University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Scene I.

The great Hall of Wynhavod House. The walls hung with old portraits, arms, trophies of the chase, and a huge genealogical tree. A high oak chimney-piece, with dog-irons and deep chimney-corners beneath, and a settle on one side. The whole overlaid with articles of modern luxury and virtu. View of Welsh mountains and the sea from an oriel to the right.
Dafyth the Harper, leaning despondently over his harp, and two London Footmen discovered.
FIRST FOOTMAN.
Come, Taffy, strike!

DAFYTH.
Ah! Strike! I wish I could.

SECOND FOOTMAN.
Tune up; the master's coming.

DAFYTH.
Humph, his going
Wou'd seem more tunable. But we are sold,—
Sold to the Devil, you, my harp, and me,
And all the music in us.

[Strikes one melancholy chord, and pushes the harp aside.]
FIRST FOOTMAN.
How, now, Taffy?

DAFYTH.
Dafyth's my name, which, being interpreted,
Means David. We've been harpers, man and boy,
Since Wales became dry land, and Dwygifylchy
Rose from the flood.

SECOND FOOTMAN.
You chose a poor trade, Taffy.

DAFYTH.
Dafyth, I say! The name is well beknown;
One of my ancestors stood godfather
To Dafyth, King of Israel.

FIRST FOOTMAN.
Ho! ho!
He'll tell us 'twas the christening gift broke down
The fortunes o' the family! Hold hard.
[First Footman places himself beside the door, second Footman exit hastily. Dafyth strikes up ‘Of a noble race was Shenkin.’
Enter Sir Pierce Thorne in a wheeled chair, attended by Norman.

SIR PIERCE.
Last night I never thought to see again
These mountains, in their morning caps, or hear
The gossip of the waves upon the shore.
Now, not alone I hear and see, but each
Familiar thing strikes sharply on my sense,
As if that brief cessation of the wheels
Of life had brought new conscience of their motion.

NORMAN.
I'm glad they go so smoothly that their turning
Brings you new joy.

SIR PIERCE.
New hope, or short-lived joy;
I see my son beneath the roof I meant
That he should call his own, while I looked on;
Yes, and surprised some sorrow in his eyes
When mine reopened upon this side death,—
As loth to lose the father long denied.
That was a dawn of light I thought had set
Upon your mother's grave; boy, do not quench it;
It is the light which seems to gild the hills,—
It makes the music of those hollow waves.

NORMAN.
I would not quench it; it was grief to see you
So stricken, Sir; but calm yourself.

SIR PIERCE.
No calm!
Joy be my cure, since grief has been my bane.
You sent for Mostyn Wynne?

NORMAN.
Yes.

SIR PIERCE.
And his sister?

NORMAN.
Both, as you bade me.

SIR PIERCE.
They have suffered sorely
From evil chance, and will of wicked men;
And though they scape this pitfall, still the world
Is a bleak place for lambs so closely shorn.

NORMAN.
Yes, a bleak place.

SIR PIERCE.
She, Norman, in herself
Is such a gem, that she might almost dim
The jewels in a coronet; a peer,
A prince, might even get new lustre from her.
And, by my soul, the diamond can flash fire!

NORMAN.
You saw all that?

SIR PIERCE.
I would I had the setting
Of such a jewel!

NORMAN.
You would set it—how?

SIR PIERCE.
I'd make of it the crown of this—your home,
The casket whence it fell—

NORMAN.
No more, I pray you;
I must not hear such words. [Aside, in great agitation.]

Great God, forbid
This purest thing should tempt me to my fall!
I dare not tell him that my will holds firm
To keep my hands clean of his wealth.

SIR PIERCE.
[Aside.]
He stiffens
His back against me, but I've got a corner
Still in his heart; that's something for a father
In these hard times. Young dog, but he shall smart
A little longer yet.
[Norman returns.
This stroke has been
A warning of the hour that ends the day;
Nay, so you took it, and your pride was softened
So far that you vouchsafed to reassume
The name you dropped in scorn, accounting it
Too plain to bear the flourishes you thought
To add to that you grasped from out the air.

NORMAN.
I fear this warning, Sir, has left you where
It found in point of justice. You must know
Your name seemed not too poor, but far too rich,
Too cumbered with the spoils of ruined lives,
For me to bear it proudly. Let us turn
To kindlier subjects. Be content I bear it,
And bear it yet more humbly that I feel
Some shame in having dropped it.

SIR PIERCE.
Boy, stop there,
And gild it, if you can, with some choice metal
Will make it brighter in the world's esteem
Than gold has done. Tut, tut! you have a name
That stands for solid substance, not mere wind,
To offer to the woman that you love.

NORMAN.
You guess my secret, then?

SIR PIERCE.
I guess your secret,
Albeit no conjuror.

NORMAN.
Then feel for me.

SIR PIERCE.
I do, right joyfully. If you have won
Her love, your cup is fairly full I take it.

NORMAN.
Full, but of bitterness. I neither hope
To turn the current of her life, nor speed it.
She has a purpose which I may not further.
I have a call— No more of that; enough.
Our lives are doubly parted; they were rent
Asunder at the Lodge an hour ago;
They could not flow in sight of one another,
Unmingled and in peace, as we believed
When first we told our love. I must stand off,
And let her shape her course without me, while
I ‘dree my weird’ alone. Ah God I wonder,—
I wonder will she always so ‘dree’ hers?

[Walks off, overcome by emotion.
SIR PIERCE.
[Aside.]
He feels the prick; his joy will be the greater.
I play the fiend to his St. Anthony!
I'll back the boy to win,—ha, ha! my son,
Keen to foil fortune, as I was to court her!

NORMAN.
You'll spare me when she comes. I am too sore
To suffer more as yet, and could not meet her
Here in this house, where—

SIR PIERCE.
No, I cannot spare you;
I need your help to give the Wynnes Welsh welcome.
That this might savour of their former home
I've sent for Owen and his mother; he
Has been acquitted on the major count,
And had his fine discharged upon the minor.
They should be here.

NORMAN.
Well, just another tug;
It cannot draw more blood when hope is dead.

SIR PIERCE.
This woman's guile has cost her masters dear.
These Welsh will hide a fact as dogs hide bones,
For hiding's sake.

NORMAN.
Poor soul, she hid this, lacking
The faith to breast the tide of proof which seemed
To fix the crime on Mostyn. Gelert's ‘find’
To her seemed damning evidence, so might it
To me, had I not seen those ferrets hunting.
[Norman retires up stage.
Enter Owen Owen and Jenny.

FIRST FOOTMAN.
[Announcing.]
Them parties as was ordered to appear.

JENNY.
Good day to you, Sir Pierce.

OWEN.
Your servant, Sir.
You'd speak with us?

SIR PIERCE.
I would, my man. This house
Will soon change hands, I think—

JENNY.
[Regarding him critically.]
Indeed, Sir Pierce,
You do look sadly; that a' can say for you.

SIR PIERCE.
Will soon change hands. My son is my successor.
I hope his looks and ways may suit ye better.
[Jenny slowly curtseys assent.
I thought to say before I went from hence,
To say to you, my man, that I,—a—regretted
Your drunken folly, more because I feared
I seemed to have some hand in your temptation.

JENNY.
An' sure I hope, Sir Pierce, that where you go
There won't be no temptation to build publics.

SIR PIERCE.
No. There, I think they stand too thick already.

JENNY.
The Lord ha' mercy, then, upon your soul!
We all must know that place, though loth to name it.

Footman.
[Announcing.]
Miss Wynne and Mr. Wynne.

SIR PIERCE.
Kind of you both
To serve a sick man's whim. My cheeks, fair lady,
Should show you some poor counterfeit of health,
Some faint resemblance to a blush, remembering
My part—

WINIFRED.
In what we'll drown too deep for speech.
So near to death should be not far from Lethe.

SIR PIERCE.
For me?

WINIFRED.
I mean for you. But you are better?

SIR PIERCE.
Still better for the pardon in your eyes.
See here, your honest servants are before you;
So much is changed, I thought these well-known faces
Would help my welcome.

MOSTYN.
Much is changed, but more
Remains the same.

SIR PIERCE.
Well, well, the chief improvements
Are yet to see.

MOSTYN.
We overlook them all,
The whole being so familiar.

SIR PIERCE.
[Aside.]
Overlook?
The money spent to make their shambling ruin
A home for Christian folk, they—overlook.

Enter a Footman, giving a card to Sir Pierce.
SIR PIERCE.
Ah! bid these ladies to my audience, too.

Enter Mrs. Murdock and Amanda.
MRS. MURDOCK.
We find you risen; the danger past; what joy!
I am Amanda's follower, no power
Could hold her when the messenger who came
To seek for Mr. Drayton at our house
Informed us of your illness.

AMANDA.
I had feared
You were alone—untended.

SIR PIERCE.
As I soon
Shall be, unless the pity that has granted
This angels' visit should extend itself.

[Sir Pierce beckons to footman, who removes his chair, and he retires up the stage followed by Mrs. Murdock, and speaking earnestly with Amanda. Dafyth quits his harp, and approaches Mostyn.
MOSTYN.
My brave old Dafyth.

[Gives his hand, which Dafyth takes with effusion.
DAFYTH.
Oh, the day, the day!

MOSTYN.
The day that we invoke will not be yet.
There's weary work betwixt us and the time
Our labour may avail to ransom all
The faithful souls who wait us. But you, Dafyth,
You look as full of favour—

DAFYTH.
'Tis their flesh-pots.
Ha! ha! To pass away the time, I spoil them,—
These cursed, low Egyptians; yes, I spoil them.
[Mostyn joins the group round Sir Pierce, and Dafyth returns to his harp.
Norman and Winifred coming forward.

NORMAN.
I see you once again, but have no heart
To greet you in this house, and dare not welcome;
Your kinsfolk in the past all seem to chide me
Here as my father's son.

WINIFRED.
We must go forward,
Our roots alone are in the past, all fruit
And flower is of the present. Let the dead
Bury the dead; no living soul is more
Than love and labour of his own can make him.
The fires of these last days have purged us two
Pure of some prejudice.

NORMAN.
Yet, love, I think
Your words are braver than your heart this moment.

WINIFRED.
They shall uplift my heart.

NORMAN.
To see you thus
Would still be joy, though death had seized on mine.

WINIFRED.
Love conquers death.

NORMAN.
But life can martyr love.
We hold our ways aloof—

WINIFRED.
Because our lives
Are dedicated.

NORMAN.
Even in this hour
Temptation has been giving me hot work.
One word might crown the hope of all our lives,
One wished-for word—

WINIFRED.
But never give it breath,
That way lies treason—

NORMAN.
To our nobler selves,
That cannot so be crowned; I know it all,
So fought and conquered, but am furious
Still with the strife. I could have placed you here,
Where need of you is rife, and love prevails
To make its labours fruitful.

WINIFRED.
Hush, no more;
We tried that ground, and found it could not bear us.
We shall find comfort in our faithful toil,
And you,—the wakening world is wanting you.
Our life—streams must not join, nor even flow
In sight of one another. But let be;—
We buried that,—let be.

NORMAN.
Farewell!

WINIFRED.
Farewell! [Aside.]

This final wrench uproots my heart.

MOSTYN.
Sir Pierce
Is waiting this long while for speech of you,
And grows impatient.

SIR PIERCE.
Bid them not cut short
Their talk for mine. We fathers have been taught
To bide our time in silence.

NORMAN.
We have spoken
Our last.

SIR PIERCE.
You say your last? 'Tis well, my son,
Now hear MY word. Draw round me all; and Norman,
Give me that parchment roll.
[Norman gives parchment. All stand round Sir Pierce's chair in silence.
Son, if your mother,
Who loved and trusted me as none beside
Have ever loved or trusted,—had she left
A gift to be delivered to your keeping.
Waiting such time as I accounted fit,
Would you refuse the gift,—mark me, your mother's—
For passing by my hand?

NORMAN.
Your thought would seem
To speak me harder—

SIR PIERCE.
Ha! you would accept it?

NORMAN.
More gladly, if it spoke your love with hers.

SIR PIERCE.
Then, with her dying and my living love,
Take this. See here, her hand and deed, Wynhavod,
And all the land belonging thereunto,
Bought with her money, pure of any stain
From mine; her money and her father's, gathered
God knows from what foul quarries long ago,
But cleansed, maybe, by wholesome use. This parchment
Will tell no more.

NORMAN.
Wynhavod!

MOSTYN AND WINIFRED.
Ha, Wynhavod!

AMANDA.
You part with dear Wynhavod?

MRS. MURDOCK.
[Low to Amanda.]
No great loss.

OWEN.
They're pitching it about from hand to hand.

JENNY.
They say, when things are stirring, Wynnes must win.

SIR PIERCE.
Now all is said; both house and land are yours.
Miss Wynne is here, there's nothing left to do
But lay it at her feet.

NORMAN.
I lay it there.

[Norman lays the parchment on the ground before Winifred.
WINIFRED.
Such joy might kill! Wynhavod, and with you!

NORMAN.
This is the heaven prefigured in the glass;
We enter it together.

WINIFRED.
It is good
That we have days of youth to spread joy over,
Or such a press of it might well be mortal.
But see, your father!

SIR PIERCE.
No, the cure for grief
Has been administered a trifle freely,—
But—all goes well. I must remain your guest
A little while, before I go to make
Another home, and teach men to regret me
When I shall leave it.

WINIFRED.
Wherefore go from this?

SIR PIERCE.
No room for all our work, and new-born hope.
Behold my future wife!

NORMAN.
Miss Murdock?

SIR PIERCE.
Yes,
For kindly pity of my lonely state,
She takes me as she finds—

NORMAN.
It is a downpour
Of happiness all round.

WINIFRED.
But you, my brother,—
What part is left in all this joy for you?

NORMAN.
The part of Mostyn Wynne can soon be shown,
And if he be the man that I account him,
His portion will content him. Not this parchment,
Which formulates my mother's wish, nor any
Or every title that a man might bear,
Could make of me—my mind and better part
Being otherwhere—the owner of her gift
In such true sense as satisfies true hearts.
For you, good brother, loving thought and duty
Keep on Wynhavod an undying claim,—
I bid you to it as the native ground
Appointed for your labours. Here of old
Your fathers bled and sweated, and have made
The soil their own in many a hard-won fight.
You have been exiled from it, but no other
Has ever held it firmer in his love.
You could not plant an acorn on this coast,
But it would feed on dust akin to yours.
The cattle and the trees, the very stones
Make claim upon you; answer to their call.
As lord of land and sea, an honest man
Can be no more than steward of what he holds.
To me it is denied to be so much.
Come to my help, and do what I may not,
Bide here beneath this roof, the watchful guardian
Of all those interests which you hold so dear.
My wife and I will share them as we can,
And take our toll of benefit from that
Which overflows when justice says, ‘Enough.’

JENNY.
Wynnes will win home, whatever winds may blow!

JENNY, OWEN, AND DAFYTH.
Wynnes win! Hurrah! Wynhavod for the Wynnes!

MOSTYN.
Wynnes win good friends, and holding for another
Lands which they once let waste from out their grasp,
I win my share in them to nobler purpose,
And liker that of Wynnes who won it first,
Than those who boast of ownership where tenure
Implies no service; when young athletes use
The strength of feebler folk without return,
And grown men sport away their lives unblushing.
I am content to hold the land which Wynnes
Have won—and lost—alone by Love and Labour.