 | Anne Blake |  |
322
ACT II.
Scene.—Library in Toppington House, overlooking the grounds. Open French window at back; groups of sculpture on either side; doors on each side; a glass door also partly open near back.Sir Joshua discovered.
Sir J.
Yes, yes, I thank my stars; but that I grudge
The vixen so much luck, this chance falls bravely.
Llaniston in love with her! A pedigree
Old as the hills, and as much gold as, melted,
Would make a lake between them! Llaniston
Nephew-in-law to me! He can't press hardly
Upon his uncle. He'll extend his mortgage,
Perhaps forgive it. I can breathe—I'm saved!
Lady T.
[Who has entered unobserved.]
You're in high spirits?
Sir J.
Have you seen her yet?
Have you told her this good news? Does she keep her senses
At such an offer? Has she yet dismissed
That rambling artist? Zounds! how dare he venture
To woo my niece?
Lady T.
She has not dismissed him;
She knows not Llaniston's offer.
Sir J.
Quick, then, tell her.
Lady T.
Haste would mar all. Thorold has won her love.
He showed her kindness. What accomplishments
She knows, he taught her. Though she may be brought
To banish him, gold will not tempt her.
Sir J.
Then what will?
Lady T.
Her proud and jealous heart; and, to say truth,
I've grounds, as yet known only to myself,
To question if he loves her
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Will you urge her
To his rejection?
Lady T.
Yes; for love's dream,
One touch dispels, while wealth and good position
Last for a life; also because you're ruined
Save we've a hold on Llaniston.
Sir J.
[Advancing to her.]
Thanks!
Lady T.
[Withdrawing.]
No transports;
They try my nerves. Both sides being duly weighed,
I'd rather live in ease and bear your presence,
Than starve—with you in jail.
Sir J.
[Angrily.]
How?
Lady T.
Silence!
Or I'll not aid you.
[Motions him off.
Sir J.
[Deprecatingly.]
Nay, we part good friends.
Lady T.
Best friends, sir, when we part. A pleasant morning.
[She curtseys. Sir Joshua bows and goes out.
Gold is not everything. It's pleasant, too,
To respect the man one marries. Once, indeed,
I was love's dupe, like Anne, and half betrothed
To a poor advocate. She'll have a lot
Brighter than mine—rank, wealth, and—no Sir Joshua!
[She goes out.
Enter Anne, attired in a fashionable morning-dress, followed by Lloyd.
Anne.
What means this change? I know its outside fair,
But yet 'tis false. I feel it! This new dress,
Worn at my uncle's cost, hangs on my limbs
Heavier than chains. I'll cast it off—
Lloyd.
Child, child,
Be not so mad! Look in the glass, and see
How it becomes you, beauty!
Anne.
[Apart.]
Where is he
Should guide me here? Why this protracted absence—
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Have you too learned to stint the dues of love
When a dependant claims them?
Re-enter Lady Toppington.
Lady T.
Go, Lloyd. [Lloyd goes out: Lady Toppington sinks indolently into a chair, while Anne paces the room excitedly.]
Anne!
Anne.
[Stopping short.]
Madam, explain this riddle. Why am I
Invited to your presence? Whence these gifts
Lavished unasked?
[Shows her bracelets.
Lady T.
If they displease you, choose
Some other pattern. You've decidedly
A graceful figure.
Anne.
[Impatiently.]
Madam!
Lady T.
Stay—sit down—
You know I'm nervous. That's a charming foot!
Anne.
Nay, then I'll go. [She half rises, but is restrained by a gesture from Lady Toppington.]
Would you indeed be bounteous,
Send back these bracelets; give the poor their price.
O, if you knew what joy to aching hearts
This gold would bring that's idly spent on me!
Take them! Lloyd has a nephew, a brave lad,
Who wants a boat.
Lady T.
[Gently declining them.]
So generous! I've oft thought
We were mistaken in you. Not an hour since
I said, “She has a heart—a heart, Sir Joshua—
Whose love we might have won.”
Anne.
[Softened.]
Perhaps you might.
Lady T.
Your uncle and myself, I own, disliked you.
Yet there are times when every woman's breast
Yearns to its neighbour. Yes, dear Anne, I saw
Too well what you had suffered.
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Suffered! Why?
Lady T.
From Thorold's absence. Have I struck too roughly
A string that jars? Don't speak—
Anne.
For once—once only.
I love him, and could scarce debate his truth
With my own heart. How should I then with you?
Lady T.
His truth! You run to extremes. He's pledged to wed you,
And you may trust his honour.
Anne.
Do you mean
That only honour binds him?
Lady T.
There you pain me!
No doubt he means you fairly.
Anne.
Fairly! Ay,
He'll keep his bond, you think, but curse the whim
That signed it; has no grain of love to pay
That sum he vowed; but O, he's honourable,
And ready with the forfeit! I could blush
At my own jest, such love-suits—nay, such law-suits!—
The bachelor a bankrupt, and the maid
His creditor; conscience the officer she fees
To arrest her victim, and her heart his jail!
[With constrained laughter.
Lady T.
I'd give the world to have your flow of spirits.
Well, well, we'll hope the best; but love, you know,
Is often blind. I've here a curious proof
Of that old proverb. 'Tis the merest fragment
Of a worn letter [producing it]
; but it much concerns
A friend of mine. Give me your thoughts upon it—
Nay, read it! Mark, 'tis in a woman's hand;
And read aloud, that we may after join
Our minds in comment. Come! 'tis a small favour.
[Anne takes the letter reluctantly, and reads it carelessly at first while standing.
Anne.
“I have been in perfect solitude ever since you
left. The rest are absent, and friends rarely find out
this lonely house.”
[She pauses.
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Go on!
Anne.
[Resuming.]
“Yet I have not been unhappy, nor
needed society. Sweet remembrances and sweeter
hopes—these have been my companions by day and
night.”
[She becomes gradually interested, again pauses, and sits.
Lady T.
Further still.
Anne.
[Resuming.]
“Ah, when I recall your love—
when do I not?—I feel as if earth could give me no
more; as if hope itself could ask no more; as if my
world were filled and brightened by that love alone
light of my life, my heart's sole joy!”
I'll read no more; these words are sacred!
O, how she must have loved!
Lady T.
Loved whom?
Anne.
You best
Know that.
Lady T.
I do, Anne. How I grieve to say it—
Those lines were writ to Thorold!
Anne.
No!
Lady T.
'Tis true.
I found them in the library that day
He bade you his farewell there.
Anne.
But not dropped
By him?
Lady T.
He sought them eagerly; questioned my servants
If they had found such letter—a torn fragment
In a blank envelope. [Shows envelope.]
I then was absent
For some few hours; ere my return he left.
Anne.
And how came you to read a page not yours?
Lady T.
I thought it mine, a mere shred undirected,
So read, and then read on. I'd fears for you.
Anne.
Most needless ones. What man can help the love
Another utters? You've no proof that he—
That he returned it!
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Do you think she had called him
Her heart's sole joy, had he repelled her love?
Anne.
Cease! Are you bent to torture me?
Lady T.
To save you.
Anne.
Save? Yet rob me
Of trust in him! He false!
Lady T.
Even if he were,
There are other men alive; he is but one.
Anne.
[Springing up impetuously.]
Ay; but one sun suffices for a world:
If quenched, 'tis night, though heaven be packed with stars!
O Thorold! I have known so little love,
Forgive me if I wronged thee by one doubt!
Lady T.
Confiding girl! Give me the letter.
Anne.
[Quickly approaching the table and taking the letter, which she replaces in blank envelope.]
No!
If it be his, 'tis safer in my care.
Lady T.
Give me your promise, then, you'll not betray
That you have learned its purport; at least, not
Till I consent.
Anne.
[Mechanically.]
I promise; as you will.
Enter Jillott.
Jil.
The Honourable Mr Llaniston, of Llaniston,
Through me, requests an audience of my lady.
[He goes out.
Lady T.
[Aside.]
I've paved his way; himself must do the rest.
[After looking earnestly at Anne, who stands absorbed, she goes out.
Anne.
I would as soon believe heaven's arch would fall,
As think him false. My heart was void—he filled it;
Bleeding—he bound it; fierce with wrong—he calmed it.
My comfort, guide, sole joy! Sole joy! Ah! now
Those words flash back on me; another used them!
Who calls him light of life, sole joy, but me?
Did he permit it? Would she else have dared?—
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Repeated of our union! Do I doubt?
I must not—dare not! My faith lost, I lose
All hold on good. My soul that's built on him,
Would like a tower, when the earth reels, fall shattered:
Fatal to all I light on! O, these words
Were never meant for him—and yet! Doubt ebbs,
Then flows, and gains upon me like a sea!
Thor.
[Without.]
Anne! Anne!
Enter Thorold.
At last!
Anne.
[Rushing towards him.]
Thorold! [Suddenly checking herself.]
So, you're returned.
Thor.
What! for no warmer welcome?
Anne.
Why, you talk
As you'd been years away, not three short weeks.
Thor.
Did they seem short?
Anne.
To you.
Thor.
Why, Anne?
Anne.
Because
You're often absent. What one often does,
'Tis plain one likes; and what one likes seem short.
Thor.
Excellent logic! Then, because you've borne
My absence often, it seemed short to you?
Anne.
O, I'd your letters. Talking now of letters,
You're careless of them. One you dropped was found here.
[Gives him the fragment in blank envelope.
Thor.
[Opening letter, aside.]
Her mother's to her father in their wooing.
Anne.
Where are your thanks? Perhaps you set no value
Upon the letter?
Thor.
Set no value!
Anne.
[With forced gaiety.]
Ah!
You do then prize it?
Thor.
Anne, some other theme!
Levity suits not this.
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Why not?
Thor.
'Tis sacred.
Anne.
[Aside.]
Sacred!
Thor.
Another cloud.
Anne.
Well, can you wonder?
[Struggling with her emotion.]
I'm curious, and a woman. Come now, tell me
Where you have been—what done. Unlock for me
Your Bluebeard chamber, sir. [With sudden earnestness.]
I do not jest;
Dear Thorold, I implore—explain your absence!
Thor.
My absence? Thrice you've asked me that before.
Thrice I replied, I cannot.
Anne.
Will not.
Thor.
Anne!
Where is your faith? I grant 'twixt maid and suitor
Should be no secrets save what reason claims
And conscience warrants. If by these compelled
To veil his thoughts—
Anne.
Ay—then?
Thor.
Then 'tis her part
To credit the compulsion. She who loves
Best shows her love by trusting. Will you trust me?
[After a short pause she gives him her hand.
I knew you'd give your hand.
Anne.
[Aside.]
He knew I'd give it!
He moulds me just like wax: all calm, no passion!
If he loved me, he'd be angry.
[Withdraws her hand.
Thor.
What! Not pardoned?
Anne.
Pardoned—by me, an outcast, a stray waif
On fortune's tide, without an owner's name,
Or stamped with one I scorn!
Thor.
Whose?
Anne.
Whose but his
Who lured my mother from her home, made want,
That cankered life, her lot—dependence mine;
Who forced on me the life he left to insult?
My father's—
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[With sudden energy.]
Hold! A stigma, though deserved,
When a child brands it, makes the hearer weigh
The censure with the sin; but, if unjust—
No, no; you could not mean it! What has warped
Your heart so from its course?
Anne.
The words of all men
Who knew my father. He lacked strength to scale
My mother's height—so drew her to abasement.
Thor.
Did she so deem? True, he was of a band
Whom fortune frowns on, whom authority
Oft uses and forgets; but still, their souls
Are the world's life-blood!
Anne.
Who?
Thor.
The men who think!
Whose weapon is the pen, whose realm the mind.
I mean not laurelled bards, but daily workers,
Who, like the electric force, unseen pervade
The sphere they quicken; nameless till they die,
And leaving no memorial but a world
Made better by their lives!
Anne.
You knew my father?
Thor.
We met abroad; 'twas in his later years;
I heard his story there. Your mother held
His love above the world, and, spite of menace,
Gave him her hand and heart. His thrifty earnings
Sufficed till fever seized him. Then on both
Fell that sharp want: his wife mourned for his sake,
With which his child upbraids him!
Anne.
[Aside.]
Plain he hates me!
Never would love on one brief, bitter mood
Pronounce so sternly! I've at least this grace,
That, heartless as I am, I free your sight
Of what must needs offend it!
[Goes out impetuously.
Thor.
Stay, Anne. Gone!
My love for her lost father made me harsh.
I should have thought how much that secrecy
His dying breath enforced, must fret a heart
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To end her trial, and might do so yet,
Would but this lagging mail from India bring
The news I hope for. [Turning, he sees Clara Thurleigh peering in at open glass door.]
Who's here? Can it be?
Enter Clara.
Clara.
[With a laugh.]
It can.
Thor.
Clara, my madcap cousin!
[They shake hands.
Clara.
Yes, I found
This glass door open, reconnoitred you,
And so skipped in, all unobserved. You see
Even marriage has not cured my pranks.
Thor.
[Smiling.]
What could?
Clara.
A steady course of whipping when a child
Might have done something, but 'tis too late now.
Thor.
Why came you here?
Clara.
To scold you. Was I not
Your favourite cousin?
Thor.
[Sportively.]
You!
Clara.
You know I was.
You fell in love with me when you were ten.
Deny it not! I recollect the day
I had a skipping-rope and wore red shoes.
Confess those shoes made havoc in your heart!
Where was your conscience then to keep from me
This dear delicious secret?
Thor.
Secret!
Clara.
Ay.
But you revealed it to my aunt, your mother.
I wormed it from her. Then a longing seized me
To know your charming Anne. Some friends of Thurleigh's
Live in this neighbourhood; they asked us down.
Though three months married, Thurleigh spoils me still.
I said, “Accept”—we came.
Thor.
On mischief bent.
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Don't fear; I quite kept your incognito.
I first called at your lodgings, and inquired
For the artist, Mr Thorold. You were here:
Now tell me what she's like. When shall I see her?
Thor.
You don't deserve it; but to-morrow noon.
Clara.
To-morrow noon!
Thor.
No sooner; I've good reasons.
Clara.
I shall die of curiosity ere then.
Now, what have you deserved, ungracious tyrant?
Not a considerate, benevolent friend,
Like her who brings you this.
[Gives him a miniature.
Thor.
The miniature!
Who gave it you?
Clara.
The jeweller in London:
You had left it for repair, he said, and wished
Its quick return. Do tell me—is it Anne?
Thor.
[Looking earnestly on miniature.]
Not Anne—Anne's mother! [Lady Toppington now appears outside, at window at back, and stops short.]
They're unlike in feature;
And yet at times I've caught that very look
On her child's face.
[Clara takes and examines the miniature.
Lady Toppington now enters, and slowly advances unperceived: Anne also enters by window unperceived by Thorold and Clara; Lady Toppington seizes her hand, and points to Thorold and Clara; Anne attempts to withdraw—Lady Toppington forcibly detains her.
Clara.
Yes, I half guessed this would ensure my welcome.
Thor.
A double welcome, for its sake and yours:
You could have given me no more sweet surprise.
[Clara returns the miniature, on which he gazes intently.
O, I could bend for hours above this face,
Lit with devotion, meek, yet brave in trial!
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And sever hearts that with one instinct thrill—
Beat with one pulse?
Clara.
[Earnestly.]
Perhaps, that we might know
Love's constancy. How could we prove its strength
But for its trials?
Thor.
[Warmly, and taking her hand.]
Said like you! There shone
The generous soul that, seen through all disguise,
First made me love you.
Clara.
[Affecting dejection.]
Love me! so you say.
Thor.
And so you know. Now leave me.
Clara.
[Warmly.]
Dear, dear Thorold!
But we shall meet to-morrow?
Thor.
Yes, at noon.
Be more discreet though; meet me at my lodgings.
This for the portrait.
[Kisses her, then walks with her to door, by which Clara goes out.
Anne.
[To Lady Toppington.]
Let's go!
Lady T.
Soon.
[They retire a few steps.
Thor.
[Returning, his eyes bent on the miniature.]
True heart!
How blessed had been my lot, had Heaven so willed,
To take thee to my home, to say, “All joy
Sits circled round my hearth, for thou art here!”
To greet thee with the tenderest tones of love
And reverent duty; with a life's devotion
Console thee for the past. It may not be.
How like that look to hers!
[He kisses miniature; at an imperative gesture from Anne, Lady Toppington bears her aside, near window and retires behind a group of sculpture, which conceals them; Thorold, after a pause.
Shall I seek Anne,
And tell her all? Perhaps 'twere best. Anne, Anne!
[Goes out. Immediately afterwards, Lady Toppington comes forward, supporting Anne.
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[Looking at Anne, who seems in stupor.]
She would have fled, but that by force I held her.
Poor girl! Speak, love!—you heard?—you heard, I say?
[With great gentleness.
Anne.
[Faintly, rousing herself.]
Thank you—I heard.
Lady T.
You did not see her face?
Anne.
No.
Lady T.
Nor I, plainly. But you saw him take
Her pledge of love—her portrait?
Anne.
Hers!
Lady T.
Whose else?
Even grant it were another's, what avails it,
Being plain he loves that other? But you saw
His kiss that paid that gift, and heard him say
He loved her, and lament the bitter fate
That severed them.
Anne.
[Regarding her keenly.]
Go! you're his enemy!
This is—
[Falters.
Lady T.
[Still holding her.]
My work? Why, were I twenty times
His enemy, could I have done this? Had I witchcraft
To make them meet by stealth, change gifts, embrace,
And plan a next-day's meeting? When she went,
Was it I who made him press his burning kiss
Upon her painted semblance, while he cried,
What bliss it were to have led her to his home—
That home where she had made his bliss complete?
Anne.
Release me!
Lady T.
Now all's clear; no need to ask
Who wrote to him those passionate lines of love
You read to-day. Anne, he may marry you,
His word being pledged; but he loves only her.
Forgive the cruel truth.
Anne.
Your arm is iron,
It crushes me; let go! I want breath—breath!
[She breaks from Lady Toppington, and falls prostrate.
| Anne Blake | |