Stephen Archer, and Other Tales

Ger. Nonsense! You couldn't help it. You're not to blame one bit.

Con. Oh, yes, I am! I ought to have asked you first. But indeed I did not know you would care. Good-bye.—Shall I go at once?

Ger. Good-bye. (Exit CON., looking back troubled.) Come at last! Oh fool! fool! fool! In love with her at last!—and too late! For three years I haven't seen her—have not once written to her! Since I came back I've seen her just twice,—and now in the very hell of love! The ragged little darling that used to lie coiled up there in that corner! If it were my sister, it would be hard to lose her so! And to such a fellow as that!—not even a gentleman! How could she take him for one! That does perplex me! Ah, well! I suppose men have borne such things before, and men will bear them again! I must work! Nothing but work will save me. (Approaches the Psyche, but turns from it with a look of despair and disgust.) What a fool I have been!—Constance! Constance!—A brute like that to touch one of her fingers! God in heaven! It will drive me mad. (Rushes out, leaving the door open.)

Enter COL. GERVAISE.

Col. G. Gone again! and without his breakfast! My poor boy! There's something very wrong with you! It's that girl! It must be! But there's conscience in him yet!—It is all my fault. If I had been a father to him, this would never have happened.—If he were to marry the girl now?—Only, who can tell but she led him astray? I have known such a thing. (Sits down and buries his face in his hands.)

Enter WATERFIELD.

Wat. Is Mr. Gervaise in?

Col. G. (rising) No, sir.

Wat. Tell him I called, will you? [Exit.]

Col. G. Yes, sir.—Forgot again. Young man;—gentleman or cad?—don't know; think the latter.

Enter THOMAS.

Th. Han yo heard speyk ov mo chylt yet, sir?

Col. G. (starting up). In the name of God, I know nothing of your child; but bring her here, and I will give you a hundred pounds—in golden sovereigns.

Th. Hea am aw to fot her yere, when I dunnot know wheer hoo be, sir?

Col. G. That's your business. Bring her, and there will be your money.

Th. Dun yo think, sir, o' the gouden suverings i' th' Bank ov England would put a sharper edge on mo oud eighes when they look for mo lass? Eh, mon! Yo dunnot know the heart ov a feyther—ov the feyther ov a lass-barn, sir. Han yo kilt and buried her, and nea be yo sorry for't? I' hoo be dead and gwoan, tell mo, sir, and aw'll goo whoam again, for mo oud lass be main lonesome beout mo, and we'll wait till we goo to her, for hoo winnot coom no moor to us.

Col. G. For anything I know, your daughter is alive and well. Bring her here, I say, and I will make you happy.

Th. Aw shannot want thes or thi silverings either to mak mo happy then, maister. Iv aw hed a houd o' mo lass, it's noan o' yere aw'd be a coomin' wi' her. It's reet streight whoam to her mother we'd be gooin', aw'll be beawn. Nay, nay, mon!—aw'm noan sich a greight foo as yo tak mo for.

Exit. COL. G. follows him. Enter. GER. Sits down before the Psyche, but without looking at her.

Ger. Oh those fingers! They are striking terrible chords on my heart! I will conquer it. But I will love her. The spear shall fill its own wound. To draw it out and die, would be no victory. "I'll but lie down and bleed awhile, and then I'll rise and fight again." Brave old Sir Andrew!

Enter COL. G.

Col. G. I beg your pardon, sir—a young man called while you were out.

Ger. (listlessly). Very well, William.

Col. G. Is there any message, if he calls again, sir? He said he would.

Ger. No. (COL. G. lingers.) You can go.

Col. G. I hope you feel better, sir?

Ger. Quite well.

Col. G. Can I get you anything, sir?

Ger. No, thank you; I want nothing.—Why do you stay?

Col. G. Can't you think of something I can do for you, sir?

Ger. Fetch that red cloth.

Col. G. Yes, sir.

Ger. Throw it over that—

Col. G. This, sir?

Ger. No, no—the clay there. Thank you. (A knock at the door.) See who that is.

Col. G. Are you at home, sir?

Ger. That depends. Not to Mr. Waterfield. Oh, my head! my head! [Exit COL. G.

Enter CONSTANCE. GER. starts, but keeps his head leaning on his hand.

Con. I forgot to say to you, Arthur,—. But you are ill! What is the matter, dear Arthur?

Ger. (without looking up) Nothing—only a headache.

Con. Do come home with me, and let aunt and me nurse you. Don't be vexed with me any more. I will do whatever you like. I couldn't go home without seeing you again. And now I find you ill!

Ger. Not a bit. I am only dreadfully busy. I must go out of town. I am so busy! I can't stay in it a moment longer. I have so many things to do.

Con. Mayn't I come and see you while you work? I never used to interrupt you. I want so to sit once more in my old place. (Draws a stool towards him.)

Ger. No, no—not—not there! Constance used to sit there. William!

Con. You frighten me, Arthur!

Enter COL. G.

Ger. Bring a chair, William.

Constance sits down like a chidden child. Exit COL. G.

Con. I must have offended you more than I thought, Arthur! What can I say? It is so stupid to be always saying I am sorry.

Ger. No, no. But some one may call.