 | The Adversary |  |
Scene II.
[The same chamber. Midnight. As the curtain rises the clock strikes twelve. Fernando is seen standing in the very place where the figure has disappeared in Scene one.]Fernando.
He then, that figure, muffled close and masked,
Visible suddenly in grey of dawn,
Accused by his own mouth of all this doom,
From him I wrung no answer. As I stole
To'ard him he vanished, silent as he came.
[He looks into the inner room.]
The child sleeps; but his mother! Midnight struck!
122
[Enter an old servant of the house in shabby livery, bearing a letter.]
Servant.
Master, my mistress gave this in my hand
Enjoining I should not deliver it
Until the clock struck twelve.
[Fernando seizes the letter, breaks the seal and reads.]
Fernando.
[Reading.]
Husband, I have left thee and my home and
I shall not return. But of this be at least assured,
that my honour is unstained. I have
not fled to the arms of any other. Forgive me
and teach the child also to forgive. Marguerita.
[Fernando motions the servant to retire.]
123
Was not this desolation of my hearth
Heavy enough, that she must now forsake me,
No reason given? Doubtless the gnawing care,
Anxiety for evermore renewed,
And bareness when in plenty she had lived,
Impelled her to inflict this final blow.
[Suddenly he starts and, softly opening the arras, gazes into the room within.]
But he, our child, how calmly slumbering.
So that but for the colour in his cheek
That sleep might well appear the sleep of death,
Him even she leaves; a creature of the waste,
And scenting death, will not desert her young.
What influence then, what terror so could urge her,
Since not into another's arms she fled?
Then what compulsion irresistible?
The Figure.
[Again visible as before.]
I.
124
Thou again, and masked and muffled still!
And with thy own lips dost again pronounce
Thyself the cause of headlong misery.
Thy name! Thou canst not now withhold thy name!
[A pause.]
How have I wronged thee?—Yet what wrong so deep,
That could this desolation justify?
[A pause.]
No answer still? Art thou of flesh and blood?
Or com'st thou from the grave, even in death
Bearing me malice from the underworld?
Art thou perchance a spirit deep incensed,
Still nursing hot a far off injury,
That thus thou dost pursue me hour by hour?
This vengeance seemeth more than mortal work.
Whate'er ensues I'll put thee to the proof.
[He rushes towards the figure as though to grasp it but again it vanishes as the curtain falls.]
| The Adversary | |