 | The Patrician's Daughter |  |
SCENE II.
Mordaunt's House, as in Act I.Enter Mordaunt.
Mor.
I know not whence or wherefore there has come
This woman's weakness o'er my yielding will?
What have I done but given pride to learn
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Except the soul's, on men; so by their souls,
Not by their birth or fortunes, men shall rank!
[A short pause.
Why am I not at peace? What whispers me
That right was never vindicated yet
By wrong returned; or, if Heaven work out good
By men of wrath, its blessing crowns the deed,
But not the doer. Why—why will the thought,
Perchance she may have loved me, thus intrude?
Can I have sought revenge and called it justice?
Enter Servant.
Ser.
The Earl of Lynterne.
Enter the Earl. Servant goes out.
Earl.
Pardon, Sir Edgar, that I venture thus
To break on your retirement: but my cause
Is one that outruns all respect of forms.
Mor.
A country's servant knows no privacy
That bars consideration of her weal.
I pray you sit, my lord.
Earl.
My errand is not public. 'Tis not now
The minister who claims your patient ear,
But a plain sorrowing man, whose wounded heart
Your skill alone can solace. To be brief,
I am a father; let that word tell all.
Mor.
The father of a daughter! Is it well
We should discourse of her?
Earl.
Tell me that you permit it. May I speak?
Mor.
Of her, my lord, or any other stranger,
If mention of a name delight your ear.
Earl.
And you will bear with me—you will be patient?
Mor.
Why should I not? What man is there so well
Can bear the verbal history of wrong
As he who has it written on his heart?
If you recite the past, you will not grave
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Endures, though you be silent.
Earl.
Oh, sir, repulse me not, for love of mercy.
Say that you retain some gentle thought,
Some tender recollection—
Mor.
Of your daughter?
My lord, she has my pity.
Earl.
What! No more?
[A pause.
Ah, sir, I have watched Mabel many a time,
When accident, or as it now seems, purpose
Long held you from her presence,—quit her chair,
And by the hour watch in love's deep suspense,
Pale, fixed, and mute—a very statue then;
But when the tramp of your approaching horse
Broke on her ear—for that love-quickened sense
Anticipated sight—she woke to life,
As though your safety gave her leave to be,
Rushed forth to meet you, but stopped bashfully
To wait your entrance with downcast lids,
Which vainly tried to hide the lucid joy
Floating, like sunshine, in the orbs beneath!
Mor.
What is your story's sequel? What succeeds?
Earl.
You loved her once!
Mor.
I did, and since it pleases you, I speak.
It shall be to such purpose as to wring,
Even from your confession, that my act
Was one of justice, not of cruelty.
I loved her once! Ay, she was then to me
The incorporated spirit of all good.
My soul's once science was to study her;
Her eyes were all my light, her voice my music,
Her movements all I cared to know of grace.
Loved her! 'Twas worship! 'Twas idolatry!
And how was I repaid! The meanest man
Who has nor wealth, nor talent, nor distinction,
Giving his heart, proffers the dearest gift
His Maker gave to him—a gift that merits,
Even when not accepted, gratitude!
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Of which she feigned acceptance, not by words,
But by confession far more eloquent.
I pressed the love she favoured; she repulsed it;
She trampled on it! It was glowing fire;
She trod it into ashes!
Earl.
It was not so; but hear me.
Mor.
'Tis too late.
Earl.
[Rises.]
I do implore you, then, to read this letter.
[Mordaunt takes letter, rises, and reads it apart.
Mor.
If this be true, it must pronounce me guilty;
And my own eyes bear witness 'gainst my heart!
A life-time's love would not atone my sin.
Can I, indeed, have wronged her thus?
Enter Servant announcing “The Lady Mabel Lynterne!” Mabel enters and rushes to the Earl. Servant goes out.
Mab.
My father!
Earl.
My child!— [To Mordaunt.]
Read there the answer to your doubt.
Mor.
'Tis evidence that stabs, while it convicts.
Why knew I not this sooner?
O Mabel, how I've wronged thee!
[Kneels to her.
Mab.
What words are these? I came here to forbid
Vain supplication to a haughty heart,
And lo! I find one meek and penitent.
And thou dost love me, Mordaunt?
Mor.
[Rising.]
Love thee, Mabel!
My careworn heart revives at sight of thee,
And hoards the life 'twas weariness to keep.
How now! thou tremblest, sweet!
Mab.
Love! aid me to my chair;
My strength is failing fast; I am as one
Who has striven hard to distance Grief, and gained
The goal before her, my strength but sufficing
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With thy love for my chaplet, and in peace!
Mor.
[Kneeling by her side.]
And thou wilt live in peace for many years!
[Aside.]
What demon gives my fear-struck heart the lie?
Mab.
I've much to say, and but brief time to speak it.
Thou knowest now I love thee; but thou canst not—
Thou canst not tell how deeply. That our lips
Should so belie our hearts! Couldst thou read mine!
Mor.
Or thou read mine; the thoughts of agony
Remorse sears on it with a brand of fire!
Mab.
Oh, couldst thou know how often in my walks
My soul drank gladness from the thought that thou
Wouldst share them with me, and the beautiful
Grow brighter as thy voice interpreted
Its hidden loveliness; and our fireside!
How I should greet thee from the stormy war
Of public conflict, kneel beside thy chair,
And cause thee bend thine eyes on mine, until
Thy brow expanded, and thy lips confessed
The blessedness of home!
Mor.
Home, sayest thou? Home!
Home! That's the grave.
Mab.
My fate is gentler, love,
Than I had dared to hope. I shall not live
Encircled by thine arms; but I may die so.
[Sinks back.
Mor.
[Rising and turning away.]
I cannot bear it; Oh, I cannot bear it.
Fool! Not to know the vengeance of forgiveness!
Earl.
You see, sir, that the wound is deep enough.
Mab.
Nay, speak not harshly; for in noble minds
Error is suffering, and we should soothe
The breast that bears its punishment within.
Tell me that you forgive him. Do not pause.
Stint not the affluent affection now,
That hitherto outran my need in granting—
All dimly floats before me. While I yet
Can hear your voice, tell me that you forgive him!
[Mabel has now raised herself, and stands erect.
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I do, I do!
Mab.
Now take him to your arms,
And call him son.
Earl.
Thou art obeyed:—My son!
Mor.
[Advancing.]
My father!
[Mabel joins their hands.
Mab.
I am happy—very happy!
[She falls into Mordaunt's arms—a short pause—she dies.
| The Patrician's Daughter | |