

GREY
Nay, we'll listen for you
And teach you afterwards. (To Carlton.)
Say on.

CARLTON
'Tis thus.
This lady holds the measure of his wish [showing Hope.

And can discern my failures. He has vowed
More to himself than her, that her fair face
Shall be his sunrise; and so jealously
Hath he maintained his vow, that with bound eyes
In voluntary darkness, like a man
Reprieved not pardoned, he awaits the look
Which shall proclaim his freedom.

GREY
(to Hope, who is still on her knees)
Stay you there;
We lack the time to contradict this whim—
We'll stand aside. Now, doctor, lead him in;
We are all marshalled.

[Exit Carlton.
HOPE
(who has been hiding her face, looking up)
I know not why I am afraid to see
Until he sees me. While his eyes were dark
Mine were his weapons—they seem useless now
Except for tears of joy.

AVICE
A sorry welcome!
You should laugh out, like sunshine.

HOPE
I might fear,
Being so weak, to be nothing to him now,
But in the strength and sureness of his love
I am armoured from all doubts.

GREY
Peace! peace! he comes.

Scene II.

Re-enter Carlton, leading Raymond, whose eyes are bandaged. He places him opposite to Hope, who still kneels; the others draw back a little.
RAYMOND
Hush! not a word. Respect this mimic sleep
Which I prolong because I need not. Hark!
You think me blind—I say it is a mask:
Behind this kerchief are the eyes of a man;
I'll loose it in a moment. Is it not grand
To hold the great bright universe of God
Thus in my leash, and slip it when I will,
Not till my soul is ready for it! Skies,
Trees, waters, wonders, dead and living things,
Musical Day that from its first faint note
Swells to a chorus and then sinks again,
Films of far lustre wandering among clouds,
Fine blooms of fragile grass about my feet,
Upgathered wealth of hue and lineament
Shining since Chaos, making through blind Space
Vast preparation for the Man who comes
To take his heritage—all are in this knot, [touching the bandage

And lo! the Man is come!

[As he takes off the bandage Avice makes a step forward—Raymond, after an instant's pause, passes Hope, rushes to Avice, and clasps her in his arms.
RAYMOND
My own! my love!
Better than all my dreams

AVICE
Alas, you err.
O, this was not my fault!

[She draws away from him.
GREY
No fault at all;
The whim was sure to bear a blunder. Come, [touching Hope

Speak you and make it right.

Hope
(clasping Raymond's knees)
O, these new eyes,
The heart must learn to see with them. Look down,
And when you have beheld me well, forgive me
For that I am not fairer.

RAYMOND
Fair enough
For me. I know you now; come close and teach me
My alphabet of beauty. Here are brows
Pure as a sculptor's wish; eyes like deep flowers
Wherein the dew stays long; cheeks that do lack
Part of their natural bloom, pale, as I think
With habit of some pity; aye, and lips—
When I have touched them, I shall understand
The sweetness of their wisdom.

[Kisses her.
GREY
We have here
A ready pupil; check him, lest he prove
A Wrangler out of school. What! are you blind
Because he sees? Show him your face again
Lest he forget his lesson.

HOPE
I was never
Ashamed till now.

RAYMOND
And never had less cause.

GREY
Am I forgotten? Not a word for me?

RAYMOND
O, sir, my long Bastile is hardly down,
I, tottering into freedom lose myself
With memory of my vast familiar blank,
Making a haze about the multitudes
Through whom I walk, till I distinguish not
The faces I most honour. You must pardon
My unfelt failures.

CARLTON
Let me claim you now:
My work is done, yet must I press upon you
That safe prescription of a tranquil mind
Which is the seed and atmosphere of health.
Will you go in and rest?

GREY
The doctor speaks
And we obey. Yet hold! we are but churls,
Snatching our new-found treasure greedily
And turning from the giver. Was there found
Not one to thank you?

HOPE
O, to bless you rather
With every moment of our joyful days
And sweet un-haunted nights!

CARLTON
Enough, enough;
We labour for these silent sights of praise
And they reward us. Take him, gentle nurse;
You that have soothed and charmed his helplessness
Must win him to forget his power awhile,
Lest over-use make vain the time of growth.
Now, no farewells.

RAYMOND
Submission is my thanks. [As he is about to leave the room with Hope, he pauses and addresses Avice.

For you, my fair dumb enemy of old—
(Not dumb then, but most vocal), have you not
So much as a smile to welcome me to life?

AVICE
(hanging her head)
I am as glad as others.

RAYMOND
And no more?
Not a word for yourself?

GREY
Let it pass now;
You shall have time hereafter.

RAYMOND
I shall claim
My debt ere long, foregone but not forgotten.

HOPE
Ah, love, misjudge her not, speech comes not soon
To sudden joy; her heart is full of words.

RAYMOND
Are you so sure of that, my tender Hope?
Come and reveal to me that secret tongue
That I may read it. I am fain to learn
All my new faces.

[Exeunt Raymond and Hope.

Scene III.

Grey—Avice—Carlton—Vernon.
GREY
You may learn too much
From such unwary teaching. What needs he
To gain from other hearts? I do not like
This fingering of strange gold with coffers full.
Why did you thrust yourself between them, girl? [to Avice

He should have seen no face but hers, until
It had possessed him with its image, so
That he judged yours by it, and made a fault
Of every difference. She is fair enough—
Why were you here?

AVICE
O, uncle, be not hard!
Could I, whose life is yours, shut out myself
From your life's brightest hour? So you would make me
Merely an outcast. He hath learnt her now,
He did but miss his way: he is at home,
And in the safe and pleasant light recounts
How for a moment his stray footsteps risked
A loss, which being now impossible
His memory laughs at.

GREY
Tush, his memory!
Why should he think of it at all?

AVICE
He will not—
Nay, I am sure he does not; he has dropped
The trifle; let it lie—who takes it up
And sets it in new light for him to see
Is not his friend, nor wise.

GREY
[To Carlton.

CARLTON
I'll show you
All that I can.

[Exeunt Carlton and Grey.

Scene IV.

Avice—Vernon.
AVICE
Heavens, what a pupil! Now,
He'll not enquire but cavil, asking proofs—
Not that he wants them, but that still he hopes
His teacher has them not; at every step
There shall be fence, withdrawal, and retort,
And the first fact shall stretch a two hours' talk
And be refused throughout; till with long smiles
He turns in triumph from the humbled man
Who knows so much which he shall never learn.
I see it all.

VERNON
So you revenge yourself?

AVICE
If it be vengeance, have I not been wronged?
Say if I have not!

VERNON
Well, he spoke in anger;
We toss away an old man's petulance
Like sweet wine soured by keeping.

AVICE
But good wine
Mellows with time, as true hearts soften, losing
The bitterness of youth.

VERNON
The phrase is apt.

AVICE
To me? You mean it so. Well! if he said
A tenth of these my injuries to her
You would be bitter too.

VERNON
To her? To Hope?
I've heard him chide her worse a hundred times,
But she endured it.

AVICE
Oh, but she's an angel.

VERNON
Aye, truly.

AVICE
Truly aye; and I suppose
It is an angel's work to make men fools
Lest keen experiments on angelhood
Should find out—

VERNON
What?

AVICE
O, nothing but the truth,
Whereof the angels keep monopoly
Because it is not food for men. I've done;
I did but ruffle for a moment. Now
I'm smooth again and all my friends are safe.

VERNON
I'll own you were provoked. And now, being safe,
I'll ask you boldly, was there any cause
For these aggrieved suspicions?

AVICE
Not so much
As, not being sifted, would lie easily
On a white threepence—or would match, being weighed,
A ring of infant's hair! I cannot tell
Why Raymond so mistook us—'twas a chance—
But with the ceasing of that transient chance
His transient admiration, born of it,
Died and was buried; he but thought me fair
Because he thought me Hope.

VERNON
Yet I supposed
That you were doubtful of his love for Hope;
Did you not bid me test him?

AVICE
Have you done so?

VERNON
Occasion served not; till this hour you know
We have not met.

AVICE
Ah, truly—I forgot—
But, for your question—if he love not her,
(Which I still doubt why therefore should his love
Light upon me—which I am sure it does not.
Brush off that dust before we break the shell
Of any argument!

VERNON
That set aside,
His love, that should be hers—

AVICE
‘Should be’ 's a fetter,
And ‘Is’ a fire! I know he means to love her,
Was bound, and ought, and may—pray Heaven he will;
But if he does not, Vernon, if he does not,
O, you that know what Love is, having cast
Its glory as a carpet for her feet
Whereon they tread unknowing, save her now
From that worst doom, the recognised despair,
The daily prison, of a cold embrace
Which crushes like the slow un-venomed snake
Without a wound, and being loosed, leaves Death.

VERNON
Aye such a doom, I know, were death to her,
But, being what she is, I scarce believe
That it could reach her. From the winds of earth
'Tis well to screen a taper, but the stars
Shine over all unshaken.

AVICE
So you talk,
Man-like, but ignorant of men; a woman
Reads you, in spite of critics. He shall count her
Safe as a star, too difficult for love,
While some poor taper, which his hand must shade
Lest a breath quench it, occupies his thought
And wins him from the skies. It may be so;
I say not that it is; with riper time
We shall discern.

VERNON
And so far am I fixed
To work for you.

AVICE
For her.

VERNON
I think you love her.

AVICE
So well that I would serve her even with pain
To save her from worse issues.

VERNON
Now I leave you,
And at my nearest leisure will assay
The temper of this steel.

AVICE
Mine all the joy
If you should prove it flawless.

VERNON
Mine the pain
Whichever way I find it, for her grief
Racks me, yet leaves my life a quivering thread
To grow from—but, of her sure happiness
I die outright. So pass I to my fate.

[Exit Vernon.
AVICE,
alone. (She comes forward.)
Is it my fault that I am fair? Alas
Hath Beauty any virtue, like the Spring,
Which needs but show herself a little while
And the moved greatness of reluctant Earth
Gives out its slow flower-worship everywhere?
Is this my meed? Nay rather, seem I not
But one of that poor multitude of flowers
Which some shall pass, some point at, some extol,
As straighter than its fellows, till it fades
(Not saved by any straightness) on the stem
Or in the hand, what matter? for it fades
And no man misses it. There's not a word
But Hope, and Hope, and all the world for Hope
Lost for her like a kerchief, given by her
Like a gem from her fingers. Madness all,
For I, who love her, cannot tell the cause;
Not in her face, I know, and, for her mind—
Did ever mind bewitch a heart? A touch,
A whisper, would confute these blunderers,
Breathed in the ear, ‘Look this way and discern
How, merely by not looking, you have failed
To find the fairest.’

Scene V.

Enter Raymond.
Raymond—Avice.
RAYMOND
Now the day is kind
Which keeps you here alone.

AVICE
Sir, with what reason?

RAYMOND
The reason that I longed to find you here
And without witness.

AVICE
This is but to shut
Door behind door.

RAYMOND
I will undo the bolt:
I am afraid that I have angered you,
And if I sue for grace in other ears
I make the sweet mistake a crime. You blush!
Are you offended?

AVICE
No.

RAYMOND
Am I forgiven?

AVICE
No.

RAYMOND
I'll explore this brief vocabulary
And ask you, do you hate me?

AVICE
Yes, I do.

RAYMOND
You shall not go till you have told me why.

AVICE
I'll speak without compulsion. You have brought
My uncle's wrath upon me—Hope is vexed,
I shamed, and for no cause. I am not good,
I know it, but my life was happy here;
I had forgotten that it was not home,
Though it be all I have instead of home,
For they were kind, and I am quick to love;
But now I learn my place—an alien I,
Nay, a mere pauper—if I claim too much
He hounds me from his threshold with fierce words.
You do not know the things he said to me,
And I had done no wrong.

RAYMOND
Yet, pardon me
Who did no wrong, but only what I must,
Else are you hard as he.

AVICE
Why should you care?

RAYMOND
I must not tell you.

AVICE
Is there ‘must’ for men?
I thought it was the privilege of men
To make their lives.

RAYMOND
O, Avice, if it were!
But I'll not speak of that. I never knew
That you lacked aught of home—you seemed to me
A princess, glancing with unthinking grace
About your court. And was there at your heart
This wistful pain?

AVICE
I should not speak of it,
For they are kind, and if you tell them this
I shall be held ungrateful.

RAYMOND
I am dumb—
The secret lies between us, undiscerned,
Save that henceforth your courage of bright words
Kindles my wonder, and your sadder hours
Must take me for their comforter, who know
What shadow dims them.

AVICE
But, before my uncle,
I pray you slight me still; some dream besets him
(Old brains we know are wrinkled up with whims),
That, praising me, you must disparage Hope;
And if one looks at me with eyes as kind
As yours (I know not why I shrink from them)
He storms and darkens, till I'm like to swoon
For mere dismay.

RAYMOND
(taking her hand)
The compact hath two sides:
If in his presence I disdain you well
Doing your bidding nobly, at what cost
You guess not, I must make the balance good
When he's away.

AVICE
But how?

RAYMOND
I'll show you how
When the time comes.

AVICE
Methinks we are too grave
For your first day of freedom. You are changed;
I cannot link you with the man I knew,
I am afraid of you without a cause.

RAYMOND
What! you afraid, who were so swift of tongue,
That we, before you, grew incapable
Merely for want of breath? Keep, I beseech you,
(Though it be feigned) this meek uncertainty
Which makes me man enough to comfort you!

AVICE
I shall be wanted.

RAYMOND
Yet a moment more—

AVICE
No, no, to-morrow I shall understand;
I am confused to-day.

[Exit Avice.
RAYMOND
(alone)
And what am I?
Do I perceive a change? Those rapid eyes
Have read me while I stumble at myself.
What do I feel? A little while ago
I had my place and fitted it—a loop
In the great web—patient, and indistinct,
And necessary, though I hardly knew
Why I was there, or why I lived at all,
Not finding any glory in my life;
The limit pressed me everywhere—I ruled
My daily motions like a household book,
So much for this, and such a space for that,
This abstinence to balance that expense,
And leave a decent fringe of charity
To trim but not encumber all the rest;
I loved, and knew the reason of my love,
And loved in reason—limits everywhere,
But a young soul within. Lo! it hath grown!
Not as seeds grow, which push the husk aside
And build a plant by slow development,
But as fire grows, a spark, a flame, a blaze,
Making the Darkness give its wonders up;
What have I here in common with my Past?
The unfathomable welcome of the Future
Beckons me, and I follow.