plays [30]
Whatever it be, think that I knew it all, and only loved you
better; think that your true husband is with you, and you are not
to bear it alone.
MARY. My husband? . . . Never.
LESLIE. Mary . . . !
MARY. You forget, you forget what I am. I am his sister. I owe
him a lifetime of happiness and love; I owe him even you. And
whatever his fault, however ruinous his disgrace, he is my
brother - my own brother - and my place is still with him.
LESLIE. Your place is with me - is with your husband. With me,
with me; and for his sake most of all. What can you do for him
alone? how can you help him alone? It wrings my heart to think
how little. But together is different. Together . . . . I join
my strength, my will, my courage to your own, and together we may
save him.
MARY. All that is over. Once I was blessed among women. I was
my father's daughter, my brother loved me, I lived to be your
wife. Now . . . . ! My father is dead, my brother is shamed;
and you . . . O how could I face the world, how could I endure
myself, if I preferred my happiness to your honour?
LESLIE. What is my honour but your happiness? In what else does
it consist? Is it in denying me my heart? is it in visiting
another's sin upon the innocent? Could I do that, and be my
mother's son? Could I do that, and bear my father's name? Could
I do that, and have ever been found worthy of you?
MARY. It is my duty . . . my duty. Why will you make it so hard
for me? So hard, Walter so hard!
LESLIE. Do I pursue you only for your good fortune, your beauty,
the credit of your friends, your family's good name? That were
not love, and I love you. I love you, dearest, I love you.
Friend, father, brother, husband . . . I must be all these to
you. I am a man who can love well.
MARY. Silence . . . in pity! I cannot . . . . O, I cannot bear
it.
LESLIE. And say it was I who had fallen. Say I had played my
neck and lost it . . . that I were pushed by the law to the last
limits of ignominy and despair. Whose love would sanctify my
jail to me? whose pity would shine upon me in the dock? whose
prayers would accompany me to the gallows? Whose but yours?
Yours! . . . And you would entreat me - me! - to do what you
shrink from even in thought, what you would die ere you attempted
in deed!
MARY. Walter . . . on my knees . . . no more, no more!
LESLIE. My wife! my wife! Here on my heart! It is I that must
kneel . . . I that must kneel to you.
MARY. Dearest! . . . . Husband! You forgive him? O, you
forgive him?
LESLIE. He is my brother now. Let me take you to our father.
Come.
SCENE IV
After a pause, BRODIE, through the window
BRODIE. Saved! And the alibi! Man, but you've been near it
this time - near the rope, near the rope. Ah boy, it was your
neck, your neck you fought for. They were closing hell-doors
upon me, swift as the wind, when I slipped through and shot for
heaven! Saved! The dog that sold me, I settled him; and the
other dogs are staunch. Man, but your alibi will stand! Is the
window fast? The neighbours must not see the Deacon, the poor,
sick Deacon, up and stirring at this time o' night. Ay, the good
old room in the good, cozy old house . . . and the rat a dead
rat, and all saved. (HE LIGHTS THE CANDLES.) Your hand shakes,
sir? Fie! And you saved, and you snug and sick in your bed, and
it but a dead rat after all? (HE TAKES OFF HIS HANGER AND LAYS
IT ON THE TABLE.) Ay, it was a near touch. Will it come to the
dock? If it does! You've a tongue, and you've a head, and
you've an alibi; and your alibi will stand. (HE TAKES OFF HIS
COAT, TAKES OUT THE DAGGER, AND WITH A GESTURE OF STRIKING)
Home! He fell without a sob. 'He breaketh them against the
bosses of his buckler!' (LAYS THE DAGGER ON THE TABLE.) Your
alibi . . . ah Deacon, that's your life! . . . your alibi, your
alibi. (HE TAKES UP A CANDLE AND TURNS TOWARDS THE DOOR.) O!
. . . Open, open, open! judgment of God, the door is open!