University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Scene First.

—Chamber in Sir Walter Amyott's House; door, L. 2 E.; window, L. U. E.
Sir Walter discovered seated at a table, R. C., with writing materials; Lady Eveline standing before him, C.
Sir Wal.
Yes, I sent for you, madam. What must be
Should be at once. I am no torturer,
To rack the sense with lengthened agonies
And revel in the pain. I would be rather
The headsman's axe, sudden and quick, though sharp.
We part; a moment's pang, perhaps, for you,
But soon to be forgotten—and for me—
No matter what. The restless ghost can find
A sort of joy in solitary walks,
Among the mounds that tomb his former bliss—
So think of me. We part—collect your jewels—
Gold too—whate'er you find. Take all, take all;
You cannot leave me poorer than I am. (covers his face)


Lady E.
I know not, Walter, what distempered dream
Distracts thy better mind—but well I know
Thou art my husband—dear beyond all telling;
That an hour since, thy nobler, truer nature,
With generous daring interposed itself
To save the helpless.

Sir Wal.
(starting up)
Peace!

Lady E.
If thou will'st it so—but not to leave thee!
Thou hast some weight of care upon thy heart
Which I, unwitting, make more grievous still—
For so much sternness never can have grown
Out of a fault like mine. If I have pained thee,
Teach me to make amends! I'll be submissive
To thy worst anger—patient as thy slave.
Though thou should'st spurn me, drive me from thy walls,
Yet still I'll cling to thee; lie at thy gate
And die there—but I'll never leave thee!

Sir Wal.
(rises)
Dream'st thou
To linger still near him? I tell thee, woman,
Before the dial marks another hour
My feet shall bathe in his heart's blood!

Lady E.
(terrified)
Thou darest not!

Sir Wal.
(advances, R.)
I dare not? Ha, ha, ha! Thou think'st belike,
Infatuated fool, an outraged husband
Must tremble, scared, before thy paramour!

Lady E.
(starting)
Whom! What! I did not hear thee rightly. No—
Thou could'st not—did'st not say—

Sir Wal.
Thy paramour!
Must we seek dainty names for foul offences,
And turn our tongues to courtly terms of vice?
Thy paramour!

Lady E.
(drawing herself up)
I did not think I could
So nearly hate thee! Wretched slanderer,
Is't possible that thy gross fancy dares
Suspect—

Sir Wal.
No—not suspect thee—know thee, lady!

Lady E.
(proudly)
Then it is time indeed to part. I'll offer
No more resistance now. If I am sunk
So low in estimation that the thought
Of living man can dare impugn my honour,
And thou believe it—then I am indeed
Unfit for thee, or thou for me, or both!
The spell is broken; love's bright, brittle world,
That seemed a crystal sphere, is a poor bubble
A breath has burst, and left no trace behind!

Sir Wal.
The glass that's flawed is better broke at once;
It will deceive no more.

Lady E.
And, being broken,
Tardy repentance, with its utmost skill,
Can never re-unite the shivered fragments.
Enough! 'tis done! If I have been too proud,
I am humbled now,—humbled below the meanest!
Esteemed a thing so vile, my own eye sickens
To view my image.—And by thee!—by thee
Who—out on these weak tears! (dashing them away)
Believe them not
Love's gentle dew! Wounded affection's springs
Lie deeper than the eye can trace their play.
These are but the insulted woman's weakness;
Shame's bitter wringings—the offended drops
Of outraged modesty.

Sir Wal.
Thou matchless marvel
Of good or ill—angel or fiend—what art thou?
For, looking on thee, my still wavering sense
Knows not which way to turn. Speak! Canst thou yet
Unthread the labyrinth that hems us in?
Shew thyself innocent? I'll listen to thee;
I'll struggle to believe thee, and, believing,
I'll worship thee with more devoted love
Than that which won thee first. Speak, Eveline!
Can we again be what we have been?

Lady E.
Never!
The woman once suspected, from that hour
Is never safe again. The sacred fence
That hedged her in, when once a doubt has entered,
Is broken down; another doubt will follow
With less obstruction,—easier still the next,—
Till they have worn themselves a beaten track,
And trust dwells there no more.

Sir Wal.
I did not doubt
While hope retained a single thread to cling by.
I battled with appearance—trusted still,
Where weaker faith had yielded. I stood firm
Through unexplained concealments—bore the taunt
Of whispering surmise I could not answer;
Yet still I trusted on,—till my own sight
Beheld thee fondling with him—in his arms
Close locked!

Lady E.
(starting—aside)
Ha!

Sir Wal.
Look at that guilty start! Thou didst not guess
My knowledge spied so far.

Lady E.
(aside, pressing her temples)
He saw our parting,
And did not know my brother! It grows clear.

Sir Wal.
My ears too, when an agony of fear—
Fear for his safety, had unlocked the lips
Which guilt had else kept closed—my own ears heard thee
Confess thy love for him—to me confess it!
Death! shall I ask for further proof?

Lady E.
(aside)
I see—
I see it all! Oh agony! that seeing
I must be silent still! My brother's life!
My oath!

Sir Wal.
Wilt thou deny it?

Lady E.
(faintly)
No, no, no!

Sir Wal.
(paces the room—then sits at table)
I thought I had schooled myself
For this last parting, but I am weak—weak—weak,
And struggle still for hope. I'd not expose thee
To the gross censure of the scoffing world.
Thou hast been very dear to me. Then go—
In France thou hast a brother; he will be
Thy best protector. Go to him: thy crime
Shall never follow thee; all knowledge of it
Shall remain buried here.

Lady E.
(aside)
Out upon oaths
That bind to a worse perjury!

Sir Wal.
For the cause
That drives thee from thy home, thou may'st allege
Whate'er thou wilt—some fault of mine—I care not.
'Tis little matter, now, the world's repute
Of me or of my doings.

Lady E.
(aside)
Oh, I cannot—
I cannot bear it! Walter! My own husband!

Sir Wal.
I pray you do not interrupt me. There's
A struggle in my heart at every word,
That stands in need of all my strength to rule it.
Enter Maud, L. 1 E.
Ha! is all ready?

Maud.
Ay, sir; nothing wanting
But your repentance; that, too's, on the road,
And will be here ere long! The horses wait,
Hanging their heads in shame of their employment.

Sir Wal.
Silence, thou prating fool!
Madam, (to Eveline)
you hear: all is prepared. Within
There waits the captain of a ship for France—
He will conduct you thither. For attendance,
You have your page; he's somewhat schooled in vice;
Let him now see the pangs of your remorse,
And learn offence's certain punishment.
This woman, too, may bear you company:
I would not cut you off from all of love;
And hers, I think, is true. Stay, one thing more!
Scouts are abroad, and you may need protection
To reach the ship; I will secure it to you. (goes to table and writes, R.)


Lady E.
(aside)
His generous kindness kills me! Wherefore doubt him?
I am mad to hesitate; safer by far
To have my brother known than thus suspected!
And for my oath, Philip, who forced it from me,
Would give it back again a thousand times
Rather than this.

Maud.
(cautiously approaches and whispers, L.)
Hist! courage, precious lady!
Your brother shall escape; I've planned it all—
And by these very preparations—

Lady E.
(half screaming)
Ha!

Maud.
(L.)
Hush, seem to yield obedience to him still.
Hold him in talk; and ere you can be ready,
Lord Arden shall be safe.

Lady E.
(wildly, L. C.)
Thou dar'st not mock me!

Sir Wal.
(rising)
I've written here a pass will keep you free
From curious inquisition on the road.
You do not mark me—

Lady E.
Yes,—what is it, sir?
(aside)
Still, still, my choking heart. I catch her meaning.
Give me the paper. (tries to read it)
Something blinds my eyes.
For me and my attendants—to the ship—
To pass unquestioned—but it is not signed.
It lacks your name.

Sir Wal.
(taking the paper and gazing at it)
And she can be so careful
While I—forget! (with a deep sigh signs the paper and returns it to her)
There!

(she glances at it—when Maud silently takes it from her hand and exit, L. 1 E., while Eveline sinking on her knee and pressing Sir Walter's hand to her heart, bursts into tears)
Lady E.
(aside)
For the first time, false!
And guilty to deceive him even thus.
Oh, ever noble, thoughtful, generous—

Sir Wal.
Peace—'twas the last link of our mingled lives
Which now flow separate. I do not curse thee—
Farewell— (withdrawing his hand)
And now—I— (crossing, L.)
had a wife! All's over!
The dream of life—hope, joy, companionship,
All fled for ever! I have woke to find
The past a lie, the future a dull blank,
The earth a desert, and myself alone!
Alone with the pale shades of my dead joys;
Of thoughts that still hang round her—while her heart—

Lady E.
(passionately)
Springs to thee, Walter, with a fuller love
Than e'er it knew before. Look at yon sky! (pointing to a window)

'Tis thick with clouds, but dost thou doubt, for that,
The sun shines pure beyond them?
Have as much faith in love! Cloud for an hour
May hide it from thy view—yet doubt not still
Its source, untouched, glows far above their reach
And only waits their passing. Walter, trust me!

Sir Wal.
My sense is staggered—surely never guilt
Wore such a look as that! Oh, if I still
Could pause in my resolve—find room for doubt—
Unsay my words, could still believe thee—

Lady E.
(eagerly)
Walter!
Thou ne'er couldst give a glimpse of so much bliss
Only to call it back again! Thou wilt not!
Thine eye looks kindlier on me even now—
Thou canst not spurn away a loving heart
That clings so fondly to thee—thou wilt trust me.

Sir Wal.
(agitated)
Leave me!

Lady E.
Thou shalt! That voice's softening tone
Tells some good angel pleads for me within.

Sir Wal.
(struggling)
There does! there does! Oh, Eveline! (then suddenly starting)
What's that!

Lady E.
(agitated)
Nothing!—

Sir Wal.
How! Nothing! 'Twas the tramp of horses—
Why dost thou look so wildly? Ha! No, no—
That is impossible! Where is thy woman?
Where is the pass? The paper of safe conduct?
Shew it me!

Lady E.
(in agony)
Walter—

Sir Wal.
(furiously)
Shew it me—

Lady E.
(kneeling)
Forgive me!

Sir Wal.
Oh, vile beyond all thought! (springs to the window)
Ha, look! The page,
The Frenchman, and a cavalier—all mounted—
Leaving my house!

Lady E.
(following him)
Walter!

Sir Wal.
I see it all! (calls from the window)

Alarm, alarm! Mount, mount! To horse! Pursue him!

Lady E.
Mercy!

Sir Wal.
(from the window)
Ride, ride, ride! Fire on him! Shoot him!

Lady E.
(shrieks)
Ha! It is my brother! Walter, it is my brother!

Sir Wal.
(starts)
Brother! (then incredulously)
Out! What further cunning?

Lady E.
Do not pause to doubt me. His life, his life! 'Tis Arden!

Sir Wal.
False! A trick!

Lady E.
Stay them!

Sir Wal.
The proof, the proof! There's waked up now
Too strong a devil for a word to lay.

Lady E.
He took an oath of me.

Sir Wal.
The proof, the proof!
(a shot heard—Lady Eveline stands motionless with horror—Sir Walter, looking from the window, continues)
Ah! He's down! They've hit him!

Lady E.
(in a low voice)
Murderer!

Sir Wal.
False! False again!
No murderer! The avenger of my honour.

Lady E.
My wretched Philip! my unhappy brother!
Escaped the slaughter of the battle field,
Saved from the fierce pursuit of thirsting foes,
To find thy death from him.

Sir Wal.
(staggered)
Canst thou still feign—

Lady E.
Hush, hush! I cannot bear thy voice's sound.
I shudder at thy sight!—thou'rt fearful to me.
That fratricidal hand is red with blood,—
My brother's blood! No tardy, vain remorse,
Though stretched through ages, and distilling out
Thine own life, drop by drop, could ever serve
To wash it clean again!

Sir Wal.
(wildly)
Wilt thou persist
With wild inventions of such horror! Woman,
I know 'tis false! It could not be.

Lady E.
It is!

Sir Wal.
(trembling)
Footsteps! They come; they bring—

Lady E.
(slowly)
His corpse!
Enter Servants, with Lord Arden prisoner, L. 1 E.— Lady Eveline shrieks, and rushes into his arms.
Ah! Philip!

Lord A.
They shot my horse,
And brought me down. Sir, (to Sir Walter)
I'm your prisoner!

Sir Wal.
Arden! And living! Eveline! my wife!
Pure, innocent, and mine again,—my own!
Speak to me, Eveline!

Lady E.
The dark cloud has passed;
The sun shines out again!
Oh, to feel joy like this! Does he not love me?
Speak to me, Walter! Is the dark cloud past?
Shines out our sun again?

Sir Wal.
(kneels, and takes her hand)
Again that smile! Thou canst not pardon.

Lady E.
No; the offended only pardon. I should sue—
Woo thee back here— (raising him, and throwing herself into his arms)
here bind thee to my heart
With double chains as a recovered jewel—
A priceless treasure, once too nearly lost.

Sir Wal.
Too noble! (sinking on her shoulder)


Lord A.
Sir, your prisoner waits to know
His destination?

Sir Wal.
Destination? Here.
Where should it be? Your safety—fortunes—ours
Your home our home! Too much we have endured
From party feuds and fostered jealousies;
Here let them end for ever.

Lord A.
(hesitating)
But I've sworn
A thousand times to die a thousand deaths
Ere owe you thanks for service.

Sir Wal.
Still ungenerous,
And all distrustful. Wilt thou never learn
That we are brothers? Has that stubborn spirit
Not wrought enough of ill?

Lord A.
(interrupting him)
I have been wrong;
I know it. I learned all upon the road.
And what a wretch was I, whose wilful pride
Nigh wrecked a bark freighted with so much love.
Forgive me, Walter! (crosses, C.)


Sir Wal.
(taking his hand)
Now indeed my brother,
And to remain so. Thou shalt stay with us;
I have so much credit as shall well secure
Thy pardon, and I will myself become
Thy future surety.

Lord A.
I should make you bankrupt
Within a twelvemonth. No, the ship still waits;
I'll only think I leave behind me now
A friend the more than when I came to England.

Enter Page and Maud, L.
Sir Wal.
Judge not too harshly of him. I have been
So wrought by false appearance; and a knave
More false than all— (turns up, looking for Jabez)
Where is the villain Jabez?

(Lord Arden crosses to R.)
Maud.
(demurely)
In verity, the man called Jabez Sneed
Is somewhat far upon his road to London,
Strapped to a trooper's pommel. In our strait
I found him in my way outside the chamber;
The men of war did linger at our gate,
Asking a prisoner, so I gave them Jabez.
I did betray him to them.

Lord A.
And they took him? (crosses, R.)


Maud.
Ay, troth; in spite of oaths and protestations;
For at last he swore—he did indeed,
Which much confirmed them. They were quite content,
And so was I. I wish them joy of him!

Lord A.
Maud, if I ever wed, I'll marry thee,
Thou queen of plotters.

Page.
(advancing, L. C.)
By your lordship's leave,
Maud is engaged. She's pledged to wait for me
Till I am twenty.

Sir Wal.
Let the villain go!
Here he returns no more. Such loss and shame
Wait all who slander a pure woman's fame.

Lady E.
But oh! let, too, the woman well beware
Of thought or act her husband may not share.
Love's flower that braves the fiercest storm without,
Droops withered by the canker of a doubt.
Implicit trust, its sacred spring of life,
Brooks no reserve—no secret in a wife!

       

Servants.	Servants.	Servants.
Sir Wal.	Lady E.
Lord A.	C.	Page.	Maud.
R.	L.

Curtain.