 | The Wife's Secret |  |
Scene Second.
—The Bower Chamber in Sir Walter Amyott's House. Night. Door, L. 2 E.; carpet down.Lady Eveline discovered, seated, with a letter in her hand, L. C.
Lady Eveline.
Amyott returning! Walter coming home!
Thou dear conveyance of precious news,
A blessing on thine every character!
(kissing the letter)
How kind—how tenderly he writes! What love!
Oh, I am undeserving of such bliss!
What shall I do to merit it? And thou,
Dear paper, that hast sped so fast before,
Impatient to anticipate my joy,
What largess shall I give thee for thy pains?
He will not grudge this kiss—'tis given to him,
For there his hand has rested. He has touched thee—
His finger traced these lines. I see his eye
That bent above them, tracking the swift pen,
And with its look of love, as with a seal,
Impressing each fond syllable with truth.
Dear Walter! Dearest Husband!
Enter Maud, L. 2 E.
Maud.
Please, my lady,
Or I, or Jabez Sneed, must quit this house!
The ill-conditioned varlet—
Lady E.
Peace, good Maud!
There's nothing ill-conditioned now. All's fair,
Joyous and good! Sir Walter's coming home!
Maud.
(L. C.)
And if you do not make his earliest act
To turn his knavish steward out of doors,
You merit no good service. By my life,
I know not what the pestilent rogues would have.
I've clipt my dress down to their primmest cut,
Foregone my ribbons and my naughty words,
Turned up my eyes, and spoken through my nose—
12
(C.)
Poor Maud! poor Maud!
Maud.
Ay, you may laugh, my lady;
Pretty demure behaviours cost you nothing,
For you were born an angel; I have had
To make myself one—no small task I promise!
And what's our recompense? Now I'll just tell you
What Jabez said of you.
Lady E.
Nay, do not, Maud;
Say what he may he cannot anger me.
I am vexation-proof with happiness!
Walter is coming home!
(three distinct taps are heard at the window, C.)
Hush! What was that?
(tapping repeated)
Maud.
It sounded like a tapping at the casement!
Mercy! why there's a man! I saw his head!
Shall I call “fire?”
Lord Arden.
(without, C.)
Hist, Eveline!
Lady E.
My name!
It must be Walter!
Maud.
Climbing like a thief
To that back window?
Lord Arden.
(without)
Eveline! quick, quick!
Lady E.
That voice! Impossible! Fly, Maud—the door!
Secure the door!
(Maud hastily bolts door, L. 2 E., then stands up at back, L.—Lady Eveline rushes to the window and opens it—Lord Arden springs into the room)
Lady E.
Philip! can this be real?
Lord A.
(C.)
Exceedingly substantial. Feel it.
(embraces her)
Lady E.
(R. C.)
But how here?
I thought you safe in France.
Lord A.
So I was, once;
And would I were again! In short, sweet sister,
Your rascal Noll, assuming royal state,
Was too much for my bile. I crept to England,
Joined a few honest fellows in the West,
And seized on Salisbury—judges and all!
But none supported us. We got well thrashed;
Penruddock, Groves, and half a score beside,
13
While I, less known, or better horsed, escaped,
And made for Dorsetshire, to beg a shelter
Till I can find a ship for France again.
Lady E.
Oh, Philip!—and thy life's in danger?
Lord A.
Rather!
A goose's neck, if caught at Michaelmas,
Would be about as safe! I tell thee, too, girl,
There is some peril in concealing me;
But I mistake my sister Eveline
If she will heed for that.
Lady E.
Though 'twere my life
That should be given in exchange for thine,
Thou know'st I would not grudge it. What my means,
My credit, influence—but why say mine?
My husband's heart is one with mine in all things.
He too—
Lord A.
Stay, Eveline! I have forgiven
Your marriage with this Roundhead—for, in truth,
All tongues report him as an honest man,
Worthy a better party; but I swear
Ere I would owe him thanks for any service,
Even the lightest—
Lady E.
Philip, be not rash—
You do not know him.
Lord A.
Nor intend to know.
Lady E.
He is generous.
Lord A.
I will not tax his bounty.
Lady E.
This is unjust! You misconstrue my words.
He has a heart that beats for honour only—
A chivalrous high spirit that would let
A world float by, rather than stoop by baseness
To snatch advantage—of a matchless courage,
All good men's idol, yet withal so humble,
He is the only one who knows it not;
A heart as pure and warm as infancy,
And where it loves, unbounded in devotion.
Each hour expects him here. He comes with power
To make his will effective; and that will,
That power, shall be for your protection.
14
Sister,
Hear what I say, and do not after think
To change my resolution. When I first
Learned you had wedded Walter Amyott,
My rage, that any prick-eared cur should dare
To marry with my sister, knew no bounds.
I heaped upon him insults—public ones—
Challenged him—called his temper cowardice,
That would not meet me with as blind a hate—
Outraged him as I thought no man could bear,
Though, for your sake, he did endure it still—
And having done this, think you I would now
Crouch down and ask for service from him? Bid him,
Who comes here in authority and trust,
Give shelter to his master's enemy?
Raise war between his pity and his duty?
Assault his conscience! For these gentlemen,
You know, have very tender consciences.
(Lady Eveline is about to speak)
Nay, do not interrupt me, Eveline.
Promise me—swear to me, no word, no hint
Shall ever reach to Walter Amyott's ear
I am so much as debtor to his walls
For shelter from the sky! Promise me this,
Or on the instant I'll resume my flight,
And dare all consequence.
Lady E.
Well, well, I promise.
Lord A.
Swear it! (pause)
Swear it!
Lady E.
I do!
Lord A.
Enough—I'm satisfied!
Remember, Eveline, I have thine oath!
Forgive me, if stern dangers make me harsh.
Thou know'st 'tis not my nature; but these times,
Change better men than I. Now, I but ask
A shelter of my sister—no great boon,
And one she'll not deny. For honest Maud here,
Whom I hold sworn as deeply as yourself, (Maud nods)
I will not grudge her knowledge of my secret:
And, though she tries to look as sanctified
As any of their crew, there still peeps out
15
That says, all's right within.
Maud.
I' faith, my lord—
And that's a bigger oath than I've had courage
To use this twelvemonth past—you need not fear
I shall turn traitor; ere they get a word
Out of my lips, the rogues shall take my tongue
And that, or I mistake, would be a gift
They would be little grateful for.
Lord A.
(C.)
Good wench,
I'll seal the bargain with thee. (gives her a kiss)
Maud.
La! my lord!
Just the same merry gentleman as ever.
(a distant trumpet and shouts heard, L.)
Lady E.
(R.)
Hark, he is come! My husband is arrived!
(crosses, L.)
Lord A.
Pest on him! Can't he give me breathing time?
Lady E.
Oh, short of sight! How little did I guess
That I could tremble at my Walter's coming!
Maud.
Better go out to meet him.
Lady E.
But my brother—
Maud.
Ay, there's the thing. Where shall we stow his lordship?
Lady E.
Hush! There are voices in the hall—a footstep—
I know it—it is his—Walter! my husband!
(crosses to C.)
Oh, Philip, let me make you friends at once,
And be all happiness!
Lord A.
(approaching the window)
Another word,
And I am gone for ever.
Lady E.
Cruel!
Maud.
Quick!
I hear him at the door. Stay—here—the closet!
For heaven's sake keep still though, or you'll make
Some mischief.
(Lady Eveline forces Lord Arden into the closet —Maud runs and unfastens the door, and having done so, stands demurely, with her hands before her, up stage, L.)
16
Sir W.
Eveline! My wife! (catching her in his arms)
Lady E.
Oh, Walter!
Sir Wal.
(C.)
My own, my precious one!
Lady E.
(R. C.)
And thou art sale,
And well?
Sir Wal.
My long lost, my recovered treasure!
I did not think time had the power to spin
Such weary length from so few numbered weeks
As those since I have parted from thee. Truly
'Tis but ill husbandry of life, to love;
Thriftlessly storing in one fragile vessel
The heart's whole wealth, which lost, we are all bankrupt.
I sometimes fear I doat too fondly on thee!
For every yearning thought of hope, joy, fame,
Country and freedom, all like restless birds
In circles flutter till they light on thee!
The soldier's victory, the patriot's triumph,
Are still imperfect until thou shalt share them.
Lady E.
And dost thou grudge to love, then? Once thou saidst
That was the guiding lamp that led thee on
To honourable deeds—to fame—to glory.
Are these no part of life?
Sir Wal.
Ay, the rough waves
On which the mariner is tossed, through which he labours,
Because they wash the shore where stands his home.
In the hot race the goal fills all the eye;
The rest is weary labour. So to me
Fame, honour, glory, are but toilsome ways,
Through which I seek a path to lead me home
More worthy of thy smile! Nay, that's a tear.
Lady E.
The overflowing of a heart filled up
Too full with happiness.
Sir Wal.
Yet, now I look,
There is a shade of care upon thy brow—
A paleness on thy cheek.
Lady E.
And is it nothing
To know embarked on such a stormy sea
17
Of these discordant times never subside
To harmony again? Each rumour thrills me
With terrors for the fate of some I love;
Close linked with both divisions! There has been
Another rising?
Sir Wal.
Ay, at Salisbury—
A mad-brained unsupported foolery,
Not worth a thought; save for the wretchedmen
Who led it on.
Lady E.
(trembling)
And they?
Sir Wal.
Have paid the forfeit.
Lady E.
What all?
Sir Wal.
As I have heard.
Lady E.
Did none escape?
Sir Wal.
None that are known.
Lady E.
(earnestly)
Thank heaven!
Sir Wal.
(astonished)
Eveline! (advancing, C.)
Lady E.
(confused)
What did I say? You must not heed my words,
Where sometimes distant thoughts go linked together.
Yet is it not a cause for joy that none
Are doomed to rove the land like hunted beasts,
With bloodhounds on their track—in restless flight,
Chased day by day, a price upon their heads;
Their common kind, with cold and hunger linked
To quench the struggling spark of hope within;
Till worn, exhausted, they sink down to earth,
And the warm blood that filled a noble heart,
Gluts the pursuer's fangs. It might have been
That even thou, in thy stern duty's course,
Cam'st here on such an errand.
Sir Wal.
(smiling)
My commission
Is of a milder tenour—to forestall,
Not punish wrong.
Lady E.
Thou art not angry with me?
Sir Wal.
Angry! (embrace)
Lady E.
Or wilt forgive—remembering I've a brother
Has been a fugitive—may be again.
Sir Wal.
(gravely)
Lord Arden is in France; and I would trust
Too wise to tempt again a hopeless fortune.
18
(hesitating)
And even if he should, and thou should'st meet him,
I know thou would'st not see in him a foe,
But only Eveline's brother?
Sir W.
Eveline,
When I took arms there was no selfish thought
In my heart's purpose—no exciting dream
Of interest or glory urged me on.
I rose in answer to the holiest call
That ever sounded on a freeman's ear.
My faith—my country asked their children's aid;—
Such as I could I gave. I would not boast,
But thou hast somewhat known that private wrong
Falls dully on my nature. To the foe
Who slanders me—abuses my forbearance,
And undermines the fabric of my peace,
I still can give—have given—the hand of pardon;
But should one born and nursed my country's child
Still plot against her freedom—should he, now
That she has won her liberty, still seek
To fasten chains upon her sacred limbs,
And pour in poison on her yet green wounds,
Then would I reckon such my deadliest foe!
Would own no tie of kin—no link of love;—
For such—
Lady E.
(faintly)
Enough, enough! (Sir Walter turns up, L.—aside)
Philip was right,
'Twere death to trust my brother's secret with him!
Maud.
(R.)
If now Lord Arden hears him there'll be murder!
I think my lady, sir, looks very pale—
This room oppresses her. It's monstrous close,
You would do well to take her in the air.
Sir Wal.
Oppresses her! the night is sharp and cold.
Maud.
Yes, very true; but yet this nasty room—
She's always ill in it, arn't you, my lady?
Lady E.
(faintly)
I should indeed be easier elsewhere.
Maud.
I tell you, sir, she can't abide this room.
Sir Wal.
Not this—her Bower Chamber! I had thought it
Was ever in her eyes, of all the house,
The favourite.
Maud.
Oh yes, it used to be:
19
Such weary hours watching for tidings from you,
We nicknamed it the room of tears and sighs!
A thousand times she has said, when you came home,
If come you should (and then she wept again),
She'd never see it more, but lock it up,
With all its memories of care inside,
And throw away the key. (aside)
Well really now
I think that's very prettily imagined.
Sir Wal.
My Eveline shall have her will in all things.
There is no spot where we have breathed together,
That is not rich with happy memories.
Come, then, some other room. And if one care
Have sullied this for thee, 'tis closed for ever.
For I must have the roses on those cheeks
Come mantling back, and see those joyous eyes
Sparkle as bright as ever. I return
Claimant for long arrears of happiness,
And will not be defrauded of an hour!
Nay, nay, no drooping! Nothing now but smiles.
(leads her off, door L. 2 E.—Lord Arden comes out from the closet, and Maud makes a sign to him, then takes the key out of the door and locks it on the outside—when the door is locked Arden sinks into a chair)
| The Wife's Secret | |