University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A spacious apartment in Lorn Castle.
Katharine Lorn seated at embroidery; on the opposite side, Isabel. Henry Lorn stands by his wife's chair. Sir Rupert paces the room in thought.
Hen.
And you knew Grammont?

Isa.
The dear Count! These eyes
Have brightened in his glance, this hand has lain
Within his own a good half-hour—don't frown;
We danced together at the Court, the dance,
That dear cotillon! [Rising as if to practise it.]
I've quite lost the step.
'Twas said in London I'd a well-turned foot;
It did look fairly in tight amber hose,
With sky-blue cloaks. Ah me! I dance not now!
And what's the worth of a fine instep here,
With no one to admire it but one's husband?
London, rare London! Oh, what days, what nights,
What dresses, what gallants! Think—Buckingham,
Rochester, Robert Sydney, Jermyn, Russell,
The peerless Hamilton!

Hen.
[Laughing.]
Add fifty more,
And ask if all be worth one husband, Bell;
Am I not constant to thee?

Isa.
Yes, in sooth.
Your love's the proper pattern; but one dress
Makes not a wardrobe.

Hen.
Jilt!

Isa.
I wore my lovers
Even as my robes—a change for every mood.
To-day I put on scarlet—in a soldier;
A courtier—for my purple velvet, next;
The third, a skirt of spangles—in a wit.
You frown again! nay, love, for common wear
There's nought like that drab constancy of thine!
You'll not be angry?

Hen.
Can I, when you smile?
Oh, what a vassal is this despot—man,
Rul'd by a smile, his sceptre but the sign
Of an imperial slave!

Isa.
That's the true faith
Which, prythee Kate, teach Strathmore when you wed.
Dost mark me, girl? He has long been a truant,
And must be punished.

Kath.
[Looking up.]
Punished! That might make him
Still more the truant.

Sir Rupert appears at door at back.
Isa.
Well, you bear it meekly!

Kath.
Bear what?

Isa.
His absence, which in other maids
Would waken doubt.

Kath.
Doubt! Do we doubt the sun
When he is absent? Know we not he shines,
Though unbeheld awhile, and will return
In his bright course, to cheer us? So will Strathmore!

Sir R.
[Coming forward and breaking in.]
Heaven grant it, and in time to save his honour!
Myself, your brother—all true hearts go forth
To serve the king, while only Halbert Strathmore,
The royal trumpet sounding in his ear,
Forbears a soldier's answer.

Hen.
Pardon, sir!
You judge my friend too harshly.

Isa.
So I think.
Strathmore's of noble lineage, and in him
Sedition were more treason to his blood
Than to his monarch.

Sir R.
So it should be. Yet,
He shows too fair a front to schism, hints
At mediation and redress—redress
For this base swarm of canters gendering wrong
From their own spleen to charge it on the law!
Oh, I'd redress them!

Hen.
I own Strathmore lenient,
But not disloyal.

Sir R.
What withholds him, then,
From us—from me, his father's friend—from her
His late betrothed? She is the fairest shoot
Of this rude trunk; yet would I rather blight
Should canker root and bough, than see one leaf
Plucked for a traitor's garland.

Isa.
Katharine,
You love this man; defend him!

Kath.
You have said
I love him.

Isa.
Well?

Kath.
That's my defence. I'll not
Assert in words the truth on which I've cast
The stake of life! I love him, and am silent.

Sir R.
These doubts torment me. He, brave Strathmore's son!
I'll to his house at daybreak, and extort
His hidden purpose.
Strathmore enters behind, unperceived.
I'll be answered; nought
Shall serve but yes or no. Speak, Strathmore—thus
Will I demand him—friend or foe? true man,
Or recreant? You shall not evade me, Strathmore!

Strath.
[Coming forward.]
And did I ever? You'll not take my hand?

Sir R.
First tell me, can it grasp a sword?

Strath.
[After a moment's pause.]
It can,
When duty bids it.

Hen.
Ah, I said so.

[Katharine rushes up to Strathmore.
Strath.
Wait,
Wait, Katharine! I said I never stooped
To subterfuge, nor will I. What is duty?

Sir R.
We owe it first to Heaven; next to the powers
Which Heaven ordains on earth.

Strath.
When these conflict—
The earthly with the heavenly—where points duty?

Sir R.
Serve you the king?

Strath.
I'd shed my blood to guard him.

Sir R.
Your father did.

Strath.
I'd guard his life, but still more guard his justice.
When cruel impious men in the king's name,
As I believe without his gracious will,
Slaughter his subjects for no crime but this,
That they would worship Heaven as conscience prompts,
I hold him loyal who takes heart to say—
“This blot on the king's honour goes no further.”

Sir R.
Enough, you stand a traitor by my hearth,
And yet I draw not! Sir, I cannot pledge
This temperance long; the path of safety's there.

[Pointing to the door.
Strath.
He who has dared your anger and her grief
Can meet all after-perils.

Hen.
Strathmore—friend,
You are deluded: these mad hypocrites
Provoke their fate. The Government exacts
No heavy tribute—a mere change of form
And ritual in the Church. How little then
Submission costs.

Strath.
It costs no gold, no sweat
Of brow, no toil of limb. It costs the man.
What is man without conscience?

Sir R.
Talk no more!

Hen.
Misguided, lost, farewell for ever!

Kath.
Stay!
[To Sir Rupert.]
Will you surrender thus the only son
Of your lost friend? Let me plead with him; leave us!
You'll not refuse me, Halbert, some brief words,
Perhaps our last! [To Sir Rupert.]
Oh, by your ancient love,
Permit this intercession!

Sir R.
Be it short.
So much I grant his father in the grave:
Resolve you soon, I shall return anon.
My gallant boy! My precious Isabel!

[He leads her out, followed by Henry.
Kath.
[After a pause, laying her hand on Strathmore's arm.]
Halbert, speak to me! You'll not speak, shall I?

Strath.
Yes, speak.

Kath.
Then answer; but not rashly, for my doom
Is in your breath—you love me?

Strath.
Katharine!

Kath.
You do, and know what love is—that it draws
Into itself all passion, hope, and thought,
The heart of life, to which all currents flow
Through every vein of being, which if chill'd
The streams are ice for ever?

Strath.
Even so.

Kath.
Was this your love for me?

Strath.
Was it?

Kath.
It is!
Thanks for that dear rebuke. You'll not renounce me?
No, I defy you, Strathmore!

Strath.
Ah! you may;
Discords may sever, pathways may divide,
'Midst all God's creatures I may never more
Gaze on that unit which could fill for me
A vacant world—yourself! And you may learn—
I do not think you will, but you may learn—
The strain of bitter tongues, reproach or scorn
For him who quits you now; but through all change,
Time, distance, suffering, shall this tide of love
Sweep ebbless to your memory!

Kath.
Yet you quit me!
Love speaks in deeds, not words; you never loved me.

Strath.
I never loved you, Katharine!

Kath.
Oh, forgive me!
My anguish spoke.

Strath.
And would there not befall
A keener anguish, could the man you loved
Prove false to right? [Taking her in his arms.]
So, on my shoulder, sweet,
The old way yet once more. We know that grief
Must try true hearts; but from its fire they're plucked
Here or hereafter, and the stamp of God
Is set on them for ever. All is well
At last for those who do well; nothing well
For those who, to be well, would shrink from duty.

Kath.
From duty?

Strath.
Katharine, duty. I have seen
Men pious, loyal, brave; do I say men?
Nay, wives and children perish, gashed by stabs,
Or pierced by ball, or drop into the grave
A-swoon from the rack's torture, their sole claim
To serve in freedom Him who made them free.
Could I see this, and know that gallant hearts
Were leagued against such wrong, and stifle mine?
I struggled, for I loved; but everywhere
My conscience tracked me. In the woods the leaves
Quivered reproaches; the peaks frowned; the stars
Gleamed down in wrath, and life with every tongue
Cried, “Man, do right; be worthy of thy world!”
I turned in thought to thee; thine eyes of truth
Rebuked my swerving spirit, “Man, do right;
Be worthy of thy love!”

Kath.
Delirium
Has warped thy reason. Halbert, strive, oh strive
Against this madness! It will pass, but think
That it may pass too late!

Strath.
Farewell!

Kath.
Be silent?
I will be heard. Perhaps I might have borne
To lose thee; but thou leav'st me for dishonour,
And that's past sufferance! Base and traitorous men
Must henceforth be thy comrades—shouldst thou fall,
I cannot weep a hero!

Strath.
Katharine!
Life rarely knows its heroes. Obloquy,
Like dust, defiles the champion; still he strives,
And at the grave, the sullied vesture falls
From his worn limbs, his memory takes its stand
Upon the tomb, and the world shouts—“A Hero!”

Re-enter Sir Rupert.
Sir R.
Have you decided?

Kath.
[Clinging to Strathmore.]
Oh, no—no!

Strath.
I have.
Sweet, we must part! What strength is in the clasp
Of these soft arms! I must unwind them, love,
These fibres of my heart that bleeds to rend them.
There, gently! Take her, sir! Farewell—farewell!

[He rushes out; she sinks into Sir Rupert's arms.