LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 Shel^^3lJV338r 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
THE 
 
 ENVOYE of ARTOIS. 
 
 18 8 0. 
 
 
 
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 $k-Mr*<* fe r^J - ' ] r 
 
 
 
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 Lni 
 
 m 
 
 THE 
 
 ENVOYE of ART 01 S 
 
 yV JrAGIC fLAY IN JlVZ JACTP, 
 
 BY J. A. J. NE AFIE 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 
 PLAINDEALER STEAM PRINTING ESTABLISHMENT, 
 1517 Third Avenue, 
 

 ENTERED 
 
 According to Act of Congress , June 14th, 1880,, by the author, in the office- 
 
 of the Librarian of Congress, at the City of 
 
 Washington, D. C, U. S. A. 
 
 ALL RICHTS RESERVFD. 
 
 TMPSb-006875 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The thought, from which was evolved the story told in this play, 
 took its rise in a circumstance which really occurred many years ago; 
 the salient points of which were briefly these : A pure and noble 
 wife, had been wrongfully accused and was deserted by her husband. 
 This unsettled her reason. A brief time elapsed when she wandered 
 from her home, to a rocky precipice, overlooking a " Falls " and there, 
 either fell or leaped into the chasm below, where her body was 
 found. It was for a time, suspected that her husband had met, and 
 enticed her to the cliff, and thrust her off. This, however, was after- 
 wards proved to be totally unfounded. The wife's entire purity became 
 fully established (but too late,) and the husband soon followed her 
 to the grave, dying of sheer broken heart. This was during my 
 boyhood, but the memory of it remained, as a deep impression. When 
 I arrived at man's estate, I became an actor, and soon, the general 
 plan of this play was " mapped " out, and some of the scenes were, 
 (though very crudely) sketched. Becoming, however, more and more 
 occupied by the active duties of my glorious profession, these " Frag- 
 ments " were suffered to lie unfinished, with other of my 'Jottings 
 by the way." After a few years of profitable service and experience 
 (sometimes laborious, but never irksome) the Sun of a brighter 
 fortune broke upon me, and I became (in theatrical parlance), A 
 " Star." 
 
 Fairly launched upon this new and pleasanter sea, and wafted 
 onward by the genial breath of public favor, I came to feel a sort 
 of new ambition. I bethought me of those long neglected (well nigh 
 forgotten) sketches. I exhumed the " Fragments," and applying the 
 results of a solid experience to the task, completed what had been 
 so long left unfinished and re-wrote my play, as it now stands and 
 
 called it " HAROLDF." 
 
 Part of my purpose in penning these prefatory lines, is to explain 
 how it comes and why I have marked out the " stage directions." 
 
 Let it be reflected, that this play is the mature work of a practical 
 actor, who has learned by experience and therefore may presume to 
 know what engines to employ in order to produce certain desired re- 
 sults ; And, I have thought that such a course would materially help 
 my readers the better to realize the whole panorama of scenes charac- 
 ters and incidents, as they shall pass in review. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
HOW TO READ. 
 
 When you would real a letter, or other written, or printed 
 message, it is wise to first look at the signature, so — you will the 
 better understand the contents, by at once knowing who is talk- 
 ing to you. In all other compositions, the reverse is the rule. 
 Begin at the beginning, and never look at the ending, until you 
 arrive there by having read, carefully, every preceding line, in its 
 order. 
 
 Also, (and especially) ignore the author. If you fail to do this, 
 you are liable to one of two prejudices. If the writer be an old ac- 
 quaintance, your familiarity with him may cause you to doubt (in 
 advance) his ability to create a good work. Or — on the other hand, 
 your kindly regard for him, personally, may cause you to over- 
 value his effort. The first prejudice would be uujust to him ; 
 the second, would lead you into amiable error. 
 
 Old Essay. 
 
PERSONS OF THE PLAY 
 
 Haroi.de, TJu Envoye. 
 Valmonde, his pretended friend 
 Julien, Suitor to Rosamonde. 
 Le Roux, a ruined gamester 
 Baptists, father of the sisti rs. 
 Nicole, servant to Eleanor. 
 Notary, and Guests. 
 
 QEKEAVDJlCCOmplici of Valmonde 
 Landlord, oftlu "Auh rye." 
 Francois, a servant.- 
 Officer, of the guard. 
 
 Eleanor, wife of Harolde. 
 Rosamonde, her sisU r. 
 SCENE— Calais on the Coast of France. 
 
 Time, about 1600, A. D. 
 
 Exits and Entrances. 
 
 R. means right, L. left, C. centre. 2 E. second entrance, !3 E. third 
 entrance, dec. U. E. upper i id ranee. 
 
 Relative Positions. 
 
 R. right. L. left. C. centre. R. C. right of centre. L. C. left of 
 centre. 
 
 The reader is supposed to be on the stage, facing the audi- 
 
 torium. 
 
 Scexe Plot Signs. 
 
 1 G. means first groove. 2 G. second groove, &c. 
 
 Ihe length of time perhaps i't quired in the representation: 2 wo 
 hours and forty minutes. 
 
HAROLDE, 
 
 THE 
 
 ENVOYE OF ARTOIS. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I— (1. G.) Exterior of an inn, with the sign " Atjbtjrge," 
 over the door. A loud laugh heard within. Enter 
 Le Roux, from the Inn, {ragged), thrust out and 
 followed by the Landlord. 
 
 Landlord. 
 Out, fellow! Dost thou come hither begging, Eh '? Whining 
 for that which thou hast madly squandered at the Board ? 
 
 Le Rottx, 
 Drive me not hence, unsuccor'd, for want is heavy on me. I 
 ask not coin, but food. My wife— my child. 
 
 Landlord. 
 Hence, thriftless fool, nor dare again to haunt my doors, or I 
 will have thee lodged in closer limits. Hence, thou Dolt! 
 (Thrusts Mm off, L. H.) A witless gull— I'll teach him— (Turns, 
 bows low to Valmonde, who enters R. H.) 
 <iood morrow, gentle sir ; and welcome hither. 
 
H A R L D E . Aetu 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Like a true Landlord, to the guest that pays. 
 Who buys his welcome, ever is assured on't. 
 T know your trade. 
 
 Landlord. 
 And help to make it thrive ; 
 I thank you for 't. Will you not in? 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 Ere-while. 
 When saw you him, whose wont it was to seek me, 
 Here at this hour? 
 
 Landlord. 
 
 Not for some days past. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 That's strange. I look for letters at his hand, 
 Of weighty moment, (aside) I do fear the worst. 
 Fails he to check them now, and ruin follows. 
 (To him) Look ! you. When he comes, upon the instant 
 Let me be sent for here. 
 
 Landlord. 
 (Pointing L.) Is not this he? 
 
 Valmon de. 
 It is. Your leave — We'll taste your cheer anon. 
 
 (Exit Landlord to Inn. Enter Gereatjd L. H.) 
 Now, what hath held you hence, while I am torn 
 'Twixt hope and fear ? 
 
 Gereatjd. 
 Your own affairs, believe me; 
 Fix'd at my post, nor ate, nor slept from thence. 
 Each new arrival have I boarded still, 
 As I had been an officer O'the Customs ; 
 Yet nothing found of late, until to day, 
 When this sole letter, like the rest directed, 
 Fell to my hand. (Gives letter.) 
 
H A R LD E 
 
 Valmonde. 
 (Reading) Ha— What is here ? Return — 
 
 I must be speedy then, — devise some means 
 Shall bring her tedious and too dangerious dalliance 
 To instant issue, or my dearest ends 
 Suffer defeat forever. Look ! — this letter, 
 By some mischance, delayed beyond its due, 
 A month at least, threatens his speedy coming — 
 E'en with the hoar. The day past all is over. 
 
 Gereaud. 
 Sir, will you pardon me — I know not yet — 
 What purpose, pray you, took this Harolde hence, 
 A.nd hath detained him ? 
 
 Valmonde. 
 This. Some three years since ; 
 As one — the best reputed here in Calais, 
 He, on commercial service, went abroad, 
 Commissioned by the State, to re-ajust 
 With foreign Courts the balances of trade. 
 This scarce dispatched — an illness fell upon him: 
 He was reported dead. Though false the rumor, 
 I compassed means to make it well believed. 
 His letters, thitherto I rendered safe ; 
 But from that instant, all, thus intercepted, 
 Have I destroyed, yet answered, as from her — 
 Feigning her name and hand, preventing thus — 
 In him, all hint of wrong. His health restored ; 
 His absence was prolong'd by new commissions — 
 I secretly obtained and sent to him. 
 His wife and kin, have I, by fresh inventions, 
 Held from all form of inquest, save through me ; 
 "Who, as their closest friend, did seem most fit 
 To interpose inquiry. 
 
 Gereatjd. 
 
 As you guess — 
 How stands your suit toward her ? 
 
10 HAROLDE 
 
 tot ■ I. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 Faith — with the wind, 
 And with a flowing sail — the port in view. 
 Though she be coy, and whine unceasingly 
 For this adventurous, fortune-seeking gull ; 
 Yet, her old father, (who, before their match, 
 Favored that I should wed her), friends and kin, 
 Now, well convinced that Harolde is in heaven, 
 All ply her to my purpose. 
 
 Gereaud. 
 
 Might you not, 
 On some pretence, bring her to speedy nuptials, 
 Ere he, not arrived, can fall upon us ? 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Aptly advised. I will invoke their aid — 
 That she shall yield her plight, ere tbe day close. 
 Haste you and board each import — If he come ; 
 Cross him — delay him ; and by some device 
 Check his approach : 'bove all — advise me straight, 
 Of when he touches land. Pause not — away. 
 
 Gereaud. 
 I shall not fail you sir. {Exit L. H. 
 Valmonde. 
 Now, to my love — 
 There woo, where 1 do hate : Wed for revenge. 
 Then — let him come. This marriage consummate, 
 Not all the rhetoric of her pleading- tears — 
 Shall heal the breach, or melt him back to love. {Exit R. H. 
 
 SCENE II— (3. G.) A richly furnished apartment in the house of 
 B artiste. A table and chair far up R & L. centre 
 doors open. Enter Eleanor and Rosamonds. C. 
 from R. 
 
 Rosamonde. (R. C.) 
 
 No tidings say'st thou of our brother yet — 
 
 Nor word of this delay ? 
 
. .- H AROLDE. 11 
 
 Scene ». 
 
 Eleanor. (L. C.) 
 
 No — sister, none, 
 In sooth, I 'gin to weary of the world ; 
 And but for thee, my merry Rosamonde, 
 Wbo make'st me look upon the brighter side 
 Of circumstance, cheering me still with hope; 
 I fear me, life perforce were burthensome — 
 Thus widowed, ere well-wed. 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 
 Such vridow hood 
 Why wilt thou tamely brook ? Thou mew'st thyself 
 Here in this lonely cloister of a house, 
 Like some repentant nun, whose heavy sin, 
 Had buried her in youth— a living corpse. 
 May I do this ? Not I ! And now, well thought — 
 'Tie said, the gallant Valmonde hath of late 
 Renewed his early suit. Is't so, my sister? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 He bath, indeed, and fairly grounds his plea, 
 Upon the certainty of Harolde's death. 
 Ah— me, that thought — (w< t ps). 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 
 Come, cheer thee, smila again ; 
 And mid the circle of our happy friends- 
 Banish thy sorrow. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Nay — it is vain ; I cannot. 
 My heart is consecrated to its first : 
 No second love can find a harbor here. 
 If Harolde be no more, bis memory then 
 Must ever hold succession, and henceforth — 
 I am the bride of death. (goes over to R. 0.) 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 And wed no more? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Oh, wherefore should I so? To give my hand, 
 With heart, thus ever closed against a love, 
 
12 HAROLDE 
 
 That well deserves return. My husband — Harolde — 
 What fate perverse divides us thus ? Oh ! yet, 
 I cling convulsive (like some drowning wretch 
 That grasps a straw to buoy him on the sea), 
 Still to that hope, how mad and wild soe'er, 
 That this black night of tears, doth but fore-run 
 A happier morn, when we shall meet again. 
 
 Turns sadly up stage, and meets Baptiste who enters 
 C. from R. They converse. 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 If this be love, pray heaven that I may ne'er 
 
 Become the blind boy's target ! Constancy — 
 
 What is 't ? — Imprisonment — All sighs and tears ; 
 
 The heart a citadel, whose lord, though hence 
 
 For years must hold the keys forsooth, and thus 
 
 Keep close barr'd gates upon it, and though he 
 
 Ne'er re-inhabit it, no other must. 
 
 And thus it withers, crumbles, and at last 
 
 Falls to decay from very lack of use. 
 
 If e'er I marry, let my husband mind 
 
 He spends his time at home, and leaves me not 
 
 To any green and forced widow-hood, 
 
 Lest so — the citadel prove not impregnable. 
 
 Nay, if indeed a widow in my youth, 
 
 The better proves the first, the sooner I — 
 
 Strive to replace the loss of such a boon. 
 
 The worse the first b? found, the sooner then, 
 
 I seek to heal my fortune with a better. (Exit L. H.) 
 
 Baptiste an I Eleanor come forward. 
 
 Baptiste. (R. C.) 
 What I have said, I urge but on the ground 
 Of Harolde's sure decease ; that is most certain. 
 Else wherefore is it, that for three whole years, 
 No word of his hath reached us ? Almost daily 
 Are had due posts, e'en from the very ports 
 Where-to he bent his voyage. Valmonde loves thee ; 
 E'en now he pray'd my leave to wait upon thee. 
 Let us not see thee pine in solitude, 
 
HAROLDE. 
 
 •Scene 2. 
 
 18 
 
 But greet his love, and thus repair the link, 
 
 Which hath too long been severed 'twist the world 
 
 And thy young lite. 
 
 Eleanor. (L- C.) 
 Tis fitly reason'd ; yes — 
 
 Wholesome, and well directed the intent. 
 
 Mv husband's dead-at last I own belief; 
 I am a wife no longer, but thy daughter. 
 As in my childhood days, thy word dear father- 
 Fraught with its holy influence, was still 
 My truest counsellor, so now, as then, 
 At thy behest I will unlock my heart 
 If Valmonde plead again : Though, from my soul, 
 I would his love might seek a worthier object, 
 And sue no more to me. 
 
 BArTISTE. 
 
 Yet bear in mind, 
 I but advise for thy maturer good. 
 
 Look in thy heart, and let thy course in this PnaiMONt)K 
 
 Find there its guide. Exit R. I. B. as Jdlten and Rosamonds 
 enter gaily C. from L. 
 
 JULIEN. (C.) 
 
 I wish thee well, dear madam 
 My spirits now are high, and I may tell thee, 
 Thy sister here — 
 
 ROSAMONDE. (L. C.) 
 
 (Ticitching his sleeve.) Hush ! 'Tis a secret yet. 
 Julien. (persisting.) 
 Thy sister here — 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 Wilt hush ? 
 
 Eleanor. (R. C.) 
 
 Nay, let him speak. 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 Why let him speak ? He knows not what he says. 
 I tell thee, hold thy peace. 
 
14 HAROLDE. Aetl . 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 I give thee leave. 
 And promise me, my friend. 
 
 JtTIilEN. 
 Say'st thou ? I'm safe. 
 She gives me promise, that whene'er thou wed'st, 
 That self-same hour shall make me happy too, 
 In her possession. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Thou hast been content 
 With slender hope, for that may never be. 
 
 Julien. 
 Oh, prythee, say not so. 
 
 R.OSAMONDE. 
 
 (Laughing.) It is thy chance. 
 
 Ihey retire, toying together. Enter Nicole L. H.- 
 Nicole. (Stolidly.) 
 Here's one below, desires to see you, madam. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Who it it, Master Nicole ? 
 
 Nicole. 
 Valmonde, madam. 
 My second master, will be. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 (Sternly) Sirrah — 
 
 JJ ICOLE. 
 (Startled) Madam t 
 
 Eleanor. 
 No words. 
 
 Nicole. 
 Not one. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 I'll see him here. 
 
Scenes HAROLDE. 15 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 I'll say so. Exit L. H. 
 
 Julien and Rosamonde, come down R. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Nay, go not, sister. 
 
 JULIEN. 
 
 Pardon us, dear lady: 
 But I have now, a question of some weight 
 To bring to issue ; for I dread the adage — 
 
 " There's many a slip, 
 
 'Twixt the cup and the lip," 
 And sad were my carriage — 
 If 'twixt this and our marriage, 
 Some demon should pop-in 
 With purpose of stopping 
 Our union, and lopping 
 The hope that I — 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 Silence — no more — I give thee promise now, 
 My hand is thine to claim, so thou deserv'st it. 
 
 Julien. 
 A bargaiD. Come ! Thy virgin days are o'er. 
 
 Exeunt Julien, Rosamonde, R. H. Enter Valmonde, L. H. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Thy servant, Madam. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Sir— The like to thee. 
 But wherefore dost thou use unneeded form ? 
 A friend less valu'd, might make bolder call. 
 And thou art ever welcome. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 Generous lady— 
 I thank thee heartily, but fear'd to hazard 
 So priz'd a greeting, which, it were to peril, 
 Lacking such courtesy. 
 
16 H A R L D E . Act L 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Again, most welcome, 
 As one, the nearest of our cherisli'd friends. 
 I will not here, affect an ignorance 
 Of thy true meaning, and I well divine, 
 The purport of thine errand. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 This noble kindness, 
 I estimate with fervent gratitude, 
 That thus thou read'st my purpose. My poor tongue, 
 Would fail me in its task, to plead a theme, 
 Whereon my life is poised. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Oh — yet forbear I 
 Why seek a hand — an empty barren hand, 
 That brings no heart along ? 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 Give me but that, 
 Thy hand and thine esteem — say not thy love, 
 Were boon more rich, than riches numberless, 
 Which having I lose thee. I am content 
 To spend my life in hope, though hopeless ever. 
 Oh — speak my fate ! 
 
 Eleanor. 
 I will not here waste words, 
 In that, which thou so oit hast drawn from me — 
 Avowal that my heart is dead to love. 
 Yet — if esteem, coupled with due resolve, 
 To drive, if possible, from out my thought, 
 All that may wrong thy love, by harboring there— 
 My hand — is — thine. {Turns from Mm.) 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Oh — rapture, past all words. 
 Thus let me seal, upon thy hand— the bond 
 Which makes thee mine ; prouder in this possession 
 Than Ceasar, in his conquest of the world. 
 
 (Kisses her liand) 
 
,eene«. HAROLDE. IV 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Pray thee, now — leave me. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 Shall I disobey thee ? 
 I £o, and with the warrant of thy word, 
 Seek straight the notary, and have prepared 
 The precious contract, which confirms the gift. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 I am most passive — Even when thou wilt ; 
 But leave me — now. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 My heart will yet remain. Exit L. H. 
 Eleanor. 
 'Tis done ! Oh— Harolde— Husband, only love ; 
 If that thy spirit hovers o'er me now ; 
 Be judge, how absent is my heart from this — 
 And seal my pardon, as I say — farewell! 
 
 Sinks in chair R. C. The scene closes her in. 
 
 SCENE III— (2. G.) A wood. High rocks and trees. Enter Har- 
 olde R. 2. E. in travelling garb. 
 
 Harolde. 
 My native woods and venerable hills — 
 Scenes of my youth — Again I gaze upon ye! 
 Hail, huge and hoary mountains, that for ages — 
 To the rude war ot elements, have bare'd 
 Your hardy crests, unscathed, as yet, by all. 
 Ye grand old giants of antiquity — 
 And striving to o'ertop each other — how 
 Ye lift your lofty heads, with sapling beards 
 And knarled locks to heaven, bathing there — 
 In cloudy vapor, 'gainst that boundless arch I 
 Ye are, or old or new, for ye have stood 
 Uncounted cycles, and are still the same. 
 Now to my home. Oh — with what golden pictures, 
 My raptured fancy, paints the coming hour ! 
 
18 HAROLDE 
 
 Act I. 
 
 Who passes there ? I know that face — whose is it ? 
 I know him now. Enter Julien L. H. 
 
 Well met, friend. 
 
 Julien. 
 Passing him without recognition) So to you, 
 
 And salutation. 
 
 Harolde. 
 What — no more ? 
 
 Julien. 
 
 What else? 
 Who are you, Sir? 
 
 Habolde. 
 Nay — look, and answer thoul {Pause.) 
 "What — still a stranger? (aside) Am I then, so chang'd? 
 Now heaven forfend, like greeting waits me not 
 From dearer hands 1 Is this my welcome home ? 
 The soil of travel, and the hronze of time 
 Obscures the trace of friends. Give me thy hand, 
 And know me Julien. (Doffs Ms hat.) 
 
 Julien. 
 Harolde? 
 
 Harolde. 
 (They clasp hands) He, thy brother. 
 
 Julien. 
 We long have deem'd thee dead. Oh — speak, how is it ? 
 
 Harolde. 
 Let that suffice anon. How doth my wife ? 
 For joy and hope and fear, and fondest longing 
 Hold fierce contention. Tell me how she doth. 
 
 Julien. 
 Much were't thou needed, and art timely come ; 
 For lacking letters, all believ'd thee dead ; 
 And after long entreaty, on the part 
 Of Valmonde, thy close friend, and (more than this.) 
 Her near'st of kin, she hath, at last consented 
 To be his wife. 
 
« .- HAROLDE. 1U 
 
 Scene <i. 
 
 Hakolue. 
 Ha — Like a thunderbolt, 
 That word hath pierc'd my heart, and in that realm, 
 Where all, but now was life, all now is death. 
 Have I return'd lor this ? But where— when— how ? 
 Speak out the worst. 
 
 Jtjlien. 
 The notary , even now 
 Hath drawn the contract, which at fall of eve 
 Is to be signed ; then lose no time in words, 
 But rly to her, and thus prevent, at once, 
 An act, be sure she loathes. 
 
 Harolde. 
 (A brief pa me.) Not so— not so. 
 
 I fain would witness, (yet, unknown to ail) 
 This ceremony, and by her demeanor 
 Thus fairly judge, if this be with her will — 
 A free consent. If 'tis, why, then farewell 
 To every tie of life, aud welcome death. 
 
 JULIEN. 
 What is thy drift ? 
 
 Harolde. 
 No — matter — but. I charge thee, 
 By all our brotherhood, thou breath'st no word 
 Of my approach, until thou hast my leave. 
 
 Julien. 
 I pledge my faith to this. 
 
 Harolde. 
 I thank theemoWj 
 Show me this notary , for I must see him : 
 Then leave me, and return. 
 
 Julien. 
 'Tis here, at hand. 
 
 Exeunt R. H. 
 
20 HAROLDE. Aetn 
 
 SCENE IV.— (4. G.) The library in the house of Baptiste. Centre 
 doors open. Table and chairs R. and L. of C. 
 Writing materials on L. Table, Books, &c. Eleanor 
 seated at L. Table; Baptiste, near her, and Val- 
 jiosde conversing with guests. Rosamonde at R. 
 table. Julien, near her. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 
 Come— look more cheerly : smile upon the hour, 
 Which may bring happiness without a cloud. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 I cannot smile, yet— what I must, I will 
 Without pursuasion more. Tis for my weal, 
 And thou know'st best. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 I think it, from my soul. 
 The time shall come, when back upon this eve, 
 Thy memory shall turn with joy unmix'd, 
 As that, which drew thee back again to life, 
 And so brought peace to me. (Bell rings.) 
 
 Enter Nicole C. from R. 
 
 Now Sir — who is it? 
 
 Nicole. 
 The notary and clerk. (Eleanor starts up.) 
 
 Baptiste. 
 We wait them here. 
 
 Nicole. 
 fll say so. (Exit C. off R.) 
 
 JULIEN. 
 
 (Observing Eleanor) Heaven ! what a shock was there. 
 Go to thy sister. Look— she seems not well. 
 
 Rosamonde goes to Eleanor L. of C. who has come 
 forwa/i'd. Enter Notary C. from L. follow'd by 
 11akoj.de, disguis'd as clerk. 
 
HAROLDE. 21 
 
 Scene 4. 
 
 Notary. 
 Tour pardon, sir. I've brought this gentleman, 
 (Sometime a scrivener in my service) here 
 To serve as witness. 
 
 Baptiste, 
 He is welcome with yon. 
 Notary sits at back of L. Table. Harlode at R. Table. 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 Why sister, what a sigh : and that pale cheek 
 Betokens keenest grief. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Tis nothing — No. 
 The novelty and suddenness of this, 
 Might give a paleness to a rougher cheek. 
 Within this hour, do I not resign 
 The treasured memory of him, who was — 
 Is, ever must be, undetlrroned liege 
 Of my true heart. E'en in the grave- 
 Where he, at once its kiug and idol lies, 
 Be that as distant as the farthest point 
 Of earth's extended regions ; even there — 
 My love lies bury'd, ne'er to be exhum'd 
 While matter doth exist. 
 
 Haroi/de. 
 (Apart) What do I hear? 
 
 Oh, sense, betray me not, but let mine ears 
 Drink deep of that loved voice. Oh ! let me quaff 
 The nectar of tliose tones, that bear me back 
 To brighter days of joy ! 
 
 Notary. 
 Sir, by your leave, 
 If now there be no bar to our proceeding, 
 The evening wears, while in this worthy preseno© 
 In terms specific is the contract drawn — 
 Waiting acknowledgement. 
 
22 HAROLDE. A cti. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 
 There is no bar. 
 My daughter, come. 
 
 Harolde. 
 (Aside.) Hold, heart. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 All is prepar'dL 
 Give me the pen, that I, with heart too full 
 Of this blest hour, may sign the gentle scroll. 
 (Signs.) Now lady, yours. 
 
 Harolde. 
 (Apart.) My life is on the die: 
 
 What is the cast 1 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Give me thy pardon, lady; 
 And let my love, excuse my seeming haste. 
 All is in waiting for thy signature— 
 'Tending thy leisure. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 My husband, now, forever— 
 I bid farewell to thee. If thourt in heaven 
 Oh, let thy spirit look in pity down, 
 And smile forgiveness, on my present act. 
 Or if thou livest, may all elements, 
 Fire, earth, air, water, all combine at once 
 And bear thee back to me, 'ere yet the last 
 And fatal consummation of this deed 
 Shall rend all link between us. &he goes to L. Table. 
 
 Harolde. 
 (Springs forward R.) Eleanor I 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 What sound is in mine ears? 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Thy husband's voice. 
 
H A R L D E. 
 
 23 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 My Husband — tliou — 
 
 Harolde. 
 (Ihrows of disguise.) Aye, look upon me dearest — 
 
 He, that stern (ate, Lath separated thus, 
 From thee, thou Empress of my loyal soul ; 
 Way-worn with travel, but with bounding heart, 
 Is here to claim thee — Eleanor — my wile! 
 
 liny Embrace C. The other characters advance either side. 
 
 DISPOSITION. 
 
 Harolde. Eleanor. 
 
 rosamonde. e-apttste. 
 
 Julien. Rapid Curtain, Valmonde. 
 
 END OF THE 
 FIRST ACT. 
 
ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— A street (1. G.) Enter Valmonde, E. H. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 The fiend hath aided him ! The very hour, 
 "When sure fulfillment seemed to crown my hopes, 
 And all was in my grasp ; he, in a breath, 
 Shivers my labor'd fabric to the ground I 
 How hath it chanced that he escaped our watch? 
 Awake my wits 1 spend not the present hour — 
 To mourn the luckless past, but grasp the future 1 
 The paroxism of their joy is o'er ; 
 Their second honey-moon, shall wane ere long — 
 A calm succeed the storm. My plan is ta'en, 
 And ripe for execution. But one card, 
 To make complete my hand — the game is mine. 
 
 Gereaud. 
 (Outside L. H.) Away — I've nothing for thee, leave me, fellow — 
 Hold off thy hand. Enter Gereaud L. H, 
 
 Valmonde. 
 (Angrily) Now — Sirrah, art thou here? 
 Thou'st kept a wary eye ; I am thy debtor. 
 Why dost thou seek me now ? 
 
 Gereaud. 
 
 For I have heard 
 Already, from the tongues of busy rumor, 
 Word of the strange, and all unlooked for coming— 
 Of this same masking husband, who bath slipped 
 Our joint and sleepless vigils — Now to ask 
 If all ends here ? Not so — how I may still 
 Devote my service to thee. 
 
HAROLDE. 25 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 Mark me then, 
 I need an instrument — a realy tool, 
 "Who would not scruple to enact a part 
 That I should set him down. With such a one, 
 This my defeat, should turn to victory. 
 
 Gereatjd. 
 If it may fall within my proper trust, 
 I frankly crave the task. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 Aye — but there seems 
 Grave hint of danger here. For sometime past, 
 It is ton broadly known that thou hast been 
 A close dependant on me. T :is may give 
 Ground for some shrewd suspicion of myself. 
 Tiiis may not be. I still must be most ch ar— 
 Loud in my censure ot this subtle knave 
 To give't the show I need. 
 
 Gerkatjd. 
 
 Then sir, if one— 
 Of qivck and crafty wit — an apt address, 
 Yet one so sunk, and desperate in his need, 
 He would, for money, coin his very soul ; 
 He fell upon me here, imploring food 
 Like to a madman, till I struck him from me, 
 And left him on the road. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Bat who was this? 
 
 Gekkaud. 
 He's called Le Rotjx. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 , What he? I know him well ; 
 
 The man A all the world. His household goods 
 Now on the point of seizure. Seek him out, 
 
26 HAROLDE, 
 
 From this full purse (give purse) replenish his low means, 
 
 Upon condition that he serves my will. 
 
 Robe him in rich attire, and bring him quickly 
 
 To where we may confer, 
 
 Geheaud. 
 Count it as done. Exit L. H.) 
 
 Valmon dk. 
 Now for the scene— the hour — and all is mine. 
 
 (Exit R. H.) 
 
 SCENE II. — (Full depth of stage). Garden of Baptiste's house. 
 Arbour U. E. L. Rustic seat R. C. Flower Vase 
 C. House and large porch with steps U. E. R. En- 
 ter Harolde and Eleanor, at back from L. of 
 Vase. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 How fair this golden morn, beaming again 
 Upon the nighted past ; while the pure air 
 Breathes love in every sigh, heavy with odors 
 Of nature's own perfume. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Such was the hour, 
 In which I saw thee, rich in maiden bloom, 
 And own'd at once thy power. My thralled heart, 
 Like to a bird, beat a3 to burst its cage ; 
 Disdaining the confinement of these bars — 
 Flew straight to thee. And may our new-born loves, 
 Flow ever, in a deep — unrippled stream, 
 As sweet as 'tis profound. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 That tender prayer, 
 Shall find its ceaseless echo, in my heart — 
 Its orison for ever. Happy hour ! 
 Again, oh yet once more, 1 pray thee tell 
 The story of thy travels ; for indeed 
 
HAROLDE. 27 
 
 As thou discribest them, I do tread, in thought, 
 Those stranger lands with thee ; I hear the laugh 
 Of the gay throng, and seem to live a life- 
 Like to a glorious dream. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Thinkest thou I dwell 
 With pleasure on those scenes? No, on my soul I 
 The empty mockeries of pomp, to me 
 Were things unwelcome, which too rudely broke 
 The placid surface of my sea of thought 
 Where all my dreams, were of my home and thee. 
 How often have I fled those gorg ous nothings 
 And sought the summit of some promontory — 
 To stretch my eager gaze o'er the wide sea, 
 As if to reach my home, or catch perchance 
 Some word of thine, born on the amorous winds, 
 Which in their wanton theft, had snatch'd the music 
 Fresh from thy lip ; then— call upon thy name; 
 But mocking echo was my sole reply. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Oh— blissfull moment ! I shall love too madly 
 And surfeit thee with fondness— toy upon thee 
 "Until thou shun'st to hear me. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Never — never! 
 The earth shall sooner weary of the sun, 
 (Which is its light— its day— its radient life) 
 Than I of thee ! Bethink thee— Cau'st thou, love, 
 Glut and o'er swell great neptune's liquid world 
 The mighty deep, that stretches round this globe 
 Its broad and fluent girdle, but by dropping 
 Into its flood thy tears ? Even so— mine ears. 
 Could never drink to surfeit of the tones 
 Of thy loved voice. Tnen let me listen ever — 
 And to the music of its melting lay, 
 'Twere meet to pass to heaven. 
 
28 HAROLDE. 
 
 Act ii. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 What of earth — 
 So pure and holy sweet as wedded love ? 
 Yet, wilt thou not regard me, one o'er fond — 
 More fitting fresher years — unsober'd yet 
 By ripening time? 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 May we ne'er see that day— 
 That frosty day, when love hath lost its youth ; 
 But may our loves, know but one endless spring — 
 Ceaseless their verdure — as that glorious orb 
 That warms all thing-* to life, hath quenchless fire. 
 And be our lives, but one long breathing kiss — 
 Fading to death, in such oblivion. 
 
 Enter Baptiste, from the house. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 Ye toying laggards, must I ever find ye, 
 Skulking in corners ? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Nay, your pardon father ; 
 You shall not gage us yet. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 But I must drive ye. 
 Some needful preparations are at halt, 
 Waiting thy personal eye : and here within, 
 Valmonde attends to greet ye. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Say we come. 
 
 {Exit Baptiste, to Jiotise) 
 Let us obey this summons. Gem o'the earth — 
 That doth enrich the hand, which lacking thee, 
 Were poor with Croesus' wealth. Exeunt to house. 
 
 (Enter Julien and Rosamonde,/>w» arbour.) 
 
 Rosamonde. (L. C.) 
 
 Wilt thou persist ? 
 Why, what a plague's the man ! Vo more, I say . 
 What would'st thou have ? 
 
a , HAROLDE. 29 
 
 Scene 1. 
 
 JULIEN. R« C. 
 
 Dost ask ? Three times to day, 
 I've brought thee to a point, when like an eel 
 Thou slipp'st my fingers. Thou'rt an icicle, 
 That fire can never melt. 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 Dost thou complain? 
 Julien. 
 Is not this cruelty ; Cold— blooded wrong ? 
 Now pry thee smile — thou dost. 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 Well, if I do— 
 What's in a smile? 
 
 JULIEN. 
 
 My hope— My life ! 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 (Mockingly.) Oh— Dear! 
 
 Julien. 
 My gentle Rosamonde, heaven's choicest blessings 
 Pour thick upon thee ever, and thy path 
 Be strewn with fairest flowers. That bright smile 
 Play ever on thy lip. 'Tis like the sun, 
 Who, in his rich refulgence, blesses all 
 That have the hit to bask them 'neath his rays— 
 Thou angel sweet ! 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 Save me — what a strain is here I 
 Kind heaven grant thou hast not losts thy wits 
 That thus thou runnest wild. Such rhopsody 
 Came never from thy sane and sober brain. 
 'Tis sure thou'rt sun-struck, and excess of heat 
 Hath swelled the gaseous contents of the globe, 
 (Like air in bubbles, uttered from the pipes 
 Of sporting urchins) and the brittle skull 
 Thus overcharg'd, hath yielded, thence proceeds 
 This crazy volibility. 
 
30 H A R L D E . Aot «, 
 
 JULIEN. 
 
 Most true : 
 I suffer now the stroke from those twin suns 
 That glitter 'neatli thy brow, yet do I court 
 Their fiercest power and find within their beams 
 Heaven-born elysium. 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 Art thou not drunk? 
 
 JtJLIEN. 
 
 Aye truly ; 'wildered and intoxicate, 
 
 With the strong radience of thy sparkling eyes, 
 
 Beyond all cure, save I may quaff the nectar 
 
 Of thy balm-breathing lips. {Offers to kiss Tier.) 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 {Preventing him.) Tour pardon, sir — 
 
 I'm not your doctor yet. And if I were, 
 No patient is allowed to choose his < ure. 
 That's the physiciau's care. The cure you seek, 
 I fear would but enrage the malady, 
 Provoking fiercer fever, by the means 
 Meant to put out the fire. 
 
 Julien. 
 Be my leech, 
 I am thy patient and with patience wait 
 Thy sweet prescription ; Come — pronounce it straight. 
 Thy most impatient, patient, ] atiently 
 Prays to be told when thou'lt complete his cure. 
 'Tis in thy hand the magic power lies. 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 Right well delivered, and upon my life 
 A pretty speech. I pray where learned you that? 
 Speak it again. Yet no ; It would not sound 
 So well on repetition. He who wrote it, 
 Were wise indeed to burn the manuscript, 
 Lest it should grow too common. If you know him, 
 Commission him to write as much for me, 
 So speak my answer. 
 
Scene*. HAROLDE. 31 
 
 JULIEN. 
 
 Nay — I pry thee new— 
 I deal in earnest with thee. Jest no more; 
 But with a sadness, equal to mine own, 
 Give me appointment. 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 Art thou then — good sooth 
 In serious vein? Well then — as frankly I — 
 
 Julien. {Eagerly.) 
 
 Well— Thou— 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 {Simpering.) That is — I mean — 
 
 Julien. 
 
 Yes — 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 I— 
 
 Julien. 
 
 Well, speak! 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 I will sir, and I name next — 
 
 JULIEN. 
 
 Well— the day? 
 {Enter Valmonde and Baptiste/jvw the house) 
 
 Rosamonds. 
 I would but am prevented ; look — my father. 
 
 Julien. 
 The plague possess him ! {Crossing impatiently L.) 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 Sir— 
 Julien. 
 
 I beg your pardon ; 
 At such a time as this — I — 
 
32 HAROLDE, 
 
 Baptiste. (R. C.) 
 
 Come, tliou shrew ; 
 We have o'erheard this merry difference. 
 Julien hath claimed thee of me, on thy promise, 
 My heart runs oer consent, and with the morrow — 
 Ye shall not be your own, but each, the others. 
 
 JULIEN. 
 Thou hear'st — 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 I'll not. {Exeunt into arbour.) 
 
 Valmonde. 
 A happy day to all. {Crosses L.) 
 Baptiste. 
 Adieu the while, yet be not hence to morrow ; 
 For thou, of all our friends, we must not lack, 
 To grace our ceremony. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 I am bid 
 By Harolde and your daughter, whom but now, 
 I parted from. That day, of all the year, 
 Were fitly chosen, as to celebrate 
 Our voyagers return. 
 
 He-Enter Rosamonde and Julien from the arbour, toying. 
 
 Baptiste 
 Look, where she comes, 
 Chafing her lover, flying still the hunt, 
 For worlds she would not 'scape. Tarry and mark. 
 
 Rosamonde. (L. C.) 
 I vow I will not. Tease me not upon't, 
 Or I withdraw my promise. 
 
 Julien. (R. C.) 
 Rosamonde — 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 What, wed to morrow? The man is sure deranged. 
 No preparations made — no feast — no guests 
 Bid to th' occasion. 
 
HAROLDE. 33 
 
 Baptiste. 
 
 This will not serve to plead. 
 The preparations are already made : 
 The feast— the guests— and all necessities 
 Already toward. 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 
 This without my will ; 
 And like a lamb, I must be led to slaughter, 
 Whether I will or no. 
 
 Julien. 
 No ; to the altar, 
 Where ladies wish to go. I am the lamb ; 
 Thou hold'st me to the slaughter, to withhold 
 The dish must teed my life. Wilt see me starve f 
 I die without thee. 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 Call'st thou me a dish? 
 
 Julien. 
 Aye — for the gods most fit. 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 
 The gods forefend 
 To make of me a dish ? What yield thy liberty, 
 And lose thy free " career " in the gay world ? 
 
 Julien. 
 I lo3e to win — sweeter " career " at home. 
 Valmonde. 
 
 Most merry lady, you o'erfly his reach. 
 
 'Light where thou should'st, within his gentle swoop; 
 
 For while thy laughing spirit holds him off; 
 
 I know thy heart jumps with the general wish — 
 
 And thou art self-opposed. 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 All in the cry 1 
 Nay then, to cover, lest ye run me down, 
 I'm not your game to-day. 
 
 {Buns over to R. C. where Baptiste stops her.) 
 
34 HAROLDE. AotII . 
 
 Baptiste, 
 
 Stay ! who is here? 
 Enter Nicole, L. H. speaking in a monotone. 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 The notary is bid, and here at hand, with wig and spectacles, 
 pens, ink, and parchment, to plight my young mistress. The cur- 
 ate is warned, and sharpens his teeth, tor the feast, that is to follow 
 the wedding tomorrow. The fiddler gathers his train, all La in 
 ripeness, so let me pass, for I must in and stir the house to bustle. 
 
 {Exit into house.) 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 All this for me ? Then am I run to stand. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 Aye, flout no more ; Thine hour draws to hacd. 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 Fairly compell'd. Nay then, I'll brave my fate ; 
 So there's my hand, the earnest of the dish 
 That is to feed thy life. Corne — let us in. 
 But no " careering." — 
 
 Julien. 
 Save with thee at home. 
 
 {Exeunt gaily to the house.) 
 
 Valmonde. 
 A merry tempered lady. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 Come — your hand, 
 And let us follow them. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Your leave to day, 
 Some needful matters claim my care the while 
 But I am yours to morrow — so — adieu. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 Adieu, but fail us not. 
 
HAROLDE. 35 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 Oh — I am bound. 
 
 (Exit Baptists to house.) 
 
 Fail — quoth he ! Aye— it were to fail indeed, 
 
 If after labor ceaseless to o'ertbrow 
 
 Tbeir cup of joy, I leave them now in peace, 
 
 To quaff its sweets unshaken, and retire — 
 
 Like an obedient cur. Not so — fond husband. 
 
 Tby wife and thou my hate, and against both, 
 
 I here direct my battery of revenge. 
 
 This wedding- be my hour. This beggar serves me. 
 
 "Waiting my signal. Let these cooing doves, 
 
 Revel their hour of new-born, short lived bliss, 
 
 Their 'wildering day of love, shall close in night, 
 
 The darker from the brightness of its morn ! 
 
 Here, in my breast, doth burn a hell of hate, 
 
 More fierce — more raging and inexorable — 
 
 Than the vex'd sea, whose billows dash the sky. 
 
 (Exit L. H.) 
 
 Rapid Curtain, 
 
 END OF THE 
 SECOND ACT. 
 
ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — {Full depth of stage.) A large and splendid Salon, 
 brill iii nth/ lighted. Open passages, {columns) revealing 
 halls still beyond. Guests male and female, sitting, 
 and walking about. Organ music faintly heard 
 within, which upon the entrance of Baptiste, 
 changes to livelier strains. Enter Baptiste, from 
 C. B. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 To each and all of this most fair assembly, 
 Who here do grace my daughter's nuptial hour; 
 I speak at once their welcome and my thanks. 
 The bridal being o'er, I pray you all 
 To greet the bride and groom, with jocund smiles . 
 Pitch gravity i'the street, and in his room, 
 Let laughter crack its throat with boisterous mirth. 
 
 Guest. 
 Thou'rt merry sir ; It gives us joy thou art so, 
 Thine age is buoyant. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 Age — I have forgot it ; 
 My youth comes back to me ; see here the cause. 
 
 Music louder, Enter (C. from B.) Julien and Bosa. 
 monde, followed by Eleanor and bridesmaids. 
 
 My sou-in-law and daughters— see my children; 
 Your friends attend ye here, to give ye greeting, 
 And wish ye happiness 
 
 Eleanor. (B.) 
 
 We are their debtors. 
 Let us not tax the lips of bride and groom, 
 Which have too dear employment now at point 
 To lose their time in thanks, bat let me speak 
 For them their gratitude. 
 
H A R L D E . 37 
 
 JlJMEN. 
 And wherefore not ? 
 We did the like for thee, some three years since, 
 When thy lips were the mark of such close seige, 
 No word could pass from thence. 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 Not so with me. 
 For though my hand hath lost its maidenhood, 
 My lips are virgin still. 
 
 Julien. 
 True — nol a kiss 
 Hath she vouchsafed me yet, but doffs me still 
 With some tormenting jest, and thus 1 starve 
 In midst of plenty. (All laugh.) 
 
 Rosa monde. 
 I but fold the rein-. 
 While yet I may. The hour draws to hand, 
 When I miut yield them to thee. 
 
 Julien. 
 
 When thou dost, 
 I'll drive the faster, for this !oss of time. 
 
 Enter Nicole, (C. from R.) and stands C. 
 
 Nicole. 
 The ball room is lighted, the horns are warming their metal, 
 the flutes are trying their compass, the fiddlers rosin their bows > 
 and all the instruments are putting forth most hideous clamors at 
 non-employment. Everything is in high steam, and company 
 alone is wanted. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 Say we come, and bid them strike their liveliest. 
 
 Nicole. 
 I'll say so. (Exit C. off R.) 
 
 Baptiste. 
 (Me let each now vie in mirth 
 Which doth his part or hers, with heartiest zeal. 
 
38 HAROlDE 
 
 Act 1X1. 
 
 Music. — Exeunt (C. off R i Music then grows more faint and 
 soon ceases entirely. hnter Valmonde (L. H.) 
 followed by Le Roux, {Richly dressed) Valmonde 
 goes up and looks off R. then returns to Le 
 Roux L 0. 
 
 Valmoxde. 
 Thou know'st thy part ; perform it. as tis set, 
 And what I promise, shall seem poor to that 
 Which thou shall realize. Be nor amazed 
 Though I uphraid thee roughly, 'Tis the spring 
 Of half my work. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 
 I cannot say my will 
 Leans with this purpose ; Save that you assure me, 
 The trick involves no wrong-, beyond the point 
 Whence all may be retrieved 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 As L have s-aid — 
 Away at once. ( Exit Le Roux C. off"R.) 
 
 Don now, thy garb of love. 
 Oh, subtle wit ; still keep my practice cli ar 
 From harmful word of her. By this safe course, 
 Past hope, dethrone this monarch of her love, 
 And strip him oi his empire. Look — he comes. 
 Be firm of heart, my friend — and confident ; 
 Lest I do turn thy honey into gall. 
 
 {Enter Hakolde, C. from R.) 
 A joyfull evening to you. 
 
 Haeolde. 
 Welcome hither I 
 You are too late ; we lacked your company. 
 I must, perforce, lay b'ame on the occa-ion 
 Hath held you absent. You are such a friend, 
 As, whom to lack, makes incomplere our circle. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 I thank you cordially and plead excuse- 
 That I have been thus tardy. 
 
.oe-ei. HAROLDE. 39 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Tis o'erlooked. 
 But play no more the truant. Let us seek 
 The brighter scene within. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 I tended thither ; 
 Lead you — yet stay — a word before we go. 
 As I came in, a stranger passed me here, 
 And seemed to seek, with stealthy speed, the room 
 Where sport the dancers. He was gaily dressed, 
 And wore the meio of one who held the right 
 Of old acquaintanceship. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 I noted one— 
 To me, at least, a stranger, as I left 
 That room for this. He sought my wife e'en now ; 
 I left them close in converse. What of him? 
 Dost thou not know him ? 
 
 Valmonde. 
 I have said, indeed 
 He was a stranger. Did it not excite 
 At least thy notice, that he singled out 
 Thy wife, of all the room, he unpresented? 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Not so. I deemed him one, made welcome here 
 Since my departure hence, as many friends 
 Are haply made t-ince tnen, and rested there. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 (Ilalf Aside.) The bold effrontry of such a knave! 
 I know this fellow. He is one, who.-e brain 
 Most fruitful is in schemes. Of tongue as smooth 
 As shall hold match against the fiend himself ; — 
 Of.honey'd words, whose sweetness is their sting. 
 
 Harolde. 
 How gained lie entrance here 1 
 
40 H A R L D E . Act ilu 
 
 Valmonde. 
 I cannot think. 
 It doth amaze me, and is past helief. 
 This let me tell thee now. In this vile wretch 
 Doth lie all cause, why I prefer'd again 
 My early suit of love. 
 
 Harolde. 
 In him the cause ? 
 Here, and at once, this mystery explain, 
 That I may know him too. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 I shall do so. (Looks towards C) 
 
 But see. We are prevented ; stand apart — 
 And be the better judge. 
 
 (They retire 3. E. L.) as Eleanor, followed by 
 Le Rous. Enters C. from R. 
 
 Le Roxjx. (R. C.) 
 
 I have been bold. 
 Your pardon, lady, that unheralded 
 By formal preseRtation, I presume 
 To offer speech to you ; but I may claim 
 A friend's dear privilege, upon the ground 
 I now have named. 
 
 Eleanor. (L .0.) 
 
 You are most freely welcome. 
 You say, you were the comrade of my husband, 
 While in a distant land, and such a link 
 Makes you, at once my Irieud. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 
 I thank you, madam. 
 I would not press too much upon your leisure ; 
 Yet, with your courtesy, would fain entreat 
 Some further converse. Let us, for a time, 
 Taste the soft breeze of eve upon the lawn 
 Ere we return. 
 
HAROLDE. 41 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 And you shall speak to me, 
 Of the strange haps and busy accidents 
 That so prolonged the absence of my husband. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 Most welcome theme. Your hand — 
 
 They go off conversing in shoic, through the arches 
 U. E. L. Harolde and Valmonde, re-appear, ob- 
 serving them. 
 
 Harolde 
 
 This is most strange, 
 What is his purpose, think you ? 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 Aye — what indeed? 
 His thought is hydra iu its purposes — 
 An hundred beaded. More of this at present 
 1 cannot give you ; but with prudent haste 
 Seek me i'the garden, where and when, at full 
 1 will disclose what has been thus begun. 
 Away and note their conduct, and from that 
 Deduce thine own conclusion. 
 
 Harolde. 
 If he be 
 
 The thing that thou describest him, wherefore not 
 Spurn him Irom hence, as I would drive a dog; 
 Nor suffer him, a moment to pollute 
 The house, with his vile presence. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 So — you bar 
 A more complete revealment, which indeed 
 Behooves you to accomplish. See you now — 
 Where they return. 
 
 Eleanor and Le Roux, pass leisurly at bach from 
 L. to and off R. She is nearest the front. 
 
 Harolde. 
 I'll join her — (Going C.) 
 
42 HAROLDE. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 Question not, 
 'Till we speak further on 't. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 So— I will not. {Exit C. off R.) 
 
 Valmonde. 
 The line is thrown— the hook is swallow'd — I 
 Can play him at my pleasure, 'till he drown. 
 
 Enter Le Roux C. from R. laughing. Harolde ap- 
 pears, observing. 
 
 Le Roux. (R. C.) 
 Ha, ha! Why what a silly jade is this same wife? She doats 
 upon me truly. 
 
 Valmonde. (L. C.) 
 
 Silence, thou wretch, nor thus offend all decency by this loud 
 boasting. Begone ! 
 
 Le Roux. 
 Pshaw ! He rails against the sport, who hath not the wit to 
 compass it. She loves me ; look ! — the proof. 
 
 {Crosses to L. flourishing locket.) 
 
 Valmonde. 
 (Aside.) Her picture — he has stolen it — fortune favors. 
 Le Roux. 
 A wager — come — I draw her from her gue-ts, ere the night pass. 
 What say you 1 Eh — ha — ha — 
 
 Valmonde. 
 (Aloud) Silence, I say ; or I expose thy villainy as it deserves, and 
 will myself redress this burning insult, against those I call my 
 friends. For shame — Brgone — vile braggart — hence ! 
 
 Thrusts Le Roux off L. H. and follows him. 
 
 Harolde. (Comes forward.) 
 What fire is in my Heart, that whelms me thus, 
 In wild conjecture and misshapen thought? 
 What this may mean, swift search shall ravel out— 
 This day, begun in bliss — here ends in doubt. 
 
 Sinks in a chair. Scene closes. 
 
HAROLDE. 43 
 
 SCENCE II.— (I. G.) A part of the same grounds, Enter Val. 
 monde L. H. and points R. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Here in their garden, where their melting hearts 
 Have mingled in their floods of amorous joy — 
 Now, will I pour my rank ingredients in, 
 He is my play thing, which like brittle glass 
 I crush at will. Enter Le Rotjx L. H. 
 
 Le Rotjx. 
 Here at your summons, sir — 
 I wait my further task, I 'gin to flag 
 Of such a practice, for my hapless wife. 
 Hath often known the bounty of their hands. 
 'Tis base to wrong them. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Bah ! Hold up thy head, 
 'Tis fortune thou pursu'st. She smiles upon, 
 And becons thee to follow. Wilt thou turn, 
 Now she is in thy grasp, and lose her ever ? 
 Come ! be thyself — a man ! 
 
 Le Roux. 
 What service more ? 
 
 Valmonde. 
 E'en this. Address, as to thy lady-love, 
 A warm epistle of a guilty flame ; 
 And as I prompt thee — see 't convey'd to her. 
 But one thing more remains ; the which performed ; 
 No more thy wife shall pine in poverty, 
 But thou with plenty, shaft dispel her tears. 
 
 Le Roux 
 Oh — then, I must . What is't ? 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 It is their wont 
 To walk here in their garden. Be at hand ; 
 And when he parts from her, as 'tis devised, 
 Make some discourse, shall draw her from the house, 
 Where we may light upon you. 
 
44 H A RO LD E. 
 
 Le Eoux. 
 At this hour, 
 She oft has made her visits to my wife, 
 To bring her means of comfort. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Should this fall, 
 Follow her thither quickly — cross her there. 
 Mark : thy success in this, shall be the dawn 
 Of better fortune. Haste and gain thy post. 
 I'll charge thee more, as time shall minister. 
 
 Exeunt R. H. 
 
 SCENE III. — The Garden, same as in Act II. Enter Harokle 
 and Eleanor from the house. She wears a mantle. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 You are too thoughtful. Let us 'scape the throng 
 To walk here in the air. A night serene, 
 And the sweet odor, wafted from the grove, 
 Woo's us to taste its balm. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 {Abstracted) Behold yon sky! 
 
 What myriads of bright worlds bedeck that arch, 
 Fair as the morn of hope. Gaze upon one — 
 It burns, perchance, brighter than all the rest, 
 But look again — a moment — and 'tis gone 
 Into obscuring space, and where it shone, 
 Darkness has fallen: like to those fickle fires 
 Seen in the briny deep, which blaze and die, 
 Ere one can say — 'tis there. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 But there is one, 
 Constant and changeless — burning ever on, 
 True as the holy love, that warms our hearts — 
 Melting two souls in one. Look where it ridts — 
 High in the north, by whose true fixed fire 
 The daring mariner may guide the bark 
 Which bears his all of earth. 
 
 Valmonde and Le Roux enter stealthily, TJ. E. R 
 listening at back. 
 
Sjene8. 
 
 HAROLDE. 45 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Oh — let that star 
 Symbol thy truth, till Phoebus' flaming disc, 
 (From whence is drawn its everlasting light), 
 Beams on this earth no more, but in one chaos 
 Yon world to atoms fall ! My Eleanor — 
 Though I am loathe to leave thee for an instant, 
 Yet, at this hour, my word is given to seek 
 A friend of early stamp, Yet — lacking, love, 
 Full leave from thee, I'll break it. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Wherefore so ? 
 I will not have thee break it. Go at once; 
 And of thine absence, I'll. employ the hour 
 In dealing charity. Not far from hence, 
 There dwells a needy mother and her child, 
 Whose heavy hearts, my means have often lightened. 
 Thither I'll haste, with Nicole lor my guard, 
 And win again their thanks. 
 
 Valmonde now motions Le Roux of L. U.E., and 
 retires. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Yet lest our friends 
 Esteem their welcome scauted, wait upon them, 
 Aud make oar joint excuse. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 'Twere better so : 
 Bat do not tarry long. 
 
 Harolde. 
 An hour at most. 
 
 Exit Eleanor to the house. 
 Now, for this mystery. 
 
 Valmonde. {advancing.) 
 
 Again, good even. 
 
 Harolde. 
 Thou art well found, and I am bent to know 
 What thou hast promised. Who and what was he, 
 Who now hath shown such strange, ill-seemed behaviour, 
 Here at our fete ; iinbidden ? 
 
46 HAROLDE. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 As from you, 
 I should in like regard expect such service, 
 I will not slack to you. 
 
 Harolde. 
 Quick, let me know him. 
 I heard his ribald bragging. His bold words 
 Impierc'd mine ear like to a thunderclap: 
 I kindled at the insult, 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Hear me, then ; 
 Partly in vindication of myself — 
 In that, to her, I late did make renewal 
 Of my rejected suit. 
 
 Harolde. 
 No more on that. 
 Thy grounds were broad. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 That I, like to the rest, 
 Believed thee dead ? Not so, but here declare — 
 What I have done, was to preserve thine honor 
 Against the machinations of this villain, 
 Who seems to hold allegiance with the devil, 
 And thence derives the witchery of his tongue, 
 Which charms but to destroy. 
 
 Harolde. 
 Talk not in clouds, 
 But deal in plainer phrase. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 Even at thy word, 
 For he shall have no screening. This vile knave, 
 Some two months since, while in a drunken rous^, 
 Made boast to me, that for these three years past, 
 His pockets, emptied at the hazard table, 
 Still found replenishment and full resource 
 
 Aet. in 
 
HAROLDE. a 
 
 Scene 8 
 
 Even in thine ample means, and that thy wife 
 Was the lair key that opened at his will 
 Tby treasures to his purpose. 
 
 Hakolde. 
 Do I hear ? 
 What more ? Withhold not. Spc ak the sum at once, 
 That I may know my couise. 
 
 Valmokde. 
 
 This much beyond 
 Was add^d to his boast : That he had gain'd, 
 Ere then, the mastery of her heart's fond love 
 And held her at his will. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 The blister'd villai a — 
 The shameless, fiend like liar! Show me him, 
 That I may tear his heart, forth from his breast 
 And show the world how foul a thing it is. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Nay, calm thyself. From then until the present, 
 I closely have obs >rv'd them, and to save 
 Her and thy fortunes, did renew my suit : 
 Delaying its fulfillment— time to time, 
 
 Attending thy return. 
 
 Hakolde. 
 
 Yet speak, I rray you, 
 You noted her demeanor : Did she wear 
 The port of entertainment to his love— , 
 
 Or did she spurn it? 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Be thyself the judge. 
 If he hath slander'd her, and she be true ; 
 His falsehood even swells beyond this point. 
 His further boast was, that with nightly visits, 
 It was her wont to seek him. Do you know, 
 If since your coming, she hath left her home, 
 About this present hour, upon pretence 
 Of charity, or any like excuse? 
 
48 
 
 H A R L D E. 
 
 Act. Hi 
 
 Harolde. 
 She left me, even now, upon such errand. 
 But what of that ? 
 
 Valmostde. 
 Such was the holy plea, 
 By which, he vouches, she hath cast a veil 
 Around their amorous meetings. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 May this be 1 
 Oh! Heart, most poor, that but an hour ago 
 Did boast a mine of love, and strong in pride 
 Defi d the storms of fate, bidding its billows 
 To spend their fiercest rage upon the rock 
 He deem'd could never yield ; but now it shivers 
 As like to fall to sand. Come — speak the rest ; 
 For now, the mist of faith hath fled mine eyes, 
 And I i ave caught a glimpse of the intrigue, 
 That draws me to look further. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 {Owes dagger.) Bear you this : 
 
 That if I do not prove him, to thy sight, 
 More black than 1 have said, rip ope my breast 
 And throw my heart to dogs. Go with me now, 
 Beyond the hail and ^ar-shot of the house, 
 E'en on the spur, to where she purposes 
 Her charitable voyage : there at full — 
 Both eyes and ears shall be so well convinc'd, 
 To doubt were shame to sense. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Lead the way. 
 Since I have tasted of the bitter cup, 
 I'll drain it to the lees No pause, for spleen,— 
 Like the fierce war-horse, on the eve of action ; 
 Frets with impatient and with stamping rage 
 To plunge into the strife ! Away — Lead on ! 
 
 {Exit 2 E. L. 
 
HAROLDE. 49 
 
 SCENE IV.— (2. G.) A roadsiie {evening.) Enter Le Roux 2 
 E. R. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 She will be here anon. I dogg'd her steps, 
 And by a different pathoutstrip'd her hither. 
 Now must I wait, here at our cottage door ; 
 That when she comes, I may, in her full sight. 
 Issue from thence, and make the cheat more sure. 
 
 Exit Le Roux L. H. Enter Eleanor, 1, E, R., 
 with mantle and veil on. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Nicole — where dost thou loiter ? 
 
 Nicole. 
 {Running on R. H.) At thy elbow. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Follow me closer — fellow. ( Walking towards R.) 
 
 Nicole. 
 At thy heels. 
 
 Enter Le Roux L. H., meeting her, 
 
 Le Roux. 
 Lady— How falls it, that I meet you here ? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Sir, I am prone to ask the like of you, 
 Why have you left our fete % 
 
 Le Rous. 
 
 Here in this cot, 
 Dwells one 1 long have known, and once more prosperous 
 My care to-night (as oft hath been before). 
 To bring an old friend aid. I came in vain — 
 He is from home. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 How call you him ? 
 
 Le Roux. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 
50 HAROLDE. Aot . 
 
 Eleanor. 
 How strangely hath itchanc'd. My purpose hither, 
 Is to the needy wife, and suffering child. 
 Is she within ? 
 
 Le Roux. 
 I parted from her now. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Attend me, Nicole. (Crossing to L. H.) 
 
 Nicole. 
 Madam— use all speed : 
 The fete's at halt for me, for I am dubb'd 
 Grand master-domo of the ceremonies ; 
 Key of the cupboard, where I hid the wine 
 From that voracious curate. Lord — Oh Lord ! 
 These priests are lusty drinkers. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Sirrah — 
 
 Nicole. 
 
 Madam — 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Thou prate'st too freely. 
 
 Nicole. 
 Do I? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Peace. 
 Nicole. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 
 I'm dumb 1 
 
 Might I advise — what need thy servant stay? 
 Let him return ; his service must be needed. 
 The self-same purpose, having led us hither ; 
 May I not hope, (thy mission here fulfilled) 
 To be thine escort home ? It were a boon, 
 And fit, as to thy guest. 
 
HAROLDE. 51 
 
 Eleanor. 
 {After brief hesitation.) Let it be so. 
 Good Nicole, hasten back. 'Fore thou art rested. 
 I shall be there. 
 
 Nicole. 
 I'll say so. (ExWR. H.) 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Let us in. 
 Few moments will suffice me. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 
 It were best 
 That I attend thy coming, at the door ; 
 Unknown to her thou seek'st ; to whom 'twere well 
 Thou name me not. Her pride were haply wounded, 
 Were she to find, that all who aided them, 
 Knew of each other's bounty. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Well considered. (Exeunt L. H.J 
 
 SCENE V. — Dim moonlight. An extensive. wood, with separate trees 
 as a forest. Exterior of Le Roux's cottage, 3. E. 
 L . , mth doo rs. Ope n icin dow,ac ross the sill of voh u -h 
 hangs Eleanor's mantle. Enter Valmonde 
 and Harolde.R. U. E., both muffled in cloaks. 
 
 Valmonde. (L. C.) 
 
 Mark you that cot. This is the wonted place 
 Of their encounters. Now observe apart, 
 And gather thence. (Goes to the window.) 
 
 Harolde. (R. C.) 
 
 Like to some guilty wretch, 
 Methinks I tread to blood. My very dagger 
 Leaps to my gripe. Back ! Oh— thou lamp of heaven, 
 Nor let thy pure beams glitter on a scene 
 That teems of guilt ! Dun night, hide thou my blush, 
 That I do play the spy. 
 
52 HAROLDE. 
 
 Act. Ill 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 {Leaving the window.) She is within. 
 Mark where her mantle hangs upon the casement. 
 And look — herself — (Eleanor comes to the window, takes) 
 
 her mantle and retires.) 
 Let us stand more apart, 
 And gain a safe espial. {They retire R. U. E. 
 
 Enter Le Roux/hm the cottage and 
 looks stealthily off, R. U. E. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 {Aside.) They are here. 
 
 Aloud.) What a mere fool is this ! Yet, 'tis not well 
 To mock her for her love ; for she is fair — 
 And rich to-boot. This last, the master-chain 
 That ties me to her service. {Enter Eleanor, 
 
 from the cottage. Valmonde and Harolde, observe.) 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Dost thou muse ? 
 I heard thy voice. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 
 So fair a scene as this, 
 Makes one contemplative How much they lose, 
 Who fail to taste this breeze, but keep the house, 
 Like the. dull birds, that from the fall of eve — 
 Sleep the fair night away. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 'Tis sweet indeed. 
 But let us haste. I have o'erstay'd my time. 
 
 Then go toward R. See Harolde and Valmonde 
 who observe, pass up toward L. Eleanor 
 shrinks back. 
 What men are those, that hover in the shade 
 And seem o'erwatching us? Look,' how they gaze! 
 
 Le Roux. 
 T know them not — their cloaks obscure their favors. 
 They are but loiterers. 
 
HAROLDE. 53 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Clinging to him.) I fear their looks, 
 
 Harolde and Valmonde retire U. E. L. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 Look, where they pass and leave us. Heed them not. 
 They can be nought to us. Come — Let us walk 
 In the soft air. How bright the starry heavens — 
 And the pale silvery light of Cynthia's rays 
 Smiles in the dewy hour. Exeunt R. 3. E. 
 
 Valmonde and Harolde return from U. E. L. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Look, where they steal. 
 How craftily the knave pursues his game ! 
 Till now I ne'er believed it, but still hoped 
 To prove't a braggart's boast. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Oh ! it is plain : 
 'Tis barefaced, clear and rank. Where, where, oh heart — 
 Where is thy haven now ? The corner stone, 
 Whereon I raised the structure of all bliss — 
 An 1 to the box and treasure-cup of which, 
 Consigned my every hope, crumbles to dust, 
 And all the building falls ! What more dost know? 
 Give me such damning proof, as from my soul, 
 Shall drive all vestige of the tender love 
 That e'er would harbor there — that desperate rage 
 May hold unshaken sway ! 
 
 Valmonde. 
 (Shows picture.) Right to thy hand 
 
 Look at this bauble, which, an hour ago. 
 He, in his exultation, handed me 
 To vouch he lied not ; for, as he profess'd, 
 She this night gave it him, while his in lieu, 
 She treasures in her casket. 
 
54 HAROLDE. 
 
 Hakolde. 
 
 {Looking on it.) Tis the same 
 
 She gave me when we wed. This blow ends all ! 
 
 Oh — beauteous counterfeit. Oh — heavenly lie ! 
 
 I cannot look upon thee, for thou sear'st 
 
 My tender eye with shame. Bring me this knave — 
 
 Let me confront him now, that thus cut off, 
 
 Festering in luxury, down to his patron fiends 
 
 He headlong may be hurled ! 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 Let not thy rage 
 
 O'erstep thy wiser reason ! or at least, 
 Pause for a riper thought. 
 
 Harolde. 
 It brooks no pause. 
 What, look on guilt as palpable as day — 
 That shames the eye to see, the ear to list, 
 Yet halt in my due course ? Or, should I up, 
 And looking, not upon the blood I shed, 
 But on my bitter wrong ; seize by the throat — 
 Strike—strike and kill ! (Grosses to R.) 
 
 Valmonde. 
 I would not have thee yield. 
 One jot of thy revenge, but rather swell — 
 Beyond the point of due — yet wait the hour, 
 Aud let thy patience rule. 
 
 Hakolde. 
 Patience to me? 
 There is no room for the vile sluggish grace! 
 Patience is fled, and frenzy reigns alone. 
 
 (drosses to L. and goes up.) 
 
 Valyoxde. 
 
 Yet, I entreat thee, act thus not unt bought 
 Thus unadvisedly, but home— and there — 
 
HAROLDE, 
 
 Harolde. {Turning to him.) 
 
 Home ! where is home ? From tins, my home no more 1 
 The super-blasting curse, fall on them both. 
 All the sharp plagues that doth infect the world- 
 Be theirs till end of time. And when they couch, 
 Let hissing aJders, with their venom'd forks 
 Pierce their hot loins! Thorns from their pillow start 
 When they have list to sleep ! Yet let them live- 
 To pray in vain for death, till from the earth, 
 Echoed from heaven, the universal cry — 
 Hurl them together to eternal fires, 
 There let them shriek and groan and howl forever! 
 
 Staggers back and falls into Valmonde's arms. 
 Rapid Curtain. 
 
 THE END OF THE 
 
 THIRD ACT. 
 
ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE 1.— (1 G.) A Street or Road-side. Enter Valmonde R. H. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Poor sightless gull ! Thy blindness is my light, 
 Thy downfall, my uprising, and her shame, 
 Balm for rejected love. Enter Le Roux L. H. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 You bade me seek yon. 
 Valmonde. 
 Thou hast fulfill'd my wishes, passing thought. 
 Now for the letter, that I charg'd thee write — 
 To send at need. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 'Tis here. (Gives letter.) 
 
 Valmonde. 
 (Looks at, and returns it.) So— this is well, 
 Tender and to my wish. Wait at my call, 
 And as I give the note, have it convey'd 
 By one may know tliy garb. "Where is thy picture? 
 
 Le Roux. (Shews one.) 
 
 A faithful copy, but for this — its use, 
 A rank and foul deceit. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Bah ! Thou art faint. 
 The day grows broad. Hence, with this counterfeit — 
 Scale thou her window, as thy chance shall serve, 
 And drop it in her casket ; from the which, 
 Look thou remove the husband's. This well done — 
 Claim thou to-morrow, what reward thou wilt, 
 And it is thine. 
 
HAROLDE. 57 
 
 Le Roux. 
 {Passing over toU.) I shall not fail — to-morrow. (Exit R. H.) 
 
 Valmonde. 
 To-morrow — Ha! To-morrow thou art cag'd, 
 Fast lock'd in jail. There shalt thou beat the bars, 
 To reek and die i'the straw ; nor see the sun 
 Ere thou shalt blab my deeds. It were indeed 
 To lack all cunning, now to live at sufferance, 
 Haply of thy compunctious. Enter Gereaud L. H. 
 
 Gereaud. 
 
 Sir, I have sought you. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Well found. I need thy service. (Gives a paper.) Take this paper. 
 By virtue there set down, withdraw my surety, 
 Which now defends this Le Roux's house and freedom. 
 Let him be stripp'd of all, and straight to prison 
 Be dragg'd without delay The flinty law, 
 And good stone walls, must now be my defense 
 Against his tell-tale humours. 
 
 Gereaud. 
 
 Fear him not. 
 I'll bury him past hope, and double safety, 
 Stuffing the jailor's ears, with golden plugs, 
 That he shall list no prayers. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 Do so ; away. Exit Gereaud L. H. 
 I will not halt, but proof on proof pile up, 
 Till it o'ertop the tower of his love, 
 And wall him up in bate. He labors hard, 
 In the rough sea of doubt. Oh — let it swell, 
 Till in that angry flood, he sink forever ! Exit R. H. 
 
58 HAROLDE. 
 
 SCENE II. — (3 & 4 G.) Eleanor's apartments. An open window 
 C, showing a. "balcony. Early dawn. A lounye 
 near the window, upon which Eleanor half re- 
 clines, asleep, laming towards the balcony, partly 
 coveted in her mantle. A table R. C, on which is a 
 casket. Low trernulo music, as the scene opens, which 
 continues through the speakiny, until Le Rodx has 
 disappeared. Enter Le Roux stealthily over the 
 balcmiy. He opens the casket, takes out one locket 
 and puts another in its place — closes tlie casket, and 
 gets noiselessly back to the window. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 My task is o'er with this. No more I wait — 
 A pander to his will, but watch the hour, 
 Perchance to save them, and atoue for all, 
 
 He passes out of sight, cautiously, as he came; then enter 
 Baptiste and Rosamonde, R. H. The latter passes 
 over to L. C. 
 
 Baptiste, (R. C.) 
 
 How strange they came not back. Our guests did marvel 
 Lisping to ears, in wonder at their absence. 
 I will not think that — 
 
 Rosamonds, (L. C.) 
 
 Look where now she lies, 
 Fast locked in sleep. How high her pulse ! Her flesh, 
 Is dry and feverous. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 'Twere best we rouse her. 
 This early air is raw. 
 
 Rosamonds. 
 
 (Touching her.) Sister — awake ! 
 
 Eleanor. {Starting from sleep) 
 
 Save — save me from the monster ! Harolde — husband — 
 Ha — dost thou spurn me ? Stay? 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 
 Wake — Eleanor. 
 Arouse thee, sister ! Thou art ill. Dost hear ? 
 
Scene 3 
 
 HAROLDE. 59 
 
 Eleanor 
 Is't gone ? My f atlier — Rosamonde, oh where — 
 Where am I ? 
 
 Baptiste. 
 Here, in thine own home, my daughter. 
 
 Eleanom. 
 Ha — am I home ! Oh, what an hour was this? 
 Such fearful dreams — 
 
 Baptiste. 
 Be more unto thyself, 
 How art thou disturbed ? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Where — where is Haxdde? 
 I thought to find him here. What stays him hence ? 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 How all thy frame doth shake ? Thou art not wise 
 To lie thus in the air. Why came you not 
 Back to our friends last night ? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Pardon me, sister ; 
 All knew my purpose, which with haste discharg'd, 
 I sped me home. He came not — patient yet, 
 I waited him i' the garden ; but the night 
 Grew raw and chill. Then — I repos3d me here ; 
 List'ning each sound — no step — Oh, heavy hours! 
 Wearied — a sleep fell on me. Then methought (risei 
 I roam'd some dismal haunt, while every step 
 Encircled me with fiends ! Fierce painted serpents, 
 With open mouths and eyes, emitting fire — 
 Where'er I turned, did rear their threatening heads, 
 Venting their poison on me ! Then I saw 
 One that did seem like to the master-head 
 Of all this reptile horde, by living hoop* 
 O'erstride the rest. Approach me. Loud in fear, 
 Methought I shrieked — when as to stop my breath 
 He coil'd around me, and his slimy folds 
 
GO HAROLDE. 
 
 Act. IV 
 
 Entwin'd my throat. Strangl'd. I spake no more : 
 When, like as he would kiss me, he drew back — 
 Hissing aloud — he struck his venom'd fork 
 Into my lips — Horror — that touch — 'twas death! 
 
 (Staggered Inck and sinks onloungc) 
 
 Baptiste. 
 This most fearful ! 
 
 Eos \ MONDE. 
 Calm thyself, dear sister, 
 Tis but the fever, from thy broken rest — 
 Bringing disorder'd fancies. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 'Tis no other. 
 I will not fear my dream a propliei y ; 
 And yet — if 'twere — heaven knows. — 
 
 Baptiste. 
 
 (Putting her mantle on her ) Come, leave th's room: 
 Seek some refreshment — walk abroad the while, 
 And so dispel this gloom # And for thy husb ind— 
 This strangeness lays much blame— 
 
 Ele\nor. 
 
 Chide him not, father. 
 Some stern mishap hath held him from his home 
 And all the loss is mine. ExeuntR. I. E. As 
 
 they go out Harolde enters, followed by Francois. L.H.) 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Sirrah — go in, 
 And bid thy mistress hither. (Exit Francois R. H.) 
 
 Now, my pride, — 
 Be thou my armour, that no check of love 
 May find a passage to abuse my s-otil 
 By its usurp'd possession, driving thence 
 The sterner code, and the more due regard 
 Of even-dealing justice. Heart from hence 
 Depart thy softness, and become as steel, 
 In what thou ha-t to do. Ears, lose your sense ; 
 
HAROLDE. Gl 
 
 Nor quaff the liquid sweetness other voice ; 
 Le3t its soft music — luring me to kiss, 
 I find a poison there ! 
 
 Enter Eleanor R. H. hastily, speaking as she comes. 
 
 Eleanok. 
 Ah — here at last ; 
 My husband — love (he turns.) What's this ? What heavy hapj 
 The weary night, hath stay'd thee from thy bed ? 
 
 Harolde. 
 What were the cause to thee ? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 What looks are here? 
 
 Harolde. 
 Dost thou not love me ? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Aye too well thou knowst it. 
 
 Harolde. 
 Know what? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 How truly I do love. 
 
 Harolde. 
 Oh — yes. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 What has befall'n? 
 
 Harolde. 
 Nothing — wonder not. 
 Riot aud revelry will breed strauge humors. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Such humor is not thine. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Wherefore? I'm merry. 
 Note here the cause. My pulse more temperate, 
 Mine eye is clearer, for the film hath broke 
 Which blurr'd its keener sense, and now 1 read 
 Into thine inmost soul 
 
C2 HAROLDE. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 What, read'st thou there? 
 
 Harolde. 
 That with a face, more fair than heaven's ang< Is ; 
 Thou'rt still — a woman. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 (Approaching 7dm.) Harolde ? 
 
 Harolde. 
 (Rejecting her) Oh — no morel 
 
 It had been better, I had found my grave, 
 I'the unexplored regions of the sea, 
 Thou 'scaped its fury, but to blas-t my sight 
 With what this night I saw, 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Ob — what was this? 
 How fearful are thy words. 
 
 Harolde. 
 I learned last night 
 The story of a wife, whose love, did seem 
 To reach beyond all compass, save alone 
 His love who boasted hers : with him — 'twas life. 
 His fortunes call'd him hence. In his true bn ast 
 Sat endless trust in her. His exile o'er, 
 He sought his home. In floods of new-born joy 
 The happy days roll'd on. But soon he found 
 The garden of his love, so thick up-grown 
 With foul and baleful weeds, that not a flower 
 Of modest nature, could find room to thrive 
 Amid the gross pollution. Bristling thorns 
 Did there usurp (where violets should grow,) 
 To sting him at his couching. On her brow. 
 Whose marble was of heaven, stain had fall'n, 
 Stain of a guilty love ; blotting forever, 
 Its pure and pristine whiteness! What her mi el, 
 Could desolate that home? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 (With energy.) There were no meed, 
 
 Could retribute such crime. 
 
HAROLDE. 63 
 
 So no » 
 
 Harolde. 
 (Suddenly,) Ha ! Say'st thou so? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Thy speech is strange — I fear — 
 
 Harolde. 
 Indeed — 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 (Startled.) what harm ? 
 
 Thou seem'st to glare, as thou hadst found a clue 
 To some concealed wrong, 
 
 Harolde, 
 The wrong is known. 
 Dare'st speak of where thou didst employ the hour, 
 Upon our last night's parting? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 I have said — 
 . Bestowing charity, on one who needs 
 And oft hath known my bounty. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Aye — too oft, 
 'Twere well thou wert more chary, lest, o'erfed 
 Tby bounty surfeit him. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 What mean these words ? 
 I tremble at their purport. Speak at once, 
 And tell me what thou meanest. (Aside,) Ha ! my dream- 
 I fear the prophecy — yet— 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 What was he, 
 Who sought thee yesternight, and held thine ear, 
 'Gainst every other tongue ? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 I know no more, 
 Than that he named himself thine early friend ; 
 And one, who bore you fellowship in travel ; 
 Which well might give him title to our welcome. 
 
G4 HAROLDE. Ao t. iv 
 
 Harolde. 
 Vain — weak pretence ! No more. Add not a falsehood 
 To hide thy glaring crime. Ir would bat mock 
 That face of innocence, that lends a grace 
 To sucli a perjury, so is doubly false — 
 Seeming too heavenly. It thou regard'st 
 The safety of the dear soul's destiny — 
 Cravest heaven's mercy, dissimulation drop; 
 Beget some doit of mitigation here, 
 To serve thee at thy need. (Pointing upward.) 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Ye powers above — 
 Bear witness forme, if within my brain 
 Abides a thought to warrant this abuse,' 
 I know not where it lurks. What is my fault? 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Shame ; of the deepest, darkest, damning cast, 
 That e'er black night concealed, or the chaste moon 
 Enclouded her pale rays from looking on, 
 Sinking behind a veil of thickest air- 
 To blusj. unseen by earth. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Shame sayst thou, mine? 
 {Kneels) All-seeing heaven, Oh ! earth and all — behold : 
 It I know wrong, in the minutest germ ; 
 Let loose, thou God of thunder, all thy bolts — 
 All Tuine artillery ethereal, 
 E'en here upon me ! 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Presumptuous woman, peace : 
 Nor dare to tempt heaven's wrath ! 
 
 Eleanor. 
 ( Rise?.) What have I done 1 
 
 Show me what 'tis thou dost accuse me of; 
 That being guilty of unwitting wrong 
 I may confess — repent, and be forgiven. , 
 
 Or, being innocent, I may dislodge 
 The foul suspicion from thy heart — abused, 
 And give thee calm again. 
 
HAROLDE, 
 
 Harolde. 
 Ha ! Is thy cheek 
 So braz'd in proof, that it reveals no blush ? 
 Here, in my hand, I bear the evidence 
 That stamps thee vile. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 What, is it ? 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 (Shows locket., Look thyself. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 My picture — whence is this ? 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Even from the hand 
 Of him, who, vauntingly — with open speech 
 Hath bragg'd, thou gavest it him. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Who was this? speak. 
 
 Harolde. 
 Tickled thy palm, nay — sported on thy lip 
 In closer siege. Oh — woman ; all the fiends 
 Have not more fire within their red domains, 
 Than rebels in thy blood ! 
 
 Eleanor. 
 (Desperately.) Who— who was this'? 
 
 Harolde. 
 Thy paramour ! who, at thy sister's marriage- 
 All saw thee entertain, 
 
 Eleanor. 
 False — on my soul ! — 
 If in me I have that immortal part, 
 The which to save I e'er spent thought upon, 
 Or cherished hope for its eternal weal ! 
 Oh — what fell snare, is spread about my feet, 
 That I am thus entangled ? 
 
 Harolde retires L. Enter Rosajionde R. H. 
 
66 HAROLDE 
 
 Oh — my sister, 
 This is a hapless hour ; and ray poor heart 
 Is bankrupt now of smiles, and I can greet thee 
 Only with tears. 
 
 ROSAMONDE. (R. C.) 
 
 Thine eyes are red and swollen, 
 And tears indeed o'erflow them. What hath chanced? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 I cannot tell beyond that, Harolde, now 
 Met me with angry and portentous mien ! 
 His dark eye flashing, and disorderly — 
 Beneath his brow, hard to its centre knit ; 
 And cast upon me vilest accusation 
 As trait'ress to his honor. 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 Hath he dared — 
 Wherefore , upon what around ? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 I know no cause, 
 Nor scarce can speak to thee, My heart is full ! (weeps.) 
 
 Enter Baptiste R. H. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 What change is here, my daughter ? Why these tears? 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 Oh sir — there hath some slanderous report 
 Gone forth against my sister, and her lord 
 Seems tainted with it, and in open terms 
 Hath here accused her of disloyalty 
 And treason to his love. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 Sir — is this true? 
 Darest thou prefer a charge so black against her? 
 
 Harolde. (Advancing L.) 
 
 Spend not thy wrath on me, for she is vile : 
 We are dishouor'd all. Know but the truth, 
 
Scene* H A R L D E . 67 
 
 And thou shalt join with me, to spurn her from thee. 
 
 Baptiste. (Sternly.) 
 
 How may I know this truth ? 
 
 Harolde. 
 (Shows locket.) Among the rest, 
 
 This trinket, now obtain'd from him, to whom 
 She gave't as pledge of love ; and whose exchange 
 Now lies in yonder casket. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Oh — produce it, 
 And that be my defence, for there lies thine. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Bring it thyself. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Right gladly, and at once — 
 Content to rest on that. (Opens casket and starts.; 
 
 Harolde. 
 Why dost thou pause ? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 What's here? I am bewildered and made dumb t 
 Alas! I am beset. Mine enemies — 
 W hoe'er th^y are, have casts their nets with skill 
 And I am lost past hope. (, Baptiste looks in casket. 
 
 Harolde. 
 To Baptiste.) Why look you there ; 
 
 Where now should fall thine anger? 
 
 Enter Julien, with a letter, L. H., which he gives to 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Julien. 
 
 A letter, madam ; 
 And of no common post ; for scarce I had it, 
 Ere he, who bore it, vanished and was gone. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 Didst know the bearer? 
 
68 HAROLDE. Act. iv 
 
 JULIEN. 
 Tvvas tbe stranger guest, 
 Who at our fete, was tbe observ'd of all, 
 Being unknown to any, save tby daugbter — 
 Wbose ear alone be sought. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 {Aside.) I am amaz'd 1 
 
 Eleanor. (Apart.) 
 
 What is it ? The hand I know not. Oh — I fear, 
 Another chapter in the bitter volume 
 Of this day's history. I dare not read it — 
 'Twere best that I destroy it. (Offers to tear it.) 
 
 Harolde. 
 (( hecks her and takes it.) Nay— thou shalt not ; 
 
 But give me leave. (Opens letter.) Tby gallant greets thee well . 
 And gives thee bold advice, to make again, 
 Thy charitable voyage. (To Baptiste.) Pray you read. 
 (To Eleanor.) What lie shall cancel this? 
 
 Baptiste looks at letter, and all sadly retires. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 I plead no more. 
 No lie, nor truth, nor ought of word at all: 
 It passes vindication. If, this meaus — 
 (And I can think no other), thou pursuest 
 This course to put me off, it needed not 
 Such wicked pains to do it. Though my heart, 
 Ne'er harbor'd thought (as on my soul to heaven, 
 I breathe the solemn vow), of love to man, 
 Save unto thee alone ! Thou art abus'd 
 By some vile plot, as yet too deep in night, 
 And we must wait a morn of clearer day 
 To light us to the truth. 
 
 Habolde. 
 Till then— farewell ! 
 If e'er such day shall dawn, like to a child 
 I'll beg forgiveness of thee. Ob — strange fate! 
 That we do build the fabric of our hope 
 Upon mistaken places, and choose sand 
 
HAROLDE. 69 
 
 Where most we look'd for rock ! Oh— Eleanor ; 
 
 Until this day, thy radiant smile of love 
 
 Made earth a temporal heaven. Happy hours 1 
 
 And are ye fled forever ? My lingering heart 
 
 Clings to thee still, as loathe to quit its hold ! 
 
 It must— adieu for ever ! (Passes her to L. C.) 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Abandoned thus^» 
 Not thus. I cannot yield thee ; tarry yet— 
 A week — a day — an hour ; leave me not, 
 Or kill me ere thou goest ! 
 
 Harolde. 
 No — live on. 
 I seek no blood upon thee. Thy remorse, 
 And the high judge of heaven, execute 
 A sharper retribution. I, from the world — 
 Will hence entomb myself in caverns— pits— 
 Where, none shall see me more. (Going.) 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Thou shalt not go! 
 These arms shall clincr around thee, till thou snap them, 
 And then my heart goes with them. 
 
 Hakolde. 
 
 Villain — villain 1 
 Behold the wreck thou mak'st — the paradise 
 That thou dost rob me of 1 Vengeance of heaven — 
 Pursue this wretch forever, yield him, earth! 
 Thy deepest caverns, let too feeble be, 
 To shield him from thy wrath. Where'er he turns, 
 Let devils, red from hell, yell in his ears- 
 Breathing their sulphurous fires! 
 
70 HAROLDE. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Harolde — husband ! 
 
 Harolde. 
 Dost cling to me? Oh— false one ; loose thine hold — 
 Or, with the mingled force of grief and rage — 
 Thus do I hurl thee from me: hence — farewell ! 
 
 Throws her from him and rushes off L. H. Eleanor 
 falls C. Rosamonde bends over her. Baptiste 
 advances R. 0. and Julien L. C. 
 
 THE END OF THE 
 
 FOURTH ACT. 
 
 |f A LAPSE OF ONE MONTH SUPPOSED BEFORE J HE OPEN- 
 ING of the Last Act. 
 
ACT V. 
 
 SCENE 1.— (3 G.) Another chamber in the same house. Eleanor 
 asleep on, a couch, near window (J., Rosamonds 
 watcfiing her L. C. 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 Her rest is calm. Oh— may these balmy slumbers, 
 
 Break to the dawn of reason, as of health ! 
 
 Why, what a smile was there! She stirs— she wakes. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Oh — blissful dream, where-in the clear reflect 
 Of happier years shone out, as they were now 
 Fresh in their spring-time, and as palpable 
 As this my hand before me. My poor heart — 
 Was blithe as ever. Wherefore do I wake, 
 To see this cloud of black reality — 
 Frown on itsmirror'd brightness? 
 
 ROSAMONTDE. 
 
 Sister — dear — 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Thou here, sweet Rosamonde ? 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 Ever by thy side, 
 Like the good watchman, faithful at his post — 
 Have I o'erseen thy sleep, broken by sighs, 
 Which seem'd to shake the fragile tenement 
 Of thine o'ercharged soul. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Art thou so kind? 
 My tears must thank thee. 
 
72 HAROlDE. 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 Weep no more, dear sister. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Nay — let me weep, nor strive to dam those pfates, 
 That vent my flooded soul. They are the friends 
 Who lend their aid, to ease the laboring heart, 
 When words are nought, and tongues deny their office. 
 
 Enter Baptists and Julten R. H. The former goes 
 up R. C. , the latter to Rosamonde L. C. 
 
 Bapttste. 
 How fares she now? What ill-foreboding star — 
 Reign'd o'er thy birth, my child ? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 The storm still lowers. 
 Oh — for a sun that shall disperse these clouds, 
 And so unveil the truth ! 
 
 Baptiste. 
 
 That sun shall break — 
 And thou shalt be approv'd . 
 
 ' Julien. (L.) 
 
 How, Rosamonde, 
 (As thou hast noted), doth her shattered mind, 
 Endure this shock ? 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 E'en as a noble ship, 
 Tossed by the tempest's fury. Now at height — 
 Riding the storm-swoll'n wave ; and now engulf'd 
 As like to sink for ever. Now, as calm 
 As infant slumbers, but ere lon<r, as wide 
 As madness' self. (A noise outside L. H.) 
 
 Le Rotjx. 
 {Speaking outside L. H.) It is no time for form . 
 Delay is death. Away — for I must p?.es! 
 
 Enter Francois hurriedly L. H. 
 
HAROLDE. 73 
 
 FRANCOIS. 
 
 Here is a fellow, sir, new broke from prison, 
 With yet the chains upon him. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 
 Look to bim ! 
 Exit Francois L. H. Noise renewed. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 (Out L. H.) No moment is to lose. Give way, I say ! 
 
 Le Roux bursts in L. H., ragged and pale, with 
 broken manacles on his wrists and ankles, and 
 shreds of straw about Mm. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 Now : who art thou, to break upon this scene, 
 Which claims such sad regard ? 
 
 Le Roux. 
 
 Bear with me yet, 
 Till I have spoke mine errand, then with speed 
 Judge and award my deeds and punishment, 
 And let me suffer here. 
 
 BAprrsTE. 
 Speak — who art thou ? 
 
 Le Roux. 
 I am Le Roux, with whom thy hapless daughter, 
 Is charged with basest dealings. I am he, 
 Was s> j en upon the night her sister wed, 
 To hold her ear in converse : mine the picture 
 Found in her casket: I, the thief, who there 
 Purloined the locket which contained her own, 
 And mine the hand that penned that damning letter, 
 To swell the proofs against her. Much beyond 
 Have I been known to, to the which set on 
 By Valmonde: His design, a deep revenge 
 For unrequited love. Sharp misery, 
 Was the hard monitor, compell'd me thus — 
 Subserve so base a scheme, as price of food. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 What do I hear ? (Stands as spell-bound.) 
 
74 H A R LD E. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 Though great thy crime, this act 
 Speaks thy repentance and demands our mercy. 
 Haste, and atone thine agency in this, 
 By seeking Harolde, whom this foal deceit 
 Hath driven hence ; aud thus redeem thy fault ; 
 So — shalt thou be forgiven. 
 
 Le RotjX. 
 I do know 
 The place of Harold e's refuge, and with zeal, 
 Will fly to heal this breach. {Exit hurriedly L. H.) 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 (To Julien.) Quick— follow him ; 
 
 And find out Harolde. Let no moment's paus9 
 Have intermission, till thou bring'st him here — 
 And Heaven lend the swiftness. 
 
 Exit Julien L. H. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Doth the earth — 
 Endure the burthen of a fiend like this ; 
 And will not quake and ope, that he may sink 
 Down to its blackest centre ? (Grosses to R. H.) 
 
 Baptiste. 
 Said I not 
 Now, smile again. The cloud has broke already. 
 
 Enter Francois . 
 
 Francois. (To Eleanor.) 
 Your pardon ; Valmonde asks to see you, madam. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 What — will he dare — 
 
 Elevnor. 
 (Eagerly) I'll see him. Bid him hither. 
 
 Eat Francois L. H. 
 Leave me all — alone ! 
 
 Rosamonds. 
 Wherefore — what would'st thou ? 
 
Scene 1 
 
 HAROLDS. . 75 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Bay me not nay. I know my purpose — go ! 
 
 She urges them off R. H. Enter Valmonde L. H. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 I will not, madam, ask in form, thy pardon 
 For seeking now thy presence, as indeed 
 I boast broad ground, where-on to rear the hope 
 Of constant- welcome here ; which I may name, 
 My warm and lasting friendship. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Such regard, 
 I each day learn, the better to esteem, 
 And this day, more than ever. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 I have come, 
 As knowing the vile wrong, thou late hast suffer'd 
 From him who should have been thine honor's shield, 
 And not the shaft to pierce it, to afford 
 Such consolation, well as exposition, 
 As manhood binds me to. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Sir, let me pray 
 That thou o'ertax not such a monitor, 
 But keep thy service still within the reach 
 Of my poor gratitude. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 My present duty, 
 Is to unfold to you this man who wrongs you, 
 And lay his motive bare. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Thy pains are stale. 
 The man and motive are as palpable 
 As thou before me. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Who, in such a man, 
 Could look for such a villain 1 Do you know, 
 
76 HAROlDE. AcU y 
 
 'Twas a concerted scheme to put you off— 
 To cover his desertion, and the love 
 He harbors for another ? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 (In rage, turning on him.) Shameless liar ! 
 
 Patience no more endures to list this slander. 
 
 Smooth hypocrite, and base-pretended friend — 
 
 No more insult mine ear with thy foul speech ! 
 
 I know thee — devil — and thy purpose-;. 
 
 Thy creature, whom for bread thou didst suborn, 
 
 Hath made thee known, for the vile thing thou art — 
 
 Thou brazen monster ! {Grosses to L. C.) 
 
 Valmonde. 
 (Startled.) Le Roux. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Aye — thou know'st him. 
 How darest thou, look upon me V 
 
 Valmonde. 
 (Recovered.) Nay — thou ravest 1 
 
 Eleanor. 
 I have, and 'tis no wonder ; but this blow, 
 Doth re-instate my reason. Fly from hence 
 And seek thy kindred in the lowest depths 
 Of the eternal pit, where thou mav'st find 
 A darkness fitting to thy darker soul ! 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Nay, hear me, lady. Rather let me kneel, 
 And offer thee a love, that suffers all. 
 I own this work wa* mine, an 1 my proud heart, 
 Bounds high in transport, that no longer now, 
 That bar exists, to keep our souls asuuder. 
 Sweet— let this kiss — (Offers to kiss her,) 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Thou impudent insnlter! 
 May the just lightning of indignant scorn, 
 Now flashing from mine eye, sear, as with fire, 
 The guilty fcoul within theel (Crosses to R. 0.) 
 
Scene 3 
 
 HAROLDE. 77 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 (Sneeringly ) Gentle lady- 
 
 Discard not thus thy lover, who, to serve thee, 
 Tims braves thine anger. Rather bid me speak. 
 (Bitterly.) No more thou see'st thy husband ; He has fled — 
 Another land holds him — again he seeks 
 A fresher love ! (She turns on, and sternly waves him away.) 
 
 Oh— I obey thee, madam ; 
 To \vo3 again, when thou art better humor'd ! 
 
 Exit L. H. 
 Eleanor. 
 B r pak— break poor heart ! No hope is left thee now. 
 Husband, where art thou? Gone forever from me ! 
 ' Oh— reason, hold thy seat— my Harolde — love — 
 I have thee vet, here — here — here in my heart ; 
 Thou shalt not 'scape me. I will follow thee ! 
 My Harolde— what is here ? My brain— my brain ! 
 
 She rushes wildly off L. H. 
 
 SCENE II.— (2 G.) A dense wood. A rude hut or cave L. 2. E. 
 Enter Harolde in sombre garb R. 2 E. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Fit home, most fit . Here, where no human foot 
 
 Doth ever tread ; my refuge from the world 
 
 Where trust is made the knife to slay the lender, 
 
 And virtue but a name. World — world — I hate ye ! 
 
 Xay — though the ties, that link me to thy love, 
 
 Were my most vital sinews, — knit to life 
 
 I'd snap them thus. (About to enter Hut.) 
 
 JrjLiEN. 
 (Calls outmle R. H.) Ho— Harolde— 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Ha — surprised ? 
 Who seeks me thus — unwelcome ? 
 
 Julien. 
 (Entering R. H.) Look upon me. 
 
 And greet a brother 
 
78 HAROLDE. 
 
 Harolde. 
 Thou here ? What dost thou want, 
 Tltat thou intrud'st upon me? Speak, thy purpose 
 And leave rue to my peace. 
 
 JULIEN. 
 
 No — I am come 
 To bring thee hack to peace. Thy wile — 
 
 Hakolde. 
 
 No morel 
 Art thou here to scoff me? Wherefore speak of her, 
 Unless to hlast my hearing! 
 
 J D LIEN. 
 
 Dost thou love — 
 
 Hakolde. 
 Why, what art thou to ask me ? Look you Julien ; 
 A month hath waned, since from my soul, I swore 
 To void her memory yet every sound — 
 The warble of the birds — the whistling storm, 
 Doth babble of her name. Each glist'uing star, 
 Mirrors her likeness to me. 
 
 Julien. 
 
 She is true! 
 Is chaste as heaven's dew— as pure and stainless 
 A^ is the mountain lily. She is wrong'd 
 By foulest slan ler. Eve i now, the wretch — 
 Suborn'd by Valmonde (he the master villain), 
 At price of tood, to act the part thou saw'st, 
 And seem her paramour, hath made confession, 
 Against this traitor fiend. 
 
 Haroi.de. 
 What say'st thou — Valmonde? 
 
 Julien. 
 Who long hat.h brooded, to destroy thy peace 
 In envy — 'twas not his. 
 
 Haroi.de. 
 
 Oh — nameless villain 1 
 But where is he ? 
 
a a HAROLDE. 79 
 
 Scene S 
 
 JULIEN. 
 
 I know not. Use all speed 
 And haste with us to find her. Even now 
 She fled her home to seek thee, wide bereft 
 Of any poise of reason ; mad and wild — ■ 
 A wretched maniac. 
 
 Harolde. 
 High judging Heaven, — 
 Didst thou o'ersee, nor let me know this man! 
 Quick, let us hence, each on a various path, 
 And bring her hither straight. ( Exit Julien 2 E, L.) 
 
 Heart, hold thy rage, 
 Nor drive me from myself, till on this devil, 
 The gathering thunders of a due revenge 
 Pois'd o'er the monster's head, do burst and crush him. 
 
 (Exit 2%. R.) 
 
 SCENE III.— (3G.) Another part of the wood; separate trees, as 
 in a forest. Enter Valmonde L. 
 Valmonde. 
 
 Foil'd by this petty slave by him debarr'd 
 
 A final crowning of my dearest ends — 
 
 To make complete her fall. Enter Le Rotjx R. H. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 At last We meet. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 (Aside.) Thy last perchance, on earth. (To him.) What dost thou 
 here? 
 
 Le Roux. 
 A work of right, to bring thee thy reward — 
 Thou gilded monster ! Where thy pledge of faith, 
 For the sustainment of my wife and child ; 
 Who in the month have starv'd. I pawn'd my soul, 
 Serving thy work of baseness — my requital 
 To plunge me into prison. 
 
80 HAROLD E. Atv 
 
 Act* V 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Thankless fool : 
 It was to save tliee from the frantic rage 
 Of him — our common victim. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 
 While my wife ; 
 Stripp'd of her sole defence, is thus expos'd 
 To hunger and to death. Now to thy heart ! 
 
 He attacks Valmonde with a knife. They struggle 
 round, Valmonde disarms and stabs Le Roux, 
 who staggers against a tree L. H. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Howl in the other world, thou babbling slave ; 
 Thou brawl'st no more in this. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 Content to die- 
 So I but live, to charge my blood on thee. 
 
 Exit L. H. 
 Valmonde. 
 
 Wretched fool — thy vengeance is my service ; 
 Thy death my surer life. There lie and rot, 
 To whine and prate no more. 
 
 Enter Gereaud L. H. 
 
 Gereaud. 
 
 I read our danger. 
 I saw this fellow, bleeding here at hand, 
 And moaning heavily. Will they not set 
 The hounds of law upon us for this murder ? 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 'Tis timely thought. Haste for a guard, and bring them 
 
 Where we may light on Harolde : charge on him, 
 
 This beggar's death, as in his blind revenge 
 
 On him, his wife's suppo-e.l paramour. 
 
 Le Rous cannot survive, and he once dead, 
 
 Who shall o'erweigh my word by th°e attested? 
 
 It is our only plea, so must we bide it. 
 
 Exit Gereaud L. H. Noise of coming storm. 
 
Scene 8 
 
 HAROLDE. 81 
 
 Eleanor. 
 {Outside R. 1 E.) I have escaped them. They have lost my trace, 
 And know not where to follow. Harolde — stay — 
 Oh ! Tarry for me— fly not— look — 1 come, 
 Borne as upon the winds. Enters R. 1 E. (Storm louder.) 
 
 Valmonde. (C) 
 
 Stay! 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Who is here 1 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Thy lover and thy fate ? No bar is here ; 
 Thou art mine past help. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 (Shrinks back.) I know thee ! Thou art he— 
 
 The serpent of my dream. Approach me not — 
 There's poison in thy touch— death in thine eye I 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Shriek to the listless winds— O'ercry the sea — 
 With thy complaints, crack the wide arch of heaven . 
 Thou plead'st in vain ! The scene — the hour is mine : 
 Here will I compass what my boiling blood 
 Now drives me on to seize. (Clasps her.) 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 (Storm continued.) Ha ! Loose thy grasp 1 
 
 jj heip—my father — Heaven— am I alone, 
 Discarded of all aid ? 
 
 Valmonde. (0.) 
 
 Hark to the tempest ! 
 List how it mocks thee — Come ! 
 
 She struggles with him until they have changed sides. 
 Eleanor speaks during this. 
 
 Eleanor. (C.) 
 
 (Sharp thunder.) Avoid me ! (She gets his dagger.) Hal 
 
 Thy poinard's in my grasp— thy heart its sheath, 
 If thou dare'st follow me ! Ha — ha— ha — ha ! Exit U. E. L 
 
82 HAROLDE. 
 
 Act. V 
 
 Valmonde. (R. H. co?\) 
 
 I will not pause, but instant on her track 
 With passion's speed, there stifle her vain cries, 
 And triumph in the storm. 
 
 Going up is met by Harolde, who has enter'd 3 E. L. 
 
 Harolde. (L. C.) 
 Hold back ! Why, ah ! — 
 Remorseless — damned villain — do I front thee ! 
 
 Valmonde. (Recoiling R.) 
 
 What — Harolde here ! 
 
 Harolde. 
 Aye — Harolde ! Dost thou tremble ? 
 Why dost thou turn ? Come — let me see thine eye, 
 That through its window I may pierce thy soul, 
 And read the demon in thee. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Lo — I do: 
 
 And brave whate'er thou dare'st. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Thou art bold : 
 But legion'd powers were too small to dam 
 The tide of my revenge. Yet would I pause 
 And dally with my vengeance, to enjoy 
 Thy terror, ere I strike. Thou — thou art he, 
 To whose malignant tongue, with credent ear 
 I yielded up my faiih ! 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Yet, can I laugh : 
 Mine is the 'vantage still. Never again, 
 Shalt thou embrace, as thou wert wont — thy wife. 
 The sweet response, that reason gives and takes, 
 Hope nevermore from her! Her mind is dead. 
 She fled me even now, or I had clasp'd her. 
 Do I not triumph ? 
 
 Harolde. 
 (Recoiling.) Dost thou tell me this ; 
 
 And with a bitter spleen, laugh at thy work ? 
 
H A RO L D E. 83 
 
 She's gone indeed, yet here I stand in act' ; 
 
 While the destroyer in a taunting glee 
 
 Lives wrapt in his success. E'en as I gaze, 
 
 Wilder and wilder swells this battling rage 
 
 That here shall burst upon thee. Scourge o' the earth — 
 
 Thou drivest all pity hence, and Nature's law 
 
 Now claims thee here! (Storm ; but less loud.) 
 
 As Harolde adratces to attack Valmonde, Julien 
 enters R. 2 E., and seises Harolde's arm. 
 
 Julien. 
 Hold, Harolde . Stain not thus, 
 Thy desperate hand with blood. Thy wife yet lives, 
 And calls upon thee now. Leave him, the while 
 To higher retribution. Blast not here, 
 All chance of joy to come ! 
 
 Harolde. 
 The wreck is made: 
 And shall the fury that did blow the storm — 
 Ride victor on the jjale ? 
 
 As Harolde advances again, Eleanor is heard as 
 if high up at U. E. L., at a distance. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 (Outside.) Strike not — forbear ! 
 
 Julien. 
 List — thou art warned ! 
 
 Eleanor 
 (Outside as before.) Haste — Harolde, come to me ! 
 
 Harolde. 
 A voice, as 'twere from heaven, bids me hold. 
 It saves thee now — begone ! 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 (Aside.) Thy glass runs low. 
 
 Exit R. H. 
 Julien. 
 Haste thee to yonder cliff, where wildly now 
 She treads the dizzy height, and from the verge 
 
84 HAROLDE. 
 
 Calls on tliy name, as if to reach thine ear, 
 In the far land, where, in her state of madness , 
 She deems that thou await'st her. 
 
 Haroi/de. 
 
 Lead the way. — 
 
 (Eleanor shrieks U. E. L.) 
 That cry again. Poor girl, I come to thee : 
 But if I lose thee, back upon this fiend 
 I turn to wreak thy wrongs. Quick — let us on ! 
 
 Exeunt U. E. L. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Full depth of stage. Wood, rocks and sea. High 
 shelving peaks A cliff projecting U. E. L., on 
 which Eleanor is standing. Sen rough, wind and 
 storm through the speaking. Baptiste and Rosa- 
 monde gazing up at her. 
 
 Baptiste. (R. C.) 
 
 See where she perches on yon towering peak, 
 That aches the eye to reach ! 
 
 Rosamonde. (R.) 
 
 Oh— look— behold I 
 Now she approaches the extremest verge, 
 As she would leap from thence. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 
 I cannot look. 
 May heaven guard her and sustain her now, 
 For she is past our aid. ( Wa'ks to L. 0.) 
 
 Eleanor. (On the cliff.) 
 
 Hush, and be still — 
 Thou howling tempest, and thou moaning sea; 
 Be mute as sleepy death : while on the wings 
 Of intermittent zephyrs, o'er thy breast, 
 Is borne the welcome music of that voice 
 Breathed from yon distant land. 
 
 Enter Harolde and Jttlten 2 E. R. 
 
HAROlDE. 85 
 
 Soene 4 
 
 HAROLDE. 
 
 Oh — fearful stand ! 
 Earth, hold thy course, lest in thy ceaseless track 
 Thou waverest, and yon dim-discerned point 
 Receive the smallest motion 'neath her teet, 
 And hurl her down head-long. I'll to her straight. {Going.) 
 
 Julien. {Checking him.) 
 
 Hold, Harolde — be not rash ; but stealthily 
 Scale the dread height and softly glide to grasp her ; 
 Lest, like a dreamer, at the shock she fall — 
 And dash to atoms here. {Storm heard.) 
 
 Eleanor. 
 The envious surge 
 Abates not, nor no sound, save its wild roar 
 Assails mine ear, absorbing in its fury 
 The tones that else would greet me. 
 
 Harolde. 
 {Breaking from Julien) Hear me then, 
 
 As o'er the bellow of this howling storm, 
 Though it o'erswell the thunders of great Jove, 
 Thy husband's voice shall reach thee. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Hark— I am call'd ! 
 Ye buoyant clouds, spread now your milky sails, 
 And fly with lightning's speed, while on your crests 
 I sail to seek my love ! 
 
 A heavy thunder-clapp. She leaps from the rock and 
 falls into the sea. Rosamonde shrieks.. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Oh ! madd'ning sight — 
 Horror, past thought ! 
 
 He leaps into the sea 0, towards R, and disappears. 
 Julien rushes out U. E. R. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 
 (Looking off C. R.) Look, where he flies to save her ! 
 
 Too late — she sinks — while he, in wild despair, * 
 
 Beats the rough waves, that battle for their prize. 
 
8U HAROlDE. Aet . v 
 
 Lo — where slie rises — lie is near — lie grasps lier ; 
 
 They ride together on the crested surge, 
 
 But she, all motionless and still as death ! 
 
 They're lost — I'll gaze no more 1 Here end me heaven, 
 
 For life is hateful now. 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 They reach the shore ; 
 He bears her up the rock. See were she comes, 
 Mangled and dead. 
 
 The storm grows more moderate and soon ceases. En- 
 ter Harolde U. E. R. , hearing the limp form of 
 Eleanor, speaking as he comes on, followed by 
 JrjLiEsr. He brings her to C. Kneels and holds 
 her. 
 
 Harolde. 
 Bear with our softest care, 
 The precious burthen of her shatter'd frame 
 Here to this spot. 
 
 Rosamonde. 
 • Sweet sister — speak to me ; 
 And ease the hearts that burst in grief for thee. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 : She speaks no more — poor martyr. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Gently speak — 
 Soft — soft as whispering doves. Hearest thou, dear love? 
 Thine Harolde, 'tis that calls thee. Sh — no word ! 
 She'll never speak again. Flow, flow hot drops 
 And scald the eyes that shed ye, that no more 
 They look upon this wreck. Oh — peerless sweet ; 
 Leave me not unforgiven that I wronged thee, 
 But wake and give me peace. (She stirs faintly.) 
 
 Juliet*. 
 
 Doth she not stir? 
 She doth. Look you — her eyes — her lips are openi 
 
 Eleanor. 
 i Very faintly.) Air — air — I suffocate I 
 
Scene* HAROLDE. 87 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Hear yon, she lives! 
 Stand from the breeze, that slie may speak again, 
 And give us living hope. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 (Still very faint.) Where art thou— Harolde— 
 
 Harolde. 
 Here, at thy side, abused one. Angry Heaven, 
 Pour now thy wrath upon me, that I ever 
 Held question of her truth. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 (More faintly.) Then — thou — approvest me? 
 
 I am content — all's peace — Farewell ! (Sinks down.) 
 
 Harolde. 
 (After long pause.) She's gone ! 
 
 Dead — dead. No more those lips shall speak my name! 
 One kiss— the last ere the ice falls! (Kisses her.) Oh ! Heaven- 
 Why have I 'scaped the fury of all fate, 
 For hour so dark as this? My heart's a void — 
 A cavern tenantless . Ift every chamber, 
 Despair usurps alone. Dead — dead and gone! 
 
 JULTEN. 
 His brain will ne'er endure this final stroke ; 
 Best we entreat him hence. 
 
 Baptiste. • 
 Come — leave this place. 
 
 Harolde. • 
 No. never — never — never! Oh — ye hills, 
 Bude rocks and mountains fall upon me here, 
 And shield me from th' offended eye of Heaven. 
 And you, her father— sister — brother— all ; 
 Just in your vengeful wrath, strike — strike e'en here : 
 I bare my willing breast to all your daggers ! 
 
 (He raises her gently and speaks on.) 
 Bear her, I pray you, to my hovel, here — 
 
88 HAROLDE. 
 
 Where, when upon her wronger, I avenge 
 Her woes and mine, I will, in death repair, 
 And find my grave with her. 
 
 Baptiste tears off Eleanor followed by Rosamonde 
 L. 2E. 
 
 Heart break not yet, 
 But rouse with fraught supernal for revenge ! 
 Oh, yield the monster to me. Bring him now : 
 Give him — Oh heaven to my present rage. {Looks R. H.) 
 Lo you — my prayer is heard ! Look where he comes 
 Ripe for the sacrifice ! 
 
 Enter Valmonde R. H. Harolde draws— Julien 
 interp >ses and holds him. 
 
 Julien. 
 Tet hold thy hand 
 The law shall do thee right. 
 
 Harolde. 
 Law to the winds I 
 The shield of cowards and the tool of knaves 
 Affords no balm to me. Refrain thy hold ! 
 For the volcanic fury of my soul 
 Cries out — revenge ! Forbear! The hour is come. 
 Thou liar, slanderer — betrayer — murderer ! 
 Thou doubly venom'd viper, who«e foul breath 
 Hath poison'd this fair flower of the world — 
 Her voice, which sav'd thee once, is hush'd in death, 
 And thou art here to die. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Thou liest fool ! 
 I yet shall live to see thy hated trunk 
 Swing from a gibbet. Hither guards of law ! 
 
 Enter officer and guard 2 E. R. 
 Here in this presence, do I charge on Harolde, 
 The murder of Le Roux, in his mad rage 
 For an approved wrong upon his wife. 
 Secure him. (Guard seize and disarm Harolde.) 
 
HAROLDE. 89 
 
 Harolde. 
 Oh — where is thy thunder Jove ? 
 Brazen abuser, scorner of all law, 
 Alike of God or man — tremble — beware, 
 Lest the grown anger of outraged heaven ; 
 O'ertake thee here. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 Guards, wherefore do you stay, 
 To list this prating? Hence with the assassin ! 
 
 La Roux ruslies on wildly L. H. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 Monster — 'twas thou ! (Pause.) 
 
 Valmonde. 
 
 (Aside) Ha— doth the dead arise ? 
 
 Nay — an thou'rt mortal still — thoudiest now. 
 
 Valmonde attacks Le Roux, who wrests the weapon 
 from, and stabs him. All rapid, and speaking 
 during the struggle. 
 
 Le Roux. 
 But not alone ! Here, with my parting breath, 
 I charge my blood on Valmonde ! Lo — I die ; 
 And seal this truth — with all the rest — in death. 
 
 Dies, and is car tied off by the guard L. H. 
 
 Juliex. 
 The hand of heaven, still retributive, 
 Is just at last. 
 
 Valmonde. 
 (Supported by guard.) Aye — but too late at best 
 For his behoof. 1 die, but triumph yet : 
 His wife — a corpse — 
 
 Harolde. 
 Thou bearest still thy sting. 
 Not all the tortures of thrice tripled hell, 
 Can reach thy meed, nor purge thy lep'rous soul ! 
 What now is life, gloom'd by the memory 
 Of all that brighten'd earth ! Sweet love— no more 
 
90 HAROLOE. 
 
 Act. V 
 
 Thine arms shall ope to clasp me ! I'll not live 
 To lack their heaven long. Is my prayer heard — 
 And have the mountains fall'n? The weight of worlds 
 Press on my heart and crush it. Let me hence — 
 Oh ! Eleanor — my wife — I come to thee, 
 To die upon thy bosom ! 
 
 Goes towards where Eleanor was taken, and is met 
 by Baptiste, who enters L. 2 E. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 
 Stay — she lives! 
 
 Harolde. 
 What say'st thou — lives ? Art mad — or do /rave? 
 
 Baptiste. 
 'Twas hut a swoon, the counterfeit of death ; 
 She lives to bless us all. The pallid stamp 
 Of the grim semblance, brightens into life 1 
 
 Hapolde, 
 Oh ! Mock me not. 'Twere double death. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 (Cal'ing out L. H.) Ha— Harolde. 
 
 Harolde. 
 That voice — she lives — she comes. 
 
 {Enter Eleanor L. 2 E., followed by Rosamonde. 
 My wife, my Eleanor 1 
 
 Eleanor. 
 My husband— {They embrace C.) 
 
 Harolde. 
 Eleanor — is this a dream? 
 If 'tis, Oh — wake me not. Here let me lb, 
 Or dream thus ever ! 
 
 Valmonde. 
 I am foiled at last ! 
 She lives and they are happy. Torments — fiends- 
 All the stored curses of the hell within me, 
 Be on ye bith forever ! Oh — that I could — 
 
HAROLDE. 91 
 
 Gathers effort — approaches Harolde with menace — 
 fails — staggers back into the arms of the officer. 
 — dies, and is carri d off R. H. 
 
 Harolde. 
 Look up, dear love. Lo, where the villain dies, 
 Struck to the heart e'en here, by bis own victim. 
 Yet do I shame, tbat mine was not the hand, 
 To slay thy wronger. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Oh! let us joy in that. 
 His blood upon tby hand, though justly shed, 
 Were yet some cloud upon our day of bliss, 
 Which now sball sbine undim'd. Close to tby heart — 
 Here clasp me until death ! 
 
 Harolde. 
 Of deatb no more ; 
 But new found life, restor'd as from the grave ! 
 Wife — Father — Sister — Brotber, beart with heart; 
 Here, let us, to the Lord Supreme of all, 
 Pour out our preans of eternal praise. 
 Ob ! hour repaying all — heaven of earth ! 
 
 Plaintive mush as the curtain gently falls. 
 
 DISPOSITION. 
 
 Harolde. 
 
 Rosamonde. Eleanor. 
 
 Julien. Baptiste. 
 
 THE END. 
 
93 
 
 JTOT'E. 
 
 To the players or Stage Qirectors : 
 
 Jf, in any case, for lack of appliances or otherwise, 
 the leap of Eleanor from the cliff, cannot be done, 
 or it be deemed expedient (for any reason) to omit it, 
 then begin the last scene thus : At the opening of 
 the scene, enter Baptiste and Rosamonde L. 2 
 E., and Jolien U. E. R. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 What art thy tidings? Speak! 
 
 JULIEN. 
 
 The end is come ! 
 Clambering the rugged steep of yon high clff— 
 That overhangs the sea ; whore human foot 
 Did never tread before ; from the last verge, 
 Calling against the storm, upon his name — 
 She stood with outstretch'd arms. lie rushed to save — 
 Invoking her from such a fearful stand. 
 She heard, and answer'd, deeming he had spoke 
 From other lands : She cried — " I come to thee 1" 
 And with a shriek of joy, leap'd from the peak, 
 And fell into the surge 1 
 
 ROSAMONDE. 
 
 (Shuddering.) Oh— lost forever 1 
 
 Baptiste. 
 But where is he ! 
 
 JULIEN. 
 
 Madden'd with such a sight — 
 Disdaining all restraint, he follow'd after, 
 To save or die with her. 
 
 Baptiste. 
 (Looking over the Sea R .) Look, where he strives— 
 
 Too late — she sinks, &c. 
 
 Then taking up, and continuing the speech from 
 and with the second line from the bottom on page 
 85, and thence proceeding to the End as written. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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