 | Callirrhoë |  |
Scene IV.
—Demophile's house. A child in a cradle. Enter Demophile with some clothes.Demophile.
There they be—ancient hoods and coarse
old wraps. This will hang about my girl; and there's
a gown will sit on the sturdy doctor to the very life;
an' this will muffle up the boy. I've kept the dingiest
for the boy; he's so much beauty to hide. May
they all prosper! The babe sleeps My babes were all
restless; but they rest now.
[Knocking.]
Who's there?
Emathion
[without].
Nurse, nurse, nurse!
Demophile
[opening the door].
All right, it is all right.
Everything's ready.—But what haps that you look so
wild and ashy? Is it well with her?
No; ill, ill!
Demophile.
Would she not fly?
Emathion
No, no. She wanted to die. It's against
nature, but she wanted to die.
Demophile.
Is she gone?
Emathion.
Yes, yes! Shut the door! She's no
hinges like that! You can't move her.
Demophile.
'Tis a brave lass, an' I'm glad my milk
went to her making. An' you've left her to die, you
wretched, puny brother? Why, she'd have given you her
blood like a pelican—the tender white thing she is!
When you slapt her in the face and I cuffed you, how
she flushed up and coddled you with her cooing “There
then.” Yes, hang your head and set your lips a-trembling!
I'm glad on 't. An' let me tell you, I never
liked you, and to-day I think you're nothing but offal.
I've a good mind to throw you out o' doors.
Emathion.
O nurse, have pity! Let me stay. She
will die, and she sent me here.
Demophile.
There's no time to spare. Be a good
boy, a good, loving boy, and come wi' me to die for her.
As the kernel's in the hard nut, is happiness in this
hard death. If not . . . Will you come?
Emathion.
I dare not—I cannot; and she sent me
here.
Demophile.
Then stay, and rock the babe—it's all
you're good for. If I return not, take it to it's mother.
Theron's wife. Mind what I say, and rock it.
[Exit.
[dropping on a stool and rocking mechanically].
Oh, I'm unspeakably wretched. And this hateful
child knows not, cares not, with its even humming
breath and its eyes, like two doves' nests with sleep on
them. I can't bear it! I must pinch the child to make
it feel a little, feel pain with me. It shall not mock
me; it shall be hurt like me, be miserable.
[Pinches it.]
There! But it does not content. I must out. I must,
I must, I must see all! Her blood draws me like a
cord to my ankle. They won't note me if I crouch
down. And I must go, wretched, wretched Emathion!
[Exit stealthily.
| Callirrhoë | |