University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—AN APARTMENT, NEAT, BUT POORLY FURNISHED, IN THE SUBURBS OF LONDON.
Walter Ashbrooke; and Mrs. Delmar, who walks anxiously to the window.
WALTER
(laying aside a book).

Dear Aunt, I am persuaded of her safety. So long
an absence but proves that her noble efforts have succeeded.

MRS. DELMAR.

'Tis already dusk, and she alone in this vast and
heartless city! 'Twill soon be deep night. She promised
to return in an hour.

WALTER.

And declined my escort. She has of late been jealous
of her solitude.

MRS. DELMAR.

She fears to intrude on your studies. You apply
yourself too closely, dear Walter. Your cheek loses
its freshness; your step its firmness. And after all
what avails thy toil?

WALTER.

To prompt high aims; to comfort sorrow; to cherish
love.

MRS. DELMAR.

So unfortunate; yet so hopeful.

WALTER.

I have my griefs; but the life that may serve others

can never be worthless to its possessor. Nor does the
world always neglect its benefactors. How happy,
dear Aunt, should my success aid the amelioration
of our fortunes! The same costly barrier of law
withstands at present the assertion of our common
rights. But, fear not.

MRS. DELMAR.

'Tis the motto of youth. What can detain thy
cousin? Heaven preserve her. 'Twas a sin to repine
at poverty while so dear a treasure was left me. Did
I lose her! Hush! Ah, the music of that footfall—
'tis she! Thank God!

Enter Florence.
FLORENCE.

Dear Mother! dear Walter! how dark; you flit
before me like shadows. But my heart will guide me
to your arms. (She embraces Mrs. Delmar. Lights are placed on the table.)

FLORENCE
(as she lays aside her hat and mantle).

Come! ask the result of my travels. Do not fear;
Providence has blessed us, my Mother! (Giving a purse.)

Take this; it contains two of the brightest
guineas. Their burnished faces seemed to smile on
me, as if they knew the happiness they brought.
Throughout the winter and the spring I may hope to
dispose of all my embroidery. On Tuesday, I am to
receive the price of my sketches. Have we not cause
for gratitude?

MRS. DELMAR.

And all this gained by thy toil and humility! My
cherished one; so softly tended! Ah, amidst all my
thankfulness, the pang of necessity wounds me through
thee!

FLORENCE.

Do not say so. I could bless the trials that permit
me, not to repay, but acknowledge thy love. And our
horizon clears. Hope and affection convert labour into
delight. Do they not, Walter? Dear Mother, we'll
have our old Grange back again yet. We shall again

loiter on summer evenings beneath the old elms.
column-like, sustaining their dome of emerald. On
winter nights thine antique chair shall yet stand in its
dark brightness, by the hearth, round which shall
gather our dear, familiar friends.

MRS. DELMAR.

Friends! You forget, child, that we are fallen.

FLORENCE.

Our fortunes are, not we.

MRS. DELMAR.

'Tis the same thing in the great world.

FLORENCE.

The great world's then too narrow for me to breathe in.

WALTER.

So say I! How true are the instincts of her heart!
(Aside.)

FLORENCE.

You wrong our friends, dear Mother. But this
morning how kind a greeting came from Laura
Hallerton: how warm a welcome to her country home.
I must prize her kindness, though I cannot use it.
Generous Laura! You knew her, Walter?

WALTER.

Knew her. Ah, would that I had never known her,
or knowing, could forget. Yes, I knew her! (Aside.)

MRS. DELMAR.

Accept her hospitality. For thy sake, I'd have it
proved that we are not entirely abandoned. Stay!—
Thou must not go. By report she's much changed,
and I would not have thee meet one who, 'tis said,
frequents her house.

FLORENCE.

Oh, she would entertain none whom you would have
me avoid.

MRS. DELMAR.

One 'twould pain thee to meet.

FLORENCE.

Her name? or his name?

MRS. DELMAR.

I am loath to name him.

FLORENCE.

One 'twould pain me to meet!

MRS. DELMAR.

Yes; he who forgets in fortune's promotion, the
vows of his obscurity. Thou knowest now.

FLORENCE
(hesitating).

No,—dear Madam—no.

MRS. DELMAR.

Plainly then I speak of Vivian Temple.

FLORENCE.

Do not judge him harshly. He has not heard of
our reverses.

MRS. DELMAR.

Nor sought to hear.

FLORENCE.

Is this just? He cannot have heard! (Aside.)

Consider the rapid change in his affairs; the thousand
occupations it brought; his absence from England;
the sudden calamities which drove us from our country
home. He needs but to be reminded.

MRS. DELMAR.

Ah! my child,—he who must be reminded of thy
affection never deserved it.

FLORENCE.
My affection!

MRS. DELMAR.
For months his whole life was a protest of his own.

FLORENCE.
Of his friendship!

MRS. DELMAR.
Friendship!
He trifled with thy love—

FLORENCE.
You do not know him!

MRS. DELMAR.
He coldly trifled—

FLORENCE.
Mother!

MRS. DELMAR.
Basely!

FLORENCE
(much moved).
No!
Have I deserved this?

MRS. DELMAR.
I was rash;—and yet
What tells the earnest pleading of thy look?

FLORENCE.
He of our past was part. We knew him, Mother,
Ere care had warned our joy, it was but brief.
We knew him, honour'd him, admir'd—

MRS. DELMAR.
And lov'd!

FLORENCE.
Say loved! Ah, let us never deem that friend
Link'd with those early memories, can forsake!
Wer't so—I would not know it. Oh! to breathe
Coldly the name lips of their freight o'er proud,
Could scarcely falter once;—to see the face
Once with such radiance bright, Thought turned to seek
Relief from light's excess, to blankness wane—
Pluck up such early trust!—If it must die
Let it fade slowly—wither leaf by leaf,
And tint by tint; but let no cruel hand
Tear from the heart the root of its best bliss—
The faith that grows in childhood!

MRS. DELMAR.
Is the hand
Cruel, my child, that but unveils delusion?

FLORENCE.
Oh! blest is the delusion that still trusts
Though in a phantom;—and the truth accurs'd,
That wakes us to exclaim, “'Twas all a dream!”
—Mother, forgive this!

(Taking Mrs. Delmar's hand.)
MRS. DELMAR.
Sweet, be calm.

FLORENCE.
I will.
The true ne'er cause regret; the false deserve none.
I'm calm—My frame—where laid I it?—'Tis here.

(She takes her frame, sits, and commences her work.)
WALTER
(after a pause, to MRS. DELMAR),
Mark you? Her thought and eye are far apart.
Her glance would feign intentness on her task—
Denies her bidding oft to read the air.
See how her hand—its purpose midway lost—
Suspends its effort! Note its listless fall.

Enter Attendant.
ATTENDANT.
A letter, please you!

(She places it near Florence and withdraws.)
MRS. DELMAR.
Florence, 'tis for thee—
For thee, my darling!—Wake!—A letter!

(Placing it in her hand.)
FLORENCE
(apathetically).
Oh!—
Yes—true!

MRS. DELMAR.
More haste—I'm curious!

FLORENCE
(glancing at the superscription).
What!
No!—Hush!— (opening and perusing it.)
I have not conjured with desire.
'Tis real—tis real!

MRS. DELMAR.
This agitation;—tears!
Are they of grief or rapture? Speak!

WALTER.
Perhaps,
These news demand your private ear.

FLORENCE.
Stay, Walter—
My all but brother—nought from thee to hide
'Tis but a witness of the truth my heart
Believed without a voucher!—His—you guess!
(She reads.)

“What can my beloved Florence think of me? Can
her reproach be severer than that of my own heart? And
yet circumstances have been untoward. Florence, the
tidings of your privation, and your heroic endurance
have but reached me within this hour.” Do you hear?
within this hour! “Your delay to answer my letter
acquainting you with the change in my prospects, and of my
hope shortly to entrust them to your ear, is now explained.”
He wrote then! you hear, he wrote! “To-morrow—
(I say to-morrow for your sake, and that you may not be
startled by my abruptness)—to-morrow I will reveal to
you aspirations long indulged, hopes long cherished in
secret, but which till now, my poverty forbade me to utter.
Florence, my own Florence—will you” . . . “will you”
. . “will you.” Read it, Mother!

MRS. DELMAR
(resuming the letter).

“Will you by your sympathy animate me to the tasks
which bring men honour—which must be noble if you
can approve them; and crown effort by the love which
were triumph's richest prize, and failure's dearest consolation?
Believe ever in the truth of

Vivian Temple.”

MRS. DELMAR.
A mother's blessing on thee!

WALTER.
Joy, dear Florence!

MRS. DELMAR.
Well hath he conquer'd censure. I was harsh.
Now art thou free to love him.

FLORENCE
(falling on her mother's neck).
And to honour.