The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson – Swanston Edition. Volume 15

Austin. No, no; not too late: not too late for penitence, not too late for love.

Dorothy. Which do you propose? that I should abuse your compassion, or reward your treachery? George Austin, I have been your mistress, and I will never be your wife.

Austin. Child, dear child, I have not told you all: there is worse still: your brother knows; the boy as good as told me. Dorothy, this is scandal at the door – O let that move you: for that, if not for my sake, for that, if not for love, trust me, trust me again.

Dorothy. I am so much the more your victim: that is all, and shall that change my heart? The sin must have its wages. This, too, was done long ago: when you stooped to lie to me. The shame is still mine, the fault still yours.

Austin. Child, child, you kill me: you will not understand. Can you not see? the lad will force me to a duel.

Dorothy. And you will kill him? Shame after shame, threat upon threat. Marry me, or you are dishonoured; marry me, or your brother dies: and this is man’s honour! But my honour and my pride are different. I will encounter all misfortune sooner than degrade myself by an unfaithful marriage. How should I kneel before the altar, and vow to reverence as my husband you, you who deceived me as my lover?

Austin. Dorothy, you misjudge me cruelly; I have deserved it. You will not take me for your husband; why should I wonder? You are right. I have indeed filled your life with calamity: the wages, ay, the wages, of my sin are heavy upon you. But I have one more thing to ask of your pity; and O remember, child, who it is that asks it: a man guilty in your sight, void of excuse, but old, and very proud, and most unused to supplication. Dorothy Musgrave, will you forgive George Austin?

Dorothy. O George!

Austin. It is the old name: that is all I ask, and more than I deserve. I shall remember, often remember, how and where it was bestowed upon me for the last time. I thank you, Dorothy, from my heart; a heart, child, that has been too long silent, but is not too old, I thank God! not yet too old to learn a lesson and to accept a reproof. I will not keep you longer: I will go – I am so bankrupt in credit that I dare not ask you to believe in how much sorrow. But, Dorothy, my acts will speak for me with more persuasion. If it be in my power, you shall suffer no more through me: I will avoid your brother; I will leave this place, I will leave England, to-morrow; you shall be no longer tortured with the neighbourhood of your ungenerous lover. Dorothy, farewell!

SCENE VIII

Dorothy; to whom, Anthony, L

Dorothy (on her knees and reaching with her hands). George, George! (Enter Anthony.)

Anthony. Ha! what are you crying for?

Dorothy. Nothing, dear. (Rising.)

Anthony. Is Austin going to marry you?

Dorothy. I shall never marry.

Anthony. I thought as much. You should have come to me.

Dorothy. I know, dear, I know; but there was nothing to come about.

Anthony. It’s a lie. You have disgraced the family. You went to John Fenwick: see what he has made of it. But I will have you righted: it shall be atoned in the man’s blood.

Dorothy. Anthony! And if I had refused him?

Anthony. You? refuse George Austin? You never had the chance.

Dorothy. I have refused him.

Anthony. Dorothy, you lie. You would shield your lover; but this concerns not you only: it strikes my honour and my father’s honour.

Dorothy. I have refused him – refused him, I tell you – refused him. The blame is mine; are you so mad and wicked that you will not see?

Anthony. I see this: that man must die.

Dorothy. He? never! You forget, you forget whom you defy; you run upon your death.

Anthony. Ah, my girl, you should have thought of that before. It is too late now.

Dorothy. Anthony, if I beg you – Anthony, I have tried to be a good sister; I brought you up, dear, nursed you when you were sick, fought for you, hoped for you, loved you – think of it, think of the dear past, think of our home and the happy winter nights, the castles in the fire, the long shining future, the love that was to forgive and suffer always – O you will spare, you will spare me this.

Anthony. I will tell you what I will do, Dolly: I will do just what you taught me – my duty: that, and nothing else.

Dorothy. O Anthony, you also, you to strike me! Heavens, shall I kill them – I – I, that love them, kill them! Miserable, sinful girl! George, George, thank God, you will be far away! O go, George, go at once!

Anthony. He goes, the coward! Ay, is this more of your contrivance? Madam, you make me blush. But to-day at least I know where I can find him. This afternoon, on the Pantiles, he must dance attendance on the Duke of York. Already he must be there; and there he is at my mercy.

Dorothy. Thank God, you are deceived: he will not fight. He promised me that; thank God, I have his promise for that.

Anthony. Promise! Do you see this? (producing necklace) the thing he bribed your maid with? I shall dash it in his teeth before the Duke and before all Tunbridge. Promise, you poor fool? what promise holds against a blow? Get to your knees and pray for him; for, by the God above, if he has any blood in his body, one of us shall die before to-night. (He goes out.)

Dorothy. Anthony, Anthony!.. O my God, George will kill him.

(Music: “Chè farò” as the drop falls.)

Musical Induction: “Gavotte,” Iphigénie en Aulide, Gluck

ACT IV

The Stage represents the Pantiles: the alleys fronting the spectators in parallel lines. At the back, a stand of musicians, from which the “Gavotte” is repeated on muted strings. The music continues nearly through Scene I. Visitors walking to and fro beneath the limes. A seat in front, L.

SCENE I

Miss Foster, Barbara, Menteith; Visitors

Miss Foster (entering; escorted by Menteith, and followed by Barbara). And so, Menteith, here you are once more. And vastly pleased I am to see you, my good fellow, not only for your own sake, but because you harbinger the Beau. (Sits, L., Menteith standing over her.)

Menteith. Honoured madam, I have had the pleasure to serve Mr. George for more than thirty years. This is a privilege – a very great privilege. I have beheld him in the first societies, moving among the first rank of personages; and none, madam, none outshone him.

Barbara. I assure you, madam, when Mr. Menteith took me to the play, he talked so much of Mr. Austin that I couldn’t hear a word of Mr. Kean.

Miss Foster. Well, well, and very right. That was the old school of service, Barbara, which you would do well to imitate. – This is a child, Menteith, that I am trying to form.

Menteith. Quite so, madam.

Miss Foster. And are we soon to see our princely guest, Menteith?

Menteith. His Royal Highness, madam? I believe I may say quite so. Mr. George will receive our gallant prince upon the Pantiles (looking at his watch) in, I should say, a matter of twelve minutes from now. Such, madam, is Mr. George’s order of the day.

Barbara. I beg your pardon, madam, I am sure, but are we really to see one of His Majesty’s own brothers? That will be pure! O madam, this is better than Carlisle.

Miss Foster. The wood-note wild: a loyal Cumbrian, Menteith.

Menteith. Eh? Quite so, madam.