University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—An Ante-Room leading into Hero's Chamber in the same house.
Enter Lewson, from the Window.
Lew.
Safe! Safe!—all silent! What has turn'd my feet
From flesh to lead? My body, which to bear
Their function is, appears to drag them on.
I wont not thus to feel. Ferrying across
From Limehouse now, I saved a drowning man.
Twice had he sunk in sight of his young brood,
That with their dam kept fluttering on the shore.
O, how they bless'd me! while the standers by
Echoed them, and to all inquirers said,
That ask'd who saved him, “Yonder's the good man!”
And I afoot to do an evil act!
Another should have saved him! Let it pass!
Is this her chamber? No, her dressing-room.
Ay, here's her woman's gear. What holds this case?
Her paint, I'll warrant—her cosmetics—aught
To give another skin; they're ne'er content
With nature's; patches, perfumes, dentifrice!
A book?—I'll wager one she durst not show!
A Bible! Umph! Strange reading that, methinks,
For a fine lady! Here's a leaf turn'd down;
What says the place? It seems to talk to me!
I'll read no further! So—what have we here?
Her letters! Excellent! Her letters!—now
To see how they can look and talk the saint,
And play the sinner, still! A hundred pounds,
The first is an amour!—A wretch's prayer
For help—herself and children without food
For two whole days! What, baggage! beg ere rob?
Wait for a thaw, and see thy little ones
Congeal to death i' the icy world!—With the thought,
I have a feeling how the tiger's fangs
Rend for her cubs the prey!—What alms didst hope
Her ladyship would give?—What would suffice
The dressing of her gown she wears a night
And casts aside, for foul! What's here—is this
Her answer—or the copy on't? Indeed!
Ay, when she gives she gives! She seems to think
That poverty, like plenty, is made up
Of flesh and blood. There's food for dam and whelps
For a whole week—The letter's to my wife!
She dined to-day,—fall to't—fall to't—thy brood
May gorge them now! Methinks I see them feed!
Heaven bless her!—What! Heaven bless her, did I say?
Then, what do I do here? No more of this!
I've work to do, chimes not with thoughts like these.
No more on't! Footsteps!—So—Beast to thy lair.

[Conceals himself.
Enter Hero; she goes to the window, and looks out.
Hero.
Whether mine eye with a new spirit sees,
Or nature is grown lovelier, I know not;
But ne'er, methinks, was sunset half so sweet!
He's down, and yet his glory still appears,
Like to the memory of a well-spent life,
That's golden to the last, and when 'tis o'er,
Shines in the witnesses it leaves behind.
They say, a ruddy sunset a fair day!
Oh! may it be a day without a cloud,
Which of my fate beholds the clearing up;
That I may quote it, ever, as a sign
Of sincere fortune, often as I say
Was ever day so bright! How calm is all—
How calm am I!—Would every breast I knew
Were lodge to heart so tranquil,—There was one—
A most strange history! Is she alive,
Or dead? [Eustace appears at the window.]
Who's there?

Eust.
[Entering.]
A friend!

Hero.
Help!

Eust.
Hush! I come
For safety!

Hero.
To thyself?

Eust.
To thee! Look here,—
Lest I should miss thee, I prepared this scroll.
More brief 'twill tell my errand, than my tongue
Could do't.

Hero.
[Reads.]
Lord Athunree!—This very night!
My house beset!—myself by force abstracted!

Eust.
If thou hast kindred in the neighbourhood,
Or friend thou canst rely upon, forthwith
Of thy immediate danger caution them,
By hands you can confide in—for my pains,
I pray you pay me with the only audience
Of some poor moments, when I'll take my leave.

Hero.
[To herself.]
I need not fear him! On his o'ercast brow
'Tis grief, not guilt, that lowers.—A minute's patience.
I shall rejoin you.

[Goes out.
Eust.
Thou art happy, Hero,
And she that loves thee, weeps—but not that thou
Art happy! Thy fair fortune is the likeness
Of what was once my own! It is a face
Reminds me of a valued friend that's lost,
And which I bless, the while it makes me weep!

Hero.
[Re-entering.]
What you advised, I've done—and now your pleasure?

Eust.
Have I your leave, I'll sit. I've used some haste—
Am somewhat out of breath—I thank you! So!
Pray you be seated, too. You've had your share
Of friends?—Your 'haviour's of the winning kind,
That goodness sweetens!—You are frank—You love
Another's weal more than you envy it—
And such a one makes friends.—'Mongst those you've found,
You surely some must miss, else was your fate
Past earthly blessing happy?

Hero.
I've lost friends.

Eust.
By—death?

Hero.
By death.

Eust.
And any by misfortune?

Hero.
Misfortune!—No, not any.

Eust.
[Rising.]
What!—not one?
Good night!

Hero.
What mean you? Do you take me for
A season friend, no stancher than the bird,
Whose time the sun appoints to come and go,
And's with us when 'tis summer?—Oh, you wrong me!
What!—I to love, as loves that summer bird
The land he makes his gay sojourning in,
My friend, because 'tis leaf and blossom time!
Indeed you wrong me!—Knew I, at this moment,
One cheek I loved, was beggar'd of its smiles—
Not one left to it—I vow to thee, the next—
If back'd my power my will, before the next—
My own should be its neighbour.—Oh! how much
You wrong me!

Eust.
Glad I am I've done thee wrong—
In sooth, I am—and yet I wrong'd thee not,
I only miss'd thy meaning! Hadst not a friend
Misfortune lost thee?—not that thou shunnedst her,
But that her heavy and most strange affliction
To thee and all her sex forbade her access?

Hero.
A friend?—a sister! What a fate was hers!
Of all I valued, she the being was
I least could measure worth with. Of all grace,
The pattern was she—person, features, mind,
Heart, everything, as nature had essay'd
To frame a work which none might find a flaw in!
And yet 'tis said, she fell—and if she did,
Let none be sure they'll stand! She couldn't fall!
There's such a thing as purity on earth,
And if she fell, there could be no such thing!
She didn't fall!—No! No!—I knew her, or
I never knew myself! Virtue with her
Was not a lesson we must con before
'Tis learn'd by heart; it was a portion of her,
Much as her stature, feature, shape, or voice,
Which, saving nature's, hand ne'er gave to her.
She has been outraged, slander'd—aught—but lost!
She could not fall—she did not—could not fall!
What ails thee?

Eust.
He that sets a banquet down
To famish'd lips, serves poison, and not meat,
For, ten to one, the greedy guest will die.
Yet blesses he the host, as I bless thee,
That spread'st for me this feast!

Hero.
This feast; What feast?
Move not thy lips thus impotently, or
I'll think thou diest indeed! What feast dost mean?
Is't one the heart makes? 'Tis—Thine eyes discourse
Language 'twould tax a hundred tongues to speak!
In wonder's name, who art thou? Say thou'rt not
What thou appear'st, I'll tell thee who thou art!
Could I not do't?—Could I not?—Helen?—What?
Well?—Am I right?—If ever thou valuedst
The homage of this breast, ne'er fear to claim it!
'Tis thine!—all!—all!—demand it!—take it!—come!—
'Tis thine as e'er it was!—Well?

Eust.
[Rising, but unable from emotion, to advance.]
Hero!

Hero.
Nay,
I'll bring it to thee, then! That's right—weep on!
My sweet!—my dear! my poor! my wrong'd one!—yes,
Wrong'd—wrong'd—I say't again! Thou need'st not speak,
Thou hast not strength—thou'lt sleep with me to-night?—
To-morrow for thy story.

Helen.
Nay, to-night.
I'm more myself again!—Let it be so—
Sit down a while. How hast thou been, my Hero

Hero.
Well, sweet, most well!

Helen.
Now by the love
Thou bear'st me, interrupt me not; but hear
My story out. Thou hast been told, that from
A roof which shelters aught but innocence,
In company with one, whom innocence,
That would be safe, should shun; i' the face of day,
Thy friend was seen to issue. Thither, by
A forgéd tale of misery, alone
She was decoy'd—exposed to outrage there—
Rescued by him—by him conducted thence—
Met in the street ere well her foot had left
The threshold—countenance refused her tale
By him that could have vouch'd its truth—by him
Her tale discredited, whose credence was
Life! happiness! all but honour! In a word,
Her virtue blasted, that had ne'er known blight—
Denounced as canker'd—rotten—while was sound
As thy own, Hero!—even, as thy own!

Hero.
I know't.

Helen.
You know't? Alas, you know it not—you think it—
Think it in the teeth of damning fact. It is
Your love!—your charity! An alms—an alms—
Is all that friend so kind as even thou
Can render now to Helen—Yet I'll be righted!
But fare thee well—'tis late!

Hero.
You'll stay with me?

Helen.
What! let me press thy pure sheets, Hero, with
A tainted name? How I have wrong'd thee!—Wouldst
Believe't? I once came to thy door—but there
I stopp'd. I was not wont to ask for leave
To enter it, and I must ask for't now!
I left thy door again—the certainty
To see it never ope thy friend preferr'd
To but the chance to see it shut upon her!

Hero.
To but the chance to see it shut on thee!
What warrant ever gave I for such chance?
Oh! had it wider, freer oped than e'er,
It only had anticipated what
Its mistress' arms had done—what now they do!
You shall not leave—nay, in sooth you shall not!

Helen.
In this attire, think, should I here be seen—

Hero.
I'll think of nought, but that thou now art here.
But that thou here shalt stay. Thou canst be gone
At dawn. Thou know'st a thousand things I have
To ask of thee—how we shall meet again?—
Where I shall find thee?—what thy projects are—
Deny me not, I pray thee! 'Twill but make
The greater beggar of me—Come!—You can,
You must—you will—this is my chamber—Come!

[They go out.
Lew.
[Entering in disorder.]
I cannot do't! Heaven 's on the watch against it!
'Tis said it guards the good, and if it does,
Its spirits sure are here—They are!—or why
This fearful awe come over me? I feel
As eyes were on me, that I cannot see—
Above me, lips that speak but are unheard—
And hands around me, with a thousand times
The power of flesh and blood, though sightless as
The air! Heaven will not have it be—It sets
Before mine eyes, the fruit of what I've done—
To warn me back from what I've come to do.
That hapless maiden owes her injured name
To me! I was the instrument to ruin her!
To fix on her the wanton's brand, that ne'er
In thought it seems incurr'd the wanton's stain!
To damn in this world, what i' the next is blest
Oh! heavy sin—Go sin no more! How's this?
Go sin no more! So said the book to me.
Then Heaven cares for sinners, it should seem!
O blessed book! I'll go and sin no more!
The chime! It lacks a quarter of an hour—
The very clock would save me. Was't the hour,
They'd have me in their fearful toils again!
Away! away! speed feet, while ye are free,
Softly and swift—the minutes fly! Away!

[Exit.