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OUT OF THE SHADOW 
 
 Ji §x^mn in $hxtc Jijcts 
 
 BY 
 
 AUGUST VATTER and JOHN E. SPENCER 
 
 SOMEWHAT ALTERED FROM THE ORIGINAL VERSION AS 
 
 PLAYED AT THE VEREINS HALLE OF THE BOYLSTON 
 
 SCHULVEREIN, DANFORTH STREET, BOSTON, 
 
 MAY 27, 18S9, UNDER THE TITLE OF 
 
 "A NOBLE SACRIFICE." 
 
 JAN 23!890.V,V 
 
 BOSTON ^-^''NGTO' 
 
 ^^^iJi^A/^^:uJLr'J^^^ 
 
 1890 
 39 
 
SYNOPSIS. 
 
 ACT 1. 
 
 Morning. — Isabel's birthday. A husband's love and a husband's secret. 
 •' Can sucli joy endure ? " The shadow of tlie past clouds the light of 
 the present. Army and Navy. A lesson in love. " A flank movement 
 and a * naval engagement.' " The army routed. Waldemar's confes- 
 sion. " The man you would call father is an outcast.'''' The edge of the 
 shadow. " I will stand by her side and defy the world." Questioning 
 the fates. The foreign workman. The courage of innocence. " Here 
 was my name; he will remember it." The Shadow falls. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Afternoon. — Taking counsel. " Do your best, the happiness of us all 
 depends upon you." Proposing under difficulties. Edith's dream. 
 Father and daughter. " It is true; he is faithful." The shadow comes 
 again. The Rat King. Isabel's scorn. "Of -uhom are you speaking? 
 Your husbaytd !''' A little light in the darkness. "It is too late — too 
 late." Isabel learns the truth. A convict's wife. " My idol has turned 
 to clay." Isabel's flight. The Captain takes a tumble. Waldemar's 
 return. The deserted home. '' Alone ! alotte ! " The blackness OF 
 THE Shadow. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Evening. -" The cigarette of peace." A looker-on at love. "Great Jupi- 
 ter! I can't stand it!" The terror of uncertainty. "He will surely 
 come ; but when ? " The meeting of old enemies. Brought to Bav. 
 Accusation and recrimination. "Cease your mockery, and tell me what 
 you want." The price of silence. " Will money bring ba^k the dead ? " 
 A living tomb. The tnlisman of love. " Your child lives — but not for 
 you." A father's grief. "Do not ruin lier happiness, as you have 
 mine." The S.vckifice. *' My little one is dead — to we!" The 
 shadow lifts. " He is gone, never to return." Husband and wife. A 
 confession. " W' hy have you not trusted me?" A bond of love. 
 Out of the Shadow. 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 Scene. — Waldemar's ^;w^Wj. An elegant villa, L., 
 sfeps leading up. Balustrade and steps at C. Exits R. 
 and L. Beyond the balustrade a drop showing factory 
 buildings in perspective. R. an arbor containing seats. 
 Foreground potted plants and rustic baskets filled with 
 floiuers. Before the arbor a sjnall table covered with 
 papers, writing materials, etc. Myron is seated in a 
 large armchair, l. Enter Waldemar and Isabel, as 
 curtain rises, from house. At rise of curtain, lively 
 music, eight bars ; four at one bell, four as curtain rises. 
 
 Waldemar. Your birthday party, my dear, opens under 
 the most favorable circumstances. All those who love you 
 best once more gather here to celebrate the day. I regret 
 having to leave you even for an instant, but I am obliged to 
 go to the factory for a while. Nothing but duty would call 
 me away from your side to-day. The brightest and best of 
 the whole year, — the day on which the cause of all my hap- 
 piness was born. {Kisses her and exit r. 2 e.) 
 
 Isabel {looks after him, then comes down). He is still 
 my lover, though we are married more than ten years. Oh, 
 can such joy, such devotion endure through life ! 
 
 Myron {sits on armchair). Why not .'* Your happiness 
 is well founded. 
 
 Isa. {kneels beside him). Happiness ! That is too mild a 
 term. Our language is too poor to give expression to my 
 joy. 
 
 Myr. Then do not try to express it. Love your husband 
 as he deserves, and enjoy your happiness while it lasts ! 
 (^Slow music. Strings with mute.) 
 
6 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 IsA. While it lasts ! That is it. Father, have you no- 
 ticed lately how strange he is, as if some hidden sorrow was 
 preying upon his mind ? 
 
 Myr. No, my dear. What fancies you have ! Depend 
 upon it, Frederick has no sorrow to conceal from us. 
 He is too open-hearted to deceive any one. No ! Cast 
 such thoughts away at once. 
 
 ISA. But, father, sometimes in the midst of the brightest 
 scenes, when there is no cause for anxiety, I have suddenly 
 turned to speak to him, and seen his eyes fastened upon me 
 with, oh, such a look of anguish, Fve stood transfixed with 
 amazement, and then — 
 
 Myr. {deeply interested). Well, — what then ? 
 
 ISA. Then he would recover himself, pass his hand over 
 his forehead and smile as if nothing troubled him. 
 
 Myr. Perhaps it was some indisposition. He works 
 hard. Think how he has built up our factory, enlarged our 
 trade, increased our fortune. He has much to think of, 
 much to try him. But a hidden sorrow, concealed thoughts 
 and purposes, — never ! He is incapable of it. 
 
 ISA. Perhaps in the past, — in the years before we knew 
 him, something — 
 
 Myr. But we know his past. His life is spread before 
 us like the waters of a crystal lake, without a ripple to mar 
 its purity. Think how manfully he struggled to redeem my 
 broken credit. He would not listen to one word in favor of 
 compromise. " Pay the penalty of your errors," he said. 
 *' Stand acquitted before the bar of justice even though it 
 takes all you have." Such a man can have nothing to con- 
 ceal from either of us. 
 
 IsA. But in his native land — 
 
 Myr. He has told us of his life there, of his success in 
 early manhood, that his father and mother died, that he lost 
 his situation, came to America, learned our language and at 
 last by mere chance found his way to this place, while look- 
 ing for work. {Rises and lifts 7ip Isabel.) Your thoughts, 
 my dear, are unworthy of you, and unjust to him. Banish 
 them. 
 
 IsA. {escorting him to the hotise). He will never lack a 
 champion while you live, father. 
 
 Myr. I have unbounded faith in him. 
 
 ISA. And I, boundless faith and love. I promise you to 
 indulge in no more fancies. 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. / 
 
 (^Exetint into house j stop music.') 
 
 Capt. a. {oiitside). You sailors tell big stories. {Enter 
 with Lieut. Manly, l. u. e) Pretty women in China! 
 Tiiere are no women in the world so — so — I might say — 
 lovely as our American women. Beautiful women in China ! 
 Nonsense ! Tell that to the marines ! 
 
 Manly. As I am a marine officer you fulfil the command. 
 But, Kendrick, if you had travelled beyond the bounds of 
 your own land, you would know that beauty is not limited to 
 any country. Go abroad some time and you will see for 
 yourself that there are beautiful women even in China. 
 
 Capt. A. Go abroad ? Tiien 1 must remain in ignorance, 
 or leave the army, A convict has a better chance than I, 
 he can sometimes get a — what is it ? 
 
 Man. a pardon ? 
 
 Capt. A. Oh, no ! Ticket — 
 
 Man. Ticket of leave ? 
 
 Capt. A. That's it. Ticket of leave. But I must stay — 
 stay where the government puts me. Now if my wishes had 
 been, what is it — consulted — I would have liked to have 
 entered the navy, but my father was opposed to it and sent 
 me to West Point. I went through, that is, graduated and 
 now am one of a — a — noble or valiant band of twenty thou- 
 sand under orders to — to defend three thousand times two 
 thousand, thirty times twenty and eight ciphers. 
 
 Man. What are you figuring ? 
 
 Capt. A. Square miles. Three times tw^o and eight 
 ciphers, three ciphers, — six hundred million square miles, 
 and the army, twenty thousand men, the greater part officers. 
 Take off four ciphers, leaves four, and two in six three times, 
 three and four ciphers, thirty thousand square miles for me 
 to protect. Is that correct } 
 
 Man. It must be. Figures cannot lie. 
 
 Capt. A. It is so. But we don't try to defend the whole. 
 Most of my time in the service has been spent {takes off 
 cap and walks away from Arthur, showins^ bald place on 
 the back of his heaa) in chasing Indians and trying to save 
 my scalp. 
 
 Man. {smiling). The danger has lessened of late vears, 
 Kendrick. 
 
 Capt. A. (looks at him, then places his hand on top of his 
 head). Oh! Well, the Indians are not always — what is 
 it — particular. 
 
^ OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 Man. We must go on with our preparations for this even- 
 ing. Also arrange about giving Isabel her presents, and we 
 must make a speech on the occasion. (^Sits r.) 
 
 Capt. a. Speech ! Who ? 
 
 Man. No one more suitable than you. As her brother — 
 
 Capt. A. {sinks comically into a chair). Me ! I couldn't 
 say a word. It's hard enough to talk to one at a time ; but 
 to a number of people — excuse me / No, you do tlie talking, 
 and ril do the work. Fix everything for the lanterns, fire- 
 works, and so forth. Each one can give his own present, 
 that will save talk. 
 
 Man. Yes. We can manage it. Frederick will not want 
 to be disturbed. To-day has a double meaning to him. His 
 wife's birthday is also their wedding day. Everything must 
 be managed to make it a success. Kendrick, is it not re- 
 markable how devoted they are to one another ? They are 
 married lovers. 
 
 Capt. A. That's it, — married lovers, — good — I wish I was. 
 
 Man. You.? I always thought you feared the chains of 
 matrimony. 
 
 Capt. A. That's it. A man who can't talk — well is — mis- 
 — is — well, people don't know him. I proposed to a nice 
 young lady fifteen years ago, — I lost her. 
 
 Man. Lost her'? By the hand of Providence .? 
 
 Capt. A. Oh ! The deuce ! Hand of Providence ! 
 Hand of Ned Sherman ! He married her, took her to North- 
 field. They are living there yet, have four children. 
 
 Man. Well, that is not so bad. You are in your prime. 
 Time enough yet. 
 
 Capt. A. Thank you. {Confidentially^ Now suppose 
 I was in love, how would — what would be a good way to 
 propose ? 
 
 Man. That depends upon the age of the lady, and the 
 different circumstances, the time, place, season, her manner 
 of bringing up, education — 
 
 Capt. A. Gracious! There's a lot to think of. 
 
 Man. It is a delicate and trying situation. 
 
 Capt. A. I know it. 
 
 Man. You might say to her, calling her by her name — 
 Prudence or Patience, or whatever it might be, — ''I love 
 you." 
 
 Capt. A. No ! I couldn't do that. I must skirmish 
 around a little. Sort of flank movement. 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 9 
 
 Man. Then you mi,2:ht take walks, rides, and visit lier at 
 her home, and sometirne when she seemed to enjoy your 
 society ijreatly and was in her happiest mood, ask her if 
 she would enjoy this companionship forever. — if she would 
 like to have you ever near, to love, cherish, and protect her. 
 
 Capt. a. That's good. Til try it. 
 
 Man. You ouiiht to tell me her name. 
 
 Capt. A. Well, — at some other time. 
 
 Man. (n'si\^). Then let us go on with our preparations 
 for this evening.' 
 
 Capt. A. (rises). That wouldn't be underhanded, this 
 closing in on the enemy ? Would it .'' 
 
 Man. All is fair in love and war. 
 
 Capt. A. {/oo^s ofR.). That^s it ! Here comes Freder- 
 ick. 
 
 Man. Now we can ask him if he has any further orders 
 for this evening. 
 
 (Enter Waldemar and ]ames, r. u. e.) 
 
 Waldemar (a roll of paper in his hand. Bows to Capt. 
 and Lieut.). Wait a moment, 1 have a few business affairs 
 to arrange. (They bow and go up stage:) Tell Whitcomb 
 to give the help a half holiday. 
 
 James (l. c). With full pay, sir ? 
 
 Wal. (sits at small table, R.). Assuredly. It would be 
 no holiday to them if they lost their wages. I will look over 
 these accounts, you can return for them later. Let all 
 further business affairs remain until to-morrow. To-day I 
 would like to forget the factory and its cares. Is there any- 
 thing else of importance ? 
 
 James. Yes, sir. The foreman in the spinning-room says, 
 the spinners are using up the last of the cotton, and can't 
 have the new supply for three weeks. Mr. Whitcomb says 
 they must run on short time or shut down at the end of the 
 week. 
 
 Wal. (thotightftilly). We must try to avoid this error in 
 future and keep an abundance of stock on hand. I will tell 
 the manager not to shut down but give employment to the 
 married men, and others who may have children or parents 
 to support. The loss should fall on those who can bear it 
 without suffering. 
 
 James. Linfield asked me to tell you that there is a new 
 workman in the weaving room who is causing them trouble ; 
 he would like to have you see about him to-morrow. 
 
10 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 Wal. I will do so. I have told Lin field not to discharge 
 one of the help without my knowledge. I do not want any 
 harshness or injustice. 
 
 James. That is why he has waited, knowing that you 
 wish to judge yourself in such matters. But this fellow is of 
 a bad sort, and is having an evil influence over some of the 
 rougher kind in the factory. He is a foreigner and harangues 
 to them on iheir rights. Your wife's uncle recommended him. 
 
 Wal. a communist most likely. 
 
 James. I think so, he looks as though he had a bad 
 record. 
 
 Wal. If he is inclined to do right now, his past should 
 not stand in his way, but I will see to it in the morning. 
 Tell the manager not to disturb me to-day if he can help it. 
 
 James. Very well, sir. {Exit r. u. e.) 
 
 Capt. a. {comes down'). Have you any commands for 
 me .'* 
 
 Wal. Have everything properly managed for this even- 
 ing. Let there be music and a dance for our people on the 
 lawn. I would like to see them happy. 
 
 Capt. A. I will see to everything. {Exit R. u. e.) 
 
 Man. {coming dotun). Frederick, I need your advice and 
 help. I wished to tell you, Frederick, — 
 
 Wal. Well ! Go on. Fm listening. 
 
 Man. You are busy perhaps. I will wait until you are 
 at leisure. 
 
 Wal. {leans back). Confide your trouble to me. Am I 
 not ever your friend .'' 
 
 Man. {sits at l. of table). Yes, and that gives me cour- 
 age to speak. I am in love. 
 
 Wal. I suspected as much. 
 
 Man. Is it so evident ? 
 
 Wal. To me the signs are plain enough. Mythology 
 teaches that Cupid is blind, but no one claims that love is 
 invisible. Your abstracted manner, gloomy face, and fre- 
 quent sighs can have but one meaning. But who is the 
 favored one ? Can you not confide in me .'' 
 
 Man. Yes, but first let me tell you why I love. Fate 
 directed you to this place, and made you an instrument of 
 <:ood to others. You found here a man already past his 
 prime, struggling against heavy odds to redeem his credit 
 and save his family from social degradation. By your untir- 
 ing energy, clear insight, and noble devotion — (Wal. raises 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. U 
 
 his hand.) Hear me to the end. You saved him and his 
 fomilv. You were rewarded by the love of those you labored 
 for, Myron Arnold's gratitude, his lasting ^nendship, he 
 respea of his family and friends, and, best of all, Isabel 
 crowned your happiness with her own noble heart. (Wal 
 turns away.) Out of all this grew up the paradise of >our 
 home Your home has been the nursery of my heart. 1 
 have counted the hours when homeward bound that brought 
 me nearer to you and that happy fires.de, where I have 
 learned what it is to love and be loved. _ 
 
 Wal. And welcome you have ever been, Arthur, our 
 home circle is broken when you are absent 
 
 Man {takes Waldemar's hand in both of his). You 
 ^ive me courage. When you came here among us, you 
 brought a little child. Time has passed and to-day she is a 
 lovely woman ; the influence of your home has developed a 
 <rrace of mind more enduring than physical beauty. (Wal 
 %rns away.) I thank you for her presence among us, and 
 
 ^'\Tl7iabruptly). Spare me ! Spare yourself, Arthur ! I 
 
 know what you would ask; but believe me, it is not best. 
 
 Do not force me to give the reason, but accept my decision, 
 
 in the name of our friendship. 
 
 Man You cannot realize the pain you cause me. ^ 
 
 Wal. {harsh tone). Devote yourself to your profession 
 
 ^tlAN^'Voriet? Can we control memory? Leave her ? 
 Whv ? Fredenck, this is no boyish fancy. , I loved her as a 
 child, when scarcely more than a boy myself, I love her now 
 with all the strength of manhood. 
 
 Wal. irises). Tm very sorry for you. 
 
 MAN. Igrasps his arm). I implore you to tell me your 
 reason. In the name of justice, in the name of our friend- 
 ship, speak, Frederick! I'm no coward! 
 
 ^AL. {looks at him sadly). You will have 't so ^^t 
 remember, 1 would have spared you. {Sits,) When 1 
 brought Edith here I told Isabel and her tather, that she 
 was an orphan, and I told the truth. Her n^o^'^^/^^^'-^f^f '^^• 
 I had seen the earth close over her coffin, and when the last 
 ites hid been performed, I took the child in my arms and 
 returned to my native city. 1 cared or he as ^ ^ ^^V^^ 
 my own, cared for her as a man should who had pledged his 
 honor to — her father. 
 
12 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 Man. Her father? 
 
 Wal. Yes ! I heard of the destitute condition of his 
 family and promised him I would aid his wife and child. I 
 arrived too late to save the mother, but I have kept my 
 promise and done all I could for his daughter. 
 
 Man. You have, indeed, nobly kept your pledge. But 
 her father ? Why could he not care for them ? 
 
 V^ Ki.. (^reluctantly ; tu7'7ting away'). He was — in prison. 
 
 Man. (orasping the chair). Where? 
 
 Wal. {fir;H, hard tone). In prison. 
 
 Man. What for ? 
 
 Wai.. {aside). Oh, this is torture ! {Aloud.) For high- 
 way robbery. Yes, the man you would call father was an 
 outcast, the companion of thieves and murderers, a man who 
 made a business of crime, a man — 
 
 Man. Horrible ! {Sinkino into a chair.) 
 
 Wal. The man lives. His name is Ramenoff, Johann 
 Ramenoff. He was under sentence for twenty years — he 
 has served sixteen — in four years he will be free. What 
 then ? 
 
 Man. {looking up). Frightful! 
 
 Wal. Can you, dare you, take such a risk ? 
 
 Man. {rises slowly., leans on chair). I can, and I will. 
 
 Wal. Remember, Arthur, I have done my duty as a 
 friend. 
 
 Man. Her father's crimes shall not be the means of in- 
 jury to her. From her own lips I will learn my fate, and if 
 she loves me, I will stand by her side, and defy the world. 
 {Exit Manly into house.) 
 
 Wal. {after a pause). And learn what it is to have one's 
 life haunted by a ghastly phantom, which naught but death 
 can take away. {Sinks into chair at k.) 
 
 {Efiter Captain Arnold, r. u. e., with a box containing 
 pistols ; places them at small table, L.) 
 
 Capt. a. We will have target shooting this afternoon, 
 A prize for the best shot. {Looks at Wal.) You are ill ! 
 What's the matter ? Shall I bring you a glass of wine ? 
 
 Wal. {wearily). No. It will soon pass. I have a pain 
 here. {Places his hand on his temple.) 
 
 Capt. A. {puts his hand on Waldemar's forehead). 
 Why ! your head throbs as though it would burst. 
 
 Wal. {o^ently reinoving his haftd). It is nothing. A 
 slight headache. {Points at box.) Pistols ? 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 13 
 
 Capt. a. Yes. 
 Wal. Are they loaded ? 
 
 Capt. A. Yes. But I will lock the box. (Fee/s m his 
 pocket.) I forgot the key. 
 
 Wal. You had better take them away ; some one mieht 
 be injured. 
 
 Capt. A. I will find the key and return soon. {Turns 
 to go; comes back.) Frederick, I want to confide in you. 
 Tm in love. 
 Wal. Another one ! This seems to be lover's day. 
 Capt. A. Another one ? Who is the first one ? 
 Wal. 1 cannot betray family secrets. 
 Capt. A. To be sure. Well, — now, — suppose you 
 were in my place, in love and so forth, what would 
 you do .^ 
 
 Wal. I should ask the lady if she loved me in return. 
 Capt. A. Yes, — that's it. But — how would you cq 
 about it.? ^ ^ 
 
 Wal. Who is it .? 
 
 Capt. A. Well, — I will tell you some other time. I 
 wanted to know some way to get at the subject. 
 Wal. Is it our neighbor .? Miss Eunice .? 
 Capt. A. Eunice, Eunice Brown 1 Absurd ! — forty at 
 least, and thin as a rifle barrel. 
 Wal. An estimable lady. 
 
 Capt. A. No doubt. But I'm not a Methuselah. Now, 
 what would you say to a young lady eighteen or twenty .? 
 
 Wal. I should say there'was too great a difference in 
 your ages, but if you love each other, you will learn the lan- 
 guage of affection without any advice from me. 
 Capt. A. Language of affection ! that's good ! 
 Wal. {slightly amused). There is a language unspoken 
 and yet most expressive, the language of the eye, — 
 Capt. A. {interrupting). Look in her eye.? 
 Wal. {laughs slightly). Yes ! 
 Capt. A. That's good. I'll try it. 
 
 {Enter l. u. e., Isabel, Mamie, and Edith ; Mamie has 
 a bouquet.) 
 
 Wal. Be sure to bring the key to this box. 
 Capt. A. I will. Don't mention a word of this to my 
 sister. 
 
 Wal. I'll be silent. {^Exit Q^vi. P^. into house.) Well, 
 my little darling, where did you find the posies 1 
 
14 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 Mamie {runs to him). In our garden. They are for you, 
 pnpa. 
 
 Wal. {sits at small table; takes Mamie on his knee). 
 Thank you, they are beautiful. {Kisses her and holds 
 bonqnet.) 
 
 Mamie. Papa, you did not always live here ? 
 
 ISA, {comes down). Hush, child! 
 
 Wal. Let her talk, Isabel. She means no harm. Why 
 do you say that, dear ? 
 
 Mamie. Oh, because I thought I would like, when I am 
 a bitj girl, to go where you lived when you were a little boy. 
 
 Wal. {smooths back her hair). So you may — perhaps 
 — sometime. 
 
 Mamie. Oh, I'm so glad. And I will see your folks, and 
 where you lived. Have I any little cousins there ? 
 
 Wal. {puts her down a7id lays bouquet on table). We 
 will talk about it some oiher time, my dear. 
 
 Isa. {takes Mamie by the hand). You annoy papa. 
 Sometime I will tell you all about it. 
 
 {Enter Capt. K. from house^ with a key in his hattd.) 
 
 Capt. a. {locking pistol box). There. No danger now. 
 By the way, I just saw Derblay driving by. 
 
 Isabel. Yes .^ 
 
 Capt. A. Good fellow ; but afraid of his wife. She holds 
 the purse. That's always a bad — what is it .'* — condition — 
 state — predicament. That's it. Predicament for a man to 
 be in. 
 
 Isabel. He is well punished. 
 
 Edith. And what is his crime ? 
 
 Capt. A. He claimed to be a Count, but he has no right 
 to the title until his uncle dies. lie kept this fact out of 
 sight, though, until after the wedding. 
 
 Edith. I think he loves her. 
 
 Isa. Love is no excuse for crime. 
 
 Capt. A. Your high notions about honor were Jilways too 
 much for me. If I went wrong. Heaven defend me from 
 your justice. 
 
 Wal. I agree with vou. Kendrick, the law.> of the Medes 
 and Persians, the old law of hard, unflinching reparation, is 
 out ot place in a Chiistian country. Why is it, Isabel, that 
 you, who are so kind to the unhappy, can be so hard toward 
 an evil-doer.'' 
 
 Isa. Pity is wrongly directed when it offers excuses for 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW, 
 
 15 
 
 evil. Toward the sorrowins: and unhappy our hearts should 
 turn in the spirit of love ; toward the guilty and sinful, in 
 stern unbending justice. 
 
 Wal. Who has greater cause for sorrow than the crimi- 
 nal.? Who more unhappy than he? Even the law has 
 some regard for him. After he has served his term of im- 
 prisonment, it says, " Go ! try to redeem your past ; you have 
 paid the penalty — you are free." 
 
 Capt. a. That's it, I'm on that side. 
 
 ISA. I cannot help my aversion to such people. The 
 respectable — 
 
 Wal. {suppressed voice). The respectable ! I despise 
 the word. It is often the excuse for cruelty. These Phari- 
 sees and hypocrites, — they pray for the sinner one day in 
 the week, and on six days turn from him or seek to crush 
 him. {Knocks the bouquet to the floor.) 
 
 Isa. {taking hold of his arm). Do not excite yourself. 
 It is a matter of opinion. 
 
 ^ VVal. {calmly). Forgive me. Let us avoid this subiect 
 in the future. •* 
 
 ISA. {soothingly). I will never refer to it again. Surely 
 U does not concern us who are all the world to each other'. 
 (Capt. A. and Edith go up stage.) 
 
 Mamie {picks tcp flowers and gives them to her father) 
 Papa, you have thrown away the flowers I gave you. 
 
 Wal. {takes them). I'm sorry, my darling: I did not 
 mean to. ® 
 
 IsA. {embracing him). You'll not be long away. 
 
 Wal. Not long ! I must go to the factory once more. 
 
 Isa. Come. Edith. 
 
 {Exit IsABi-L, Edith, and Mamie in house.) 
 
 Capt. A. Isabel has high notions. 
 
 Wal. Her father is to blame for this. What we learn 
 in childhood clings to us through our whole life. I'm sorry 
 to leave you, but I must return these accounts. 
 
 Capt. A. {going 7ip stage with him). I would like a few 
 more points on that subject. We were interrupted and so 
 forth. You think the eye expresses the feeling of the heart ? 
 
 Wal. Yes ! 
 
 Capt. A. Hm ! That's a good point; I will hold on to 
 that. 
 
 {Exit Waldemar and Capt. A., l. u. e Enter 
 Manly, l.) 
 
1 6 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 Man. {goes to small table, L.). I tried to speak to her, 
 but my courage tailed. How easy it would have been if — 
 {Take's a rose from bojiguet.) I will consult this flower. 
 {Plucks petals fro7n rose.) 
 
 " Does her heart to me incline? 
 Shall I ever call her mine ? 
 Emblem of her mind so pure! 
 Will that love through time endure ? " 
 
 Childish nonsense ! {Goes toward house.) 
 {E titer Edith from Jiouse.) 
 
 Edith. Why do you stay here, when it is so pleasant in 
 the house ? (Manly continues to pluck the petals.) What 
 are you doing .-^ 
 
 Man. {with mock dignity). Her heart inclines. Call 
 her mine. Love endures — 
 
 Edith. Her love endures ? Will you trust to a flower ? 
 
 Man. This is my oracle. Do you believe in the lan- 
 guage of flowers ? 
 
 Edith. A little ; do you ? 
 
 Man. When my hopes are encouraged. I will try one 
 of the children's rhymes. — One, I love ; two, I love ; three, I 
 love, I say ; four, I love with all my heart ; five, I cast away. 
 
 Edith. Oh, that would be unkmd. {Looks closely at 
 rose.) How silly it seems. 
 
 Man. To be like children? 
 
 Edith. Yes. when we are old enough to be sensible. 
 
 Man. I would like to have the hope and faith of my boy- 
 hood remain with me through life. We were very happy in 
 those days, Edith. 
 
 Edith {looking down). Yes, I— Don't you want to 
 know the answer of the flower? 
 
 Man. {smiling). I'm afraid there are not enough petals. 
 Six, she loves ; seven, he loves ; eight,- they both love ; nine, 
 they court; ten, they tarry; eleven, engaged; eleven — 
 There are no more petals. {Looks over 7'ose.) 
 
 Edith {examines bouquet). Here is a larger one. 
 
 Man. That will not do. I must abide by the decision of 
 this one. I might control the oracle by consulting the 
 flowers until I found the right one. {Looks closely.) Here 
 is a tiny petal in the heart of the rose. Twelve, they marry. 
 {Looks tenderly at Edith.) 
 
 Edith {looking at the 7'ose and avoiding his glance). Oh, 
 Arthur, this one is blighted. That's a bad sign. 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. t/ 
 
 Man. It counts one, and the oracle has answered as I 
 wish. 
 
 Edith. Now if we had a daisy blow or a thistle, we could 
 {b/ozus on the rose) see if mother wants me. 
 
 Man. You are not serious, but I am. 
 
 Edith. But if the rose had not answered you as you 
 would like ; if it said, she does not love, or loves a little ? 
 
 Man. In love there can be no such word as little ; it is 
 all or nothing. 
 
 Edith {looking down). It must be enjoyable in clear 
 weather to glide'over the sea in a noble ship. I have not 
 been on the ocean since I was a little girl three years old. 
 Even that experience has faded from my memory. 
 
 Man. Do you remember your parents .? 
 
 Edith. I can just faintly recall my mother and how I 
 cried when she was buried. 
 
 Man. Would you like to live at sea, away from land for 
 months, parted from friends ? 
 
 Edith. I would enjoy it, if I was with some one who 
 cared for me. But that would be impossible. 
 
 Man. Suppose you were with a brother or husband ? 
 
 Edith. Oh ! That is against the rules unless my hus — 
 brother was a captain. 
 
 Man. {smiling). So you have learned one of the rules ? 
 
 Edith {embarrassed). I have been told that it was so. 
 {Hands him a rose.) Would you like to learn more from 
 the flowers ? 
 
 Man. Not from them, but from you. 
 
 Edith. Shall I become your oracle ? 
 
 Man. No! Be my judge. I will not trust my fate to a 
 flower that might not answer me as I wish. 
 
 Edith {looking at bouquet). I would like to bring some 
 roses and forget-me-nots to mother. 
 
 Man. Hear my appeal and be my judge. 
 
 Edith {points off., l.). Will you gather some of those 
 white roses for me ? 
 
 Man. I will, but first — 
 
 Edith. Please ! 
 
 Man. I will obey your commands. 
 
 {Exit Manly, l. 2 e.) 
 
 Edith {looking after him). The white roses, yes, and 
 forget-me-nots, — some pansies, the purple ones, and lilies, 
 yes. 
 
tS OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 {Efiter Ramenoff, r. i e.) 
 
 Edith {turns and sees him). What do you wish, sir ? 
 
 Ramenoff {hoarse voice). Pardon me, my pretty lady. 
 I found your gate open. I came in. It was easy that one 
 should enter tiiis place. 
 
 Edith. Whom are you, sir ? What do you want ? 
 
 Rame. I am a workman in the factory. What do I 
 want ? I cannot tell it to you. 
 
 Edith. Whom would you like to see ? 
 
 Rame. Frederick Waldemar. 
 
 Edith. He lives here. 
 
 Rame. Then I will sit down. 
 
 Edith. He is away. 
 
 Rame. I shall wait for him. 
 
 Edith. He may not return for some time. 
 
 Rame. I see, you do not like me to be here. Very well. 
 I shall go. {Sits at small table and 7urites.) I forgot my 
 visiting cards. He shall know that I was here. Here was 
 my name. He will remember that name. 
 
 {Enter Lt. Manly, ivith botiquet, L. 2 e. ; looks at them^ 
 
 Rame. You are not afraid of me .'' 
 
 Edith. Wliy should I fear you } 
 
 Rame. It was the courage of the innocent. 
 
 Man. {comes do7un). Who are you ? 
 
 Rame. That was my business. 
 
 Man. You ruffian ! {Points k.) Go. 
 
 Ed th {cli7i(^s to him). Arthur, do not quarrel with him. 
 
 Man. Give some excuse for your behavior or I will tlirow 
 you out. 
 
 Rame. I come to see Frederick Waldemar ; he was not 
 here, so I shall go away. 
 
 Man. Tell me who you are. 
 
 Rame. A workman — I told her so ; there you'll find my 
 name. Now I shall go, but I come again. {Strikes match 
 to light pipe.) 
 
 Edith {stands between them). He has done no harm. 
 
 Man. Don't light that pipe here. Wait till you are off 
 the grounds. Do you hear } {Kaises his hand.) 
 
 Ramr. {retreating slowly ; aside). Once I would have 
 choked him, the young puppy. Bah ! Nonsense ! fool ! 
 {Exi}, R. I e.) 
 
 Man. {holds her tenderly). Did this f-ellow frighten you ! 
 
 Edith. No. 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. I9 
 
 Man, You are trembling! 
 
 Edith. Oh, how wretched he looks ! You were too 
 harsh with him, Arthur. Think what a hTe of misery he 
 must have known. {^Leaves him and goes to table L.) Here 
 is his name, Johann Ramenoff. 
 
 Man. (^sf>rings forward). What did you say.-* 
 
 Edith {points to paper). RamenofT. 
 
 Man. {seizes the paper). Impossible ! 
 
 Edith. What is the matter ? 
 
 Man. {assumed indifference). Oh, I was surprised. I've 
 heard of this name. I thought it might be — no ! {Aside.) 
 Impossible ! 
 
 {Enter Waldemar, uu.p:.) 
 
 Edith {goes tip stage). Perhaps you have heard of him 
 somewhere in foreign lands. Oh, how unhappy he looks! 
 
 Wal. {looks at Edith, smilifig). You are disturbed. Is 
 he disagreeable ? 
 
 Edith. Oh, no ! I've no complaint to make. 
 
 Wal. {smooths back her hair). I hope you may never 
 have cause for one. May you be happy. {Exit Edith into 
 house. Waldemar sees her to the door and goes over to 
 Arthur, who is r., looking at paper.) Is that document 
 interesting, Arthur .'' 
 
 Man. Are you sure he is still in prison ? 
 
 Wal. Who ? 
 
 Man. Ramenoff. {Music till fall of cu7-tain.) 
 
 Wal. Yes. 
 
 Man. You are wrong. He is here. Look. {Gives paper.) 
 
 (Wal. takes paper and reads; staggers to table, R., rings 
 bell violently. Lt. Ma]>!LY rushes to his assistance. Enter 
 James.) 
 
 Wal. James, if any one calls tell tlrem I am not at home. 
 Do you understand ? — not at home. 
 
 James. Yes, sir. 
 {Enter from house Isabel and Captain. Isabel comes 
 
 to Waldemar's assistance. Captain up stage. Lt. 
 
 Manly back of Waldemar's chair.) 
 
 IsA. Oh, Frederick, you are ill ! 
 
 Wal. {risitig). No, no ! It is nothing. I have told Jarnes 
 to tell everyone who calls that I am not at home. I wish to 
 be alone with you, Isabel, for to-day is your birthday. 
 {Music slightly crescendo until fall of curtain.) 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
3CJ OUT OP THE SHADOW. 
 
 ACT II. 
 AFTERNOON. 
 
 Scene. — A large^ richly furnished room. Door Q.. ; D. R. 
 
 and L. C. door leads to garden. Lt. Manly and Walde- 
 
 MAR discovered. Waldemar walks nervously up and 
 
 down. 
 
 Man. {sits r. c). It seems odd to me that this fellow 
 can have such disturbing influence. You do not seem like 
 yourself. 
 
 Wal. I cannot bear excitement as I could when I was 
 your age. Time increases our burdens, but unfortunately it 
 does not improve our ability to face them. To see the re- 
 sult of years of labor swept away in a moment, to have 
 one's reputation, the happiness of those we love, destroyed 
 by revenge, hate, or jealousy, these are but a few of the ills 
 some are obliged to meet. 
 
 Man. Surely this man has no such power here ? 
 
 Wal. I spoke of this more as an example. 
 
 Man. Do not trouble yourself on my account. My 
 course is clear. Were he more degraded than he is, I would 
 not let him stand between me and Edith. Can you not in- 
 duce him to leave ? Refuse to tell him where his daughter 
 is. Let us go to him at once ; offer him assistance, provided 
 he agrees to our terms. Do you know where he can be 
 found .'' 
 
 Wal. I have sent James to the overseer to inquire where 
 he lives. 
 
 Max. Then as soon as he returns I will go and try to 
 make it an object for him to be silent. > 
 
 Wal. {sits down wearily^. You can do nothing with him. 
 
 Man. I will appeal to every motive and exert myself to 
 the utmost to influence him. 
 
 Wal. It would be useless. 
 
 Man. Is he then an inhuman monster? He must have 
 some feeling. 
 
 Wal. He was revengeful when much younger. Years 
 in prison, with plenty of time to indulge his hatred, have nr»t 
 improved him. I must see him alone. I can manage it 
 much better. The presence of another might prove harmful. 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 21 
 
 {Desperately.) There is no other way — I must see him and 
 alone. 
 
 Man. But what harm can he do? Edith is of age and 
 can choose her companions. He can make known to her 
 who he is, but he cannot claim her. She would pity him, to 
 be sure ; but I cannot, I will not believe she would allow him 
 to part us. What injury can he do t What is there to fear ? 
 
 Wal. Everything. More than I can tell you. 
 
 Man. I confess I do not comprehend. 
 
 Wal. I know the man, and what he is capable of. He 
 has a strange nature — good qualities, but they are distorted, 
 and instead of making him better only serve to make him 
 dangerous. There may be some way of influencing him. 
 Heaven help me to find it. {E?iter James, c. d.) James, 
 have you succeeded .'' 
 
 James. Yes, sir. {Hatids paper to V\i av.j^rmxk.) 
 
 Wal. (reads). This will do ; I can find him. There is 
 nothing further, he has made no more trouole ? 
 
 James. No, sir. 
 
 Wal. Very well. {Exit James, d. l. To Manly.) 
 Arthur, if anything should happen that I fail, if this man 
 should injure, even disgrace me, if all should turn away — 
 would you still stand by me, believe in me, trust me : Would 
 you also ciiange .'* 
 
 Man. {takes /lis hand). No! I do not understand why 
 you fear his influence, or why you dread to meet this man, 
 and I do not even ask you to tell me ; but be assured, my 
 love for you is second only to my devotion to Edith, and will 
 never change. 
 
 Wal. {turns away ; takes hat and cane). I will not de- 
 lay another moment. I will see him at his house and return 
 as soon as possible. {Shakes hands with Manly.) 
 
 Man. Do your best. Remember my happiness depends 
 upon it. 
 
 Wal. More than that — the happiness of us all. 
 {Exit c. D.) 
 
 Man. {lost in thouo^ht). The happiness of us all ? How 
 can this fellow control the happiness of those infinitely above 
 him } 
 
 {Enter Captain Arnold, d. r.) 
 
 Capt. a. This is the worst — hm ! — specimen of a birth- 
 day festival I have ever seen. Can you tell me where my 
 gloomy broiher-in law is ? 
 
22 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 Man. He has gone for a walk. 
 
 Capt. a. I wanted to see him. We had a h'ttle conver- 
 sation on a — subject of interest, great interest, and — (Lt. 
 Manly pays no attention?) Are you asleep.'' Everybody 
 seems to be dreaming, Have you noticed it .'' I say ! There 
 is some kind of a — of a — what is it, epidemic here ; even 
 our Edidi has a far-away sort of a look. 
 
 Man. Edith t 
 
 Capt. A. I say that Edith doesn't seem so — so — jolly. 
 She's not enjoying the day as one ought. But slie is charm- 
 ing. Did you notice how lovely she looked at dinner .^ 
 
 Man. She appears the same to me always. 
 
 Capt. A. You hardly spoke to her. You were seated by 
 her side, you should have passed the dishes — I was oppo- 
 site — you were in the clouds — I was wide awake. She 
 might have starved if she depended on you. 
 
 Man. Was I so neglectful ? 
 
 Capt. A. You sat there like a — what is it? — I might 
 say dummy ! Don't be offended. I asked her what she 
 would have — a little more gravy? Some of the pudding? 
 — " Yes, dear uncle." — Did you notice it ? No! Well, she 
 did. Then she would say, " A little butter, please," " I 
 would like some salt." When I passed her the articles she 
 would say, '' Thank you, dear uncle." Did you notice that 
 '•'■ dear H7icle " ? No ! Oh, it's all right, I like it. I suppose 
 she feels as though we are related. But after all Em afraid 
 we'll lose her. 
 
 Man. How ? 
 
 Capt. A. Why — she will probably be married. I tell 
 you, my boy, that charming girl ought to be kept in the fam- 
 ily. We must keep her with us. 
 
 Man. You seem to be quite excited over it. 
 
 Capt. A. Well, yes. Em used to seeing her in our 
 home. 'Twould be lonesome without her. I was talking 
 with Frederick on the subject of proposing. He thought I 
 meant our neighbor Miss Eunice Brown. He quite upset 
 me. Nice lady, but she wouldn't suit me. I wish I had 
 more courage. 
 
 Man. You, a defender of our country, lacking in courage ! 
 
 Capt. A. Not in military affairs, but in affairs of the 
 heart. Ed rather face a Gatling gun than a pretty woman's 
 eyes. Arthur, will you do me a favor ? 
 
 Man. If it is within my power, yes. 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 2$ 
 
 Capt. a. Propose for me. 
 
 Man. Propose ! I — you had better plead your own 
 cause. Who is it ? 
 
 Capt. A. Hm ! Well, no matter. Perhaps I can induce 
 Frederick to find out how I stand with her. You could do 
 better. 
 
 Man. Perhaps she mis^ht refuse you. It might prove 
 another case like Miles Standish and Priscilla — she might 
 ask me why I did not speak for myself. 
 
 Capt. A. I'm not afraid of that, she don't care a straw 
 about you. 
 
 Man. Then she knows me .'' 
 
 Capt. A. Yes, of course. Will you oblige me, yes or no ? 
 {Enter Edith slowly, l., crocheting.^ 
 
 Capt. A. Here she is. Now forward ! 
 
 Man. Why, man, what do you mean ? 
 
 Capt. A. Propose ! You said you would. 
 
 Man. For you? Never! 
 
 Capt. A. You promised. • 
 
 Man. You don't know what you ask. {Goes L., Captain 
 follows him. Edith comes down r.) 
 
 Capt. A. Then retreat. I think I can make a dash. 
 
 Edith. Again we meet, dear uncle. 
 
 Capt. A. {aside to Manly). Dear uncle ! Do you 
 hear.?' {To Edith.) Arthur has some affairs to — he's 
 obliged to go away. {Motions to Manly to go.) I will re- 
 main. {Aside.) Why don't you go? {To Edith.) Isa- 
 bel is with Mamie, Frederick is out of sight — circumstances 
 favor me. {Ma'NLY goes np stage.) 
 
 Edith. Favor you in what, dear uncle ? 
 
 Capt. A. {looks l.). He's gone. {To Edith.) There 
 are moments in a man's life when — {Looks round and sees 
 Manly.) He is still here ! {Aside to Manly.) Why 
 don't you go ? 
 
 Edith {aside). What can be the matter ? 
 
 Capt. A. Out of the heart are the issues of life — 
 
 Man. Says the poet — 
 
 Capt. A. {repeating). Yes — says the poet — 
 
 Man. Ha, ha, ha! Worse and worse. 
 
 Capt. A. This is an insult. Edith, will you answer a 
 plain question ? 
 
 Edith. I will try — dear uncle. 
 
 Capt. A, I have looked at the subject from every point 
 
24 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 of view — that is, on every side — To be sure, I'm on the 
 shady side of forty, but my heart is young — true love levels 
 the difference — and so forth — 
 
 Man. That covers the whole ground. 
 
 Capt. a. {to Manly). See here ! This is treachery. 
 (7"<? Edith.) This puts me out. {Aside.) I would like to 
 know why he's so jolly. In spite of him, I will yet explain 
 what I mean. {As he passes Mau'LY.) Traitor! {Throws 
 kiss to Edith.) Angel ! 
 
 {Exit L.) 
 
 Edith. What does he mean 1 
 
 Man. {comes forward). He is in love. 
 
 Edith {pointing to herself). No .? 
 
 Man. Yes. 
 
 Edith. What an idea ! 
 
 Man. He is serious in the matter, but fails to express 
 himself. Perhaps I did wrong not to leave him here alone, 
 he would have done better. 
 
 Edith. You are jesting. 
 
 Man. He fears you will leave us some time, and thinks 
 the surest way to keep you is to be your lawful protector. 
 I am of the same opinion, but prefer to be the favored 
 one. 
 
 Edith {archly). So you follow his example ? 
 
 Man. {seriously). 1 have not learned my lesson from him. 
 I had it by heart long before he thought of keeping you in 
 the family. — What do you think of jealousy .'* 
 
 Edith {laughs). You are not jealous of poor dear old 
 uncle 1 
 
 Man. No ! Though I might be excused for feeling a 
 slight tinge of the green-eyed monster, since you speak so 
 pityingly of him. 
 
 Edith. I am sorry — sorry that he ever thought of being 
 more than he has always been. My dear, kind, good Uncle 
 Kendrick! 
 
 Man. I shall think I have reason to be jealous. 
 
 Edith. It is a luxury we ought to avoid. 
 
 Man. Easily said ! But I plead guilty to weakness in that 
 respect. Let us suppose a case, that of a sailor compelled to 
 absent himself for a long time from tlie one he loved. He 
 would think of her by day, dream of her by night. He 
 would recall the happy hours they had spent together — and 
 how natural it would be to fear that some one might have 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 2$ 
 
 won her affection, and she perhaps had learned to forget the 
 absent one. 
 
 Ed-TH. If she really loved, she cotdd x\o\. forget. 
 
 Man. It is the hope, the faith in her that gives him cour- 
 age. Oh, Edith, you cannot realize how a man feels thousands 
 of miles away ! How anxiously he looks for news from 
 home. With what delight we hail the day when the anchor 
 is weighed and the ship is homeward bound, how we count 
 the da'v-s and hours ! At last we reacli our native land. How 
 welcome the crv from the lookout, " Land ahoy." When 
 we enter the harbor what sweet music to hear the boom of 
 the cannon as the salute comes floating to us from the fort. 
 As we draw nearer and nearer to the shore, how eagerly I 
 raise the glass and look for the one t love. At last I see 
 her at the right of the crowd. The ship comes nearer. 
 People can now distinguish us. I saw a veil, some one was 
 waving it. I heard a cry — 
 
 Edith. Yes, it was I — the Navarre ! I could read the 
 name. I shouted, " Father ! mother ! He is here ! He has 
 come back ! " Oh, how glad I was ! It seemed so long — 
 three vears ! I — {Collects herself^ 
 
 Man. {gently takes her hand). Edith, —you were glad 
 to see me, you had not forgotten me ? 
 
 Edith {withdraws her hand). It is wrong. You set a 
 trap for me. 
 
 Man. Forgive me, I wanted to know if you loved me. 
 Oh, I will not give you up ! no power on earth shall p.irt us ! 
 
 Edith. 1 dare not listen. You must not spe.ik so. Let 
 us be for a while dear companions, as we used to be. 
 Leave me, Arthur, I beseech you to leave me. 
 
 Man. {presses her hand in both of his own). Leave you } 
 Yes, if you insist ; but not forever. Heaven speed the hour 
 when I shall call you mine. (Edith kisses her hand and 
 places it on his cheek, then turns quickly away. Manly 
 raises her hand to his lips, then exit. Edith looks after 
 him; comes down.) 
 
 Edith. Angel mother, guard and keep me ; if I dream 
 let me not be awakened. Dream ? No, it is reality. He is 
 faithful and true — and he loves me ! 
 
 James {without). I tell you Mr. Waldemar is not at 
 home. 
 
 Rame. {at C. D.). I tell you he is here. And I will see 
 him. 
 
26 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 James {staiids in front of hint). You must not enter; 
 if you insist I shall be obliged to use force. {Takes hold of 
 his blouse.) 
 
 Rame. Let go. You might tear my velvet collar. Let 
 go, I say — you ape! {TJirows James aside.) 
 
 Edith {goes np). What is the trouble ? 
 
 James. This man insists on entering the house ; my 
 orders are to prevent every one from disturbing the household. 
 
 Rame. Ah, that is quite different. First he repeats like 
 a parrot, " Master is not in, my master is not in ; " now, '• We 
 are not to be disturbed." 
 
 Edith (goes l., with Ja^^ies. Ramenoff doztm R.). I 
 w^ill ask his message ; you need not wait. 
 
 James. Very well,' Miss Edith, but I think— (Edith 
 ?notions to James) very well, Miss Edith. 
 {Exit James, d. l.) 
 
 Rame. (r.). Is it true that Frederick W^aldemar is not in 
 the house 1 
 
 Edith. Yes. Why do you doubt the servant ? 
 
 Rame. It is polite to lie sometimes in good society. Be- 
 sides, I do not want to believe. 
 
 Edith. Will you believe me when I say he is not at 
 home 1 
 
 Rame. {looks at her closely). Yes, I will believe you. 
 
 Edith. And will you be offended if I ask you to take off 
 your hat.'* 
 
 Rame. {takes of hat, after a pause steps up close to her). 
 A.re you alone here in this house .'* I was told there was 
 another woman. 
 
 Edith. My mother. 
 
 Rame. So — and who is she ? 
 
 Edith. Mrs. Waldemar is my mother. 
 
 Rame. Then he is married ; and you — 
 
 Edith. Mrs. Waldemar adopted ine. 
 
 Rame. Hm ! {Aside.) Strange! Well, you have been 
 here a — (Edith looks uneasy.) But I disturb you .? I will 
 wait outside. {Goes up.) 
 
 Edith. You can wait here. If you have come for assist- 
 ance you will not be refused. No deserving person ever goes 
 away from here without receiving help. Can I help you? 
 
 Rame. No ! you haven't the power to help ; I do not want 
 money. Do you receive those who are driven here by their 
 misery ? 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 2/ 
 
 Edith. Yes. 
 
 Rame. You have a kind heart. 
 Edith. I onlv do what I was taught. 
 Rame. Is it Frederick Waldemar who has taught you to 
 be so kind? 
 
 Edith. What do you mean ? ,,.,^-11 u<. 
 
 R\ME. Nothing. I am tired; I thmk I will go. He 
 mav not come back for some time. I walked a long way 
 from the place where I was last week to this village. I asked 
 for food when I came ; I shovelled coal to earn it I was put 
 in the mill to weave, but my hands are stiff. I do not know 
 the work very well, I grow tired quick ; I am getting old. 
 
 Edith {j-olls a chair to him). Sit down and rest your- 
 self 
 
 Rame. (hesitates and stares at Edith). You are very 
 lovely, my good lady. It seems as though I had seen your 
 face somewhere a long time ago. (^Puts his hand to his fore- 
 head.) But it is impossible. 
 
 Edith. I have always lived here. I know everybody 
 around for miles, but I never saw you before. 
 
 R\me. You may have appeared to me m my dreams as 
 tlie Virgin in the old time appeared to the shepherds. Your 
 pardon,"my pretty lady. {Sits down wearily.) 
 
 Edith (aside). Poor man, how I woula like to help him. 
 Are you alone? Have you no friends or family ? 
 Rame. 1 am alone — an outcast — shunned by all. 
 Edith. Not by me. Will you not tell me your trouble? 
 Perhaps I can help you. , . , t .u i 
 
 Rame. My very good little lady, you are kind, 1 thank 
 you • but you cannot take away my sorrow norlitt my burden. 
 Edith' We bear our sorrows easier when shared w"th 
 others. I suffer (Ramenoff locks up) when I see others 
 suffer. I shed tears with them and console them. Some at 
 first refuse me, but I beg and plead, and at last they tell me. 
 1 try to comfort them. When I leave they bid me come 
 again, for they all love me. 
 ^Rame. {looks spellbound at her). They do right, my 
 prettv one. They s'.iould love you. 
 
 Edith. And will you confide in me your trouble and 
 
 sorrow ? tt- i <- 
 
 Rame. {rising). I cannot— I dare not. — You do not 
 
 know what I am. 
 
 Edith. Yes, I know. 
 
28 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 Ra'sik. (anxw7islj'). What? 
 Ed'TH. An unhappy man. 
 
 Rame. Oh, when did any one speak like this to me ! But 
 it is too late — too late. 
 
 Edith. It is never too late. God who rules over all — 
 Rame. God ! No, the devil ! 
 Edith. No, God ! 
 
 (Ramenoff doTOS his head, overcome by the truth of her 
 words. Enter Isabel, c. d., dressed as if returning from 
 a walk.) 
 
 Isa. The servant tells me you insist on seeing my hus- 
 band. We do not like to be disturbed by the factory people. 
 Mr. Waldemar will see you at the office to-morrow, or you 
 can tell me and I will deliver your message to him. What 
 do you wish ? 
 
 Rame. {looks dreamily at Edith). Nothing. 
 
 IsA. Then why do you intrude } A respectable person 
 would not force his way — 
 
 Rame. {ajigrilv). Respectable! So I am not nice enough 
 to be here. But I think I have aright to come. What harm 
 if 1 pushed the fellow a little } 
 
 ISA. You have no right to come where you are not wanted. 
 Go! 
 
 Edtth. Mother, he is poor and unhappy. 
 
 Rame. Do not trouble yourself, my good lady. I do not 
 wish to make harm. But you. madam, are hard and not like 
 her. I am not so fine as the gentlemen who come here. 
 My shoes are not so shining, and my clothes are poor. I 
 should be in broadcloth and white shirt, have a tall hat and 
 a cane with a silver head. Ladies are fond of nice-looking 
 clothes. They sometimes excuse bad morals, but a bad coat 
 and bad manners, never! 
 
 IsA. You are insolent and undeserving. You can expect 
 nothing here. Go ! 
 
 Edith. Mother, I beseech you — 
 
 Rame. You show me the door .^ You turn me out? 
 Maybe I had better stay and tell you a little romance. Per- 
 haps it will interest you. (Isabel holds her hand above the 
 bell on table.) You are concerned in this romance. Are you 
 not curious ? 
 
 IsA. {steps towards him). Tell your story quickly and 
 begone. 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 2<) 
 
 Rame. It is my duty to tell you. But to you alone. 
 This youns:; lady must not hear it. 
 
 IsA. Edith, you may leave me. 
 
 Edith. 1 dare not, he is so strange. 
 
 IsA. Have no fear, child; should I need you, I will ring 
 the bell. 
 
 {Exit Edith slowly d. l.) 
 
 Is A. {to Ramf^noff). I am waiting. 
 
 Rame. (follows Edith and seems to have forgottett IsA- 
 n: L). I cannot tell it. I had better go. When I first saw 
 the light of day I looked on misery, and it has been my com- 
 rade all through my life. I am no lucky dog. I bring mis- 
 fortune. I would not hurt any one now. The pretty little 
 one has made my heart soft. I cannot tell you now. {Goes 
 lip.) 
 
 IsA. You said your romance concerned me. Who beside 
 myself are interested 1 
 
 Rame. I am also concerned, and Frederick Waldemar, my 
 one-time comrade — 
 
 IsA. My husband the companion of such as you ! {Tin-ns 
 away and langJis ironically.) 
 
 Rame. Yes ! I tell you, yes ! My companion. 
 
 IsA, Your story is too romantic, {Laughs) 
 
 Rame. You laugh at me .'' Oh, madam, I can make you 
 cry. 
 
 I s A. {alarmed ; goes to table L., holds her hand over the bell). 
 You are insulting, I will call those who can assist you to 
 leave. 
 
 Rame. That is right. Ring the bell. {She hesitates.) 
 Ring it, I say ! Call them in ! All, every one ! They shall 
 hear the story of my wrongs ! {She takes her hatid from the 
 bell.) Look, madam. {Goes to her and bares his left arm 
 to the elbow.) A white mark! another! See I Five, ten, 
 fifteen scars. I scratched them with a knife, each year one. 
 When the day came round that he left me. and I did not 
 hear from him. 1 made a mark here on my arm, and then they 
 told me there was a pardon, and 1 was tree. PVee ! After 
 fit'teen years! Oh, madam, it seemed like fifty years, it was 
 so long! And I said, I will make another mask, but not 
 tliere. {Points to his arm.) Here! {Strikes his breast.) 
 On him ! He was false to me. He took an oath to care for 
 my wife and little one. He let them starve. Listen to me ! 
 They starved ! I gave him money ! And when he left my 
 
30 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 cell I stood looking; after him. I could not see, for the tears 
 blinded me, and the hot tallow from the candle dropped on 
 my hand, but I did not feel it. Oh, I can now hear the 
 sleiuh bells rin<2: as he was driven away. Then I \vaited. I 
 heard from him, but only once. The years came and 
 passed, and I said, when I am free I will find him ; yes, if I 
 c\\<f him from the grave ! There should be honor even amon^: 
 the thieves. He stood up so proud like a king, and the rats 
 th.ev were plenty in his cell, so we called him a king: Z)er 
 Ra'tteti Koenio; — the rat king. I fear I disturb you with my 
 romance, madam. 
 
 IsA. {chokiHo voice). You are mad ! 
 
 Rame. No ! Do you not see how quiet I am ? 
 
 Is A. Of whom are you speaking ? 
 
 Rame. Your husband ! 
 
 ISA. Monster! You lie! Where is your proof .f* 
 
 Rame. Here. (^Takes papers and letters from pocket.) 
 The letter he wrote to me in prison — and here the notice 
 where he was sentenced. Read it, I say ! You cannot read 
 the German ? See, here is his name. '{Points to the bottom 
 of letter.) Frederick Waklemar. (Isabel titters a faint 
 cry and sinks into chair.) 
 
 Rame. {puts package in pocket). I should not have told 
 you only for the laughing — but that hurts. She is silent. 
 She does not lauiih now. {Goes to D. c.) There is nothing 
 funny in Frederick Waldemar, the Rat King. 
 {Exit C. D.) 
 
 \'s\. {slowly revivinf). He has gone! What a terrible 
 blow to my pride ! Oh, what would 1 give to wipe out the 
 stain ! {Rises.) Could any one have heard him t {Looks 
 in the doors.) No, or they would have come to my assist- 
 ance. He said they were together in — he threatened to — 
 I must warn him — he sliall not injure my husband — hus- 
 band ! And 1 am the wife of a — I must see him to prove it 
 is false. Alas ! he cannot, it is the truth. The look of anx- 
 iety that he sometimes wears — it was not fancy when I felt 
 so distrustful. This is the answer to my doubts, and he has 
 deceived me all these years. I will seek my fatiier and take 
 my child. Together we will l'-o tar from here. I cannot look 
 upon his face again. My idol has turned to clay. 
 
 {Exit D. L.) 
 (77/6' stai::^e is eriiptj for a few /no?nents., then enter Capt. 
 
 A., D. c. He carries a la7'ge boiiqztet j looks arou7id 
 
 cautiously.) 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 31 
 
 C\PT A. It won't do for me to rehearse on the lawn, I 
 mi-^ht have an audience. This is a splendid chance — 
 couldn't ask for a better one. {Stands at c.) There s the 
 vouno- hidy — here is the bouquet. The object in the point 
 is to present bouquet to young lady — make an impression, 
 as it were ; then while she is impressed with my — my kind- ^ 
 ness approach the important question, and so forth. {Holds 
 bouquet awkwardly towards R.) Will you accept these 
 flowers as a token of mv — esteem — and — and {draws 
 out a paper from his pocket and reads) may their beauty 
 be a reminder — reminder is bad, I'll fix that — remind you 
 or recall — recall is good {reads) — as you gaze upon them, the 
 state of mv feelings toward you. I think it would be more 
 to the point if I kneel. {Kneels; reads from paper.) The 
 deepest feelings of the human heart are otlen hard to express, 
 and that's mv case exactlv — exactly is bad — I 11 fix that. 
 {Lays down bouquet; takes pencil and writes.) Confound 
 the luck ! I would have been all through if he'd kept out ot 
 the way. I will make a clean breast of it to Frederick, ^o 
 doubt he will be surprised ; but I'm in for it, and so here 
 goes ! (Rises.) Forward ! march ! {Goes up stage.) 
 {Enter Frederick, c. d.; does not see Capt. A. Comes 
 down.) . . , T u J 
 
 Wal. I should have waited until he returned, but 1 had 
 not the patience — no, it was terror. I rushed home, dread- 
 ino- to meet any one lest thev should read the secret in my 
 face startled by the sound of mv own footsteps, creeping 
 like 'a thief through the woods. What have I done to be so 
 tortured ? Shall one misguided act outweigh years ot honest 
 labor and moral conduct ^ What a coward conscience has 
 made of me ! (Removes hat and lays it along with cane on 
 table.) 
 
 Capt. A. {comes down). Frederick — 
 Wal. {starts). You surprised me. 
 
 Capt. A. I should say so — you're as fidgety as a woman. 
 
 Ahem ! I won't disturb vou but a moment. I have something 
 
 on mv mind, but now when I come to the point it's just as 
 
 hard as ever. Hem ! Don't you think it would be too bad 
 
 if we lost Edith, that is if she was married and went away ? 
 
 Wal. I shall miss her, but we ought not to stand in the 
 
 way of her happiness. , ,, ,. 
 
 Capt. A. No doubt. But it might be so arranged that 
 
 she would remain here. Ahem ! 1 am willing to have it so. 
 
 Wal. They can decide that matter tor themselves. 
 
32 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 Capt. a. They ? Who ? 
 
 Wal. Arthur and Edith. I liave felt for some time that 
 this would be the result. Two such natures could not be 
 together long without mutual attraction. It is for the best, 
 and I shall aid them to realize their hope. 1 opposed 
 Arthur at first, but it was useless. {Goes to window.') 
 
 Capt. A. Arthur and Edith ? {Aside.) This is treach- 
 ery. {Takes cane from table, makes thrusts and passes.) 
 Would that duels were fashionable. 
 
 Wal. {turns and sees him). Are you crazy ? 
 
 Capt. A. Ahem! Em practising the broadsword exer- 
 cise. This news surprises me; I must work oif my — what 
 is it ? — surplus feelings. 
 
 Wal. a singular way you have of doing so. {Looks out 
 of window.) 
 
 Capt. A. {draniatic manner j aside). As the poet says,— 
 " 'Twas ever thus : from childliood's hour, 
 Eve seen my fondest hopes decay ; 
 I never loved a tree or flower 
 
 But "twas sure to" — to — something and so 
 forth. {Goes up.) 
 
 Wal. Are you going ? 
 
 Capt. A. Right about face ! March ! 
 {Exit C. D.) 
 
 Wal. Would that I had so light a heart. He skims the 
 surface of hfe, while I am shaken by its deepest trials. 
 {Sinks into a chair at l., buries his face in his hands. 
 After a pause, enter Edith, l.) 
 
 Edith. I wonder who he was — he is so strange and so 
 wretched. Oh, why cannot every one be as happy as I am ! 
 {Sees Waldemar ; goes to him and smooths his forehead.) 
 Does your head ache 1 
 
 Wal. {looks at her dreamily). Have you been here long ? 
 
 Edith. A few moments. {Sits at his feet.) Come back 
 from dreamland and talk to me. 
 
 Wal. I did not hear you come in. I was thinking. 
 
 Edith. May I know your thoughts ? 
 
 Wal. I was thinking of the future, of you and Arthur, 
 — of your mother, of this day so full of interest to us all. 
 
 Edith. The happiest, brightest day I have ever known. 
 
 Wal. {takes her Jiand). Arthur has told you 1 
 
 Edith. Yes. 
 
 Wal. Then you will before another year has passed 
 leave us to enter your own home. This day has brought 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 33 
 
 joy to you and sorrow to otliers. How mysterious are the 
 ways of life. It seems to be inevitable that there sliall be no 
 gain without loss, no pleasure without pain, no success with- 
 out possible defeat. You are very dear to me, and it will be 
 hard to part from you. 
 
 Edith. Why need we part ? 
 
 Wal. It is best. The young bird seeks a new nest. 
 
 Edith. But it may be near the old one, within reach of 
 the old home. 
 
 W^AL. Yes. I trust it may; but, Edith, do not be too 
 sure of your happiness. {Bends towards her earnestly.) 
 Suppose anything should come between you and the fulfil- 
 ment of your hopes, making it impossible to realize them. 
 Suppose you should hear an evil report concerning Arthur's 
 life in the years he has been away. Imagine he had been 
 tempted and fallen, been guilty of a crime, and, though bit- 
 terly repenting, yet must bear the mark of this crime deeply 
 printed on his soul through life. Could you still love him 
 and be true .^ 
 
 Edith. I — do not speak so. If he had fallen it would 
 break my heart. {Bows her head.) 
 
 Wal. Would you forgive him ? 
 
 Edith {raises her head and clasps her hands). Yes! 
 I would forgive and cling to him, even though he were 
 guilty. I would follow him even to prison, 
 
 Wal. Hea'\'en bless you for those words, but do not fear ; 
 your devotion will never be put to such a trial. He has com- 
 mitted no crime. He is all you believe him to be. 
 
 Edith. You were so earnest I feared you meant it. 
 
 V^Ai.. {rising and lifting Y^uiTH). I wished to test your 
 loyalty. Sing! Dance! Give expression to your joy, for 
 you have reason to be proud of him. Go to him in all trust 
 and confidence, he is worthy of a queen. 
 
 Edith. I would have loved him even if he had done 
 wrong, but I am glad I have nothing to forgive. {Exit D. R.) 
 
 Wal. She would have clung to her lover if he were in 
 prison, guilty, an outcast, a criminal. A wife ought to be as 
 true. I will appeal to her. {Rings bell.) Confess what I 
 should have told her years ago. She will forgive me. 
 {Enter James, d. r.) Tell Mrs. Waldemar I would like 10 
 see her if she is at liberty. 
 
 JAMES. Yes, sir. {Exit d. l.) 
 
 Wal. It was just such a day as this when I came here, 
 footsore, weary, almost penniless, carrying the little child in 
 
34 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 my arms. I sat down by the 2:ate to rest. Little Edith 
 cried to see me so miserable. How it comes back to me ! 
 Isabel was gathering fiovvers. She came to the gate and 
 looked down upon us, at first with idle curious glance, and 
 then with interest and compassion. She told me to come 
 into the house, gave the little one flowers, dried her tears. 
 How gently she questioned me. Would I like work ? Her 
 father owned the mill ; if I wished, perhaps a place could be 
 found for me — and while she talked caressed the child. She 
 believed me worthy her confidence, and now I must confess, 
 I — deceived her— that my name was dishonored. Where 
 I have been so long the master, I must humbly bow and 
 pray for pardon. Oh, merciful Heaven ! give me strength 
 to bear it. (A inovienfs silence. Eutej' James, l.) 
 
 James. Mrs. Waldemar is not in. She has gone to ride. 
 
 Wal. Gone? Where is her father? 
 
 James. He is with her, and Mamie also, 
 
 Wal. Let me know at once when tney return. {With 
 assHiiied ligJitness.') How is it about our evening's enter- 
 tainment ? Are all necessary preparations completed? 
 
 James. I think so, but I will inquire. 
 
 Wal. {feverish excitement^. See that nothing is for- 
 gotten. We should rejoice ! Let the people dance and 
 sing. Let them make noise! They are too cold! You 
 Am'ericans are like ice ! Were we in Europe \ would show 
 you what it is to celebrate a day like this. It's a great day, 
 James, but how still ! one might think it was a day — of 
 mourning and calamity. 
 
 James. It is somewhat quiet, sir, but we can easily mend 
 That, i remember when little Bella was born, how they re- 
 joiced. Mr. Arnold rushed into the mill and pulled the bell 
 rope until his strength gave out. Every one came running 
 to die place, thinking there was a fire, 1 was quite a lad 
 then, and Mr. Arnold set me pulling the rope when he gave 
 out. It was a great day, and he was excusable, for they 
 wanted a little girl and it had come at last. 
 
 Wal. {still excited). Good ! The bell shall ring again 
 to-night. See that it is done. 
 
 James. Yis, sir! {Exit CD.) 
 
 Wal. How still it is ! I feel as if the very walls were 
 closing in upon me. The air is stifling I She has gone and 
 left me here — alone ! What if she should not return. — and 
 I should be forever — alone ! Alone! (Sinks into a chair, 
 his head on table. Slow curtain.) 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 35 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 Sc^NE — The same as in Act I. Illumination of grounds 
 
 be^ond balustrade. Lights down. Moonlight on front 
 
 sta^e. Antique table, L Large table, ^. Pistol box on 
 
 antique table, L., also bouquet Ukuim gave to Waldemar 
 
 in Act I. Clear stage at rise of curtain. 
 
 Capt a (entering, L). The more I try to liven up the 
 
 occasion, the worse it goes. It's uphill work. Tried to 
 
 propose and failed. Tried to liven up the situation with 
 
 ^^^ercise — failed ! My mission seems to be to try, and — 
 
 fail (Goes up and looks ojf, L.) That renegade ! Speak 
 
 Of- of somebody, and he is sure to appear. How serious 
 
 he looks ! If I had his luck I'd sing and dance. Well, he — 
 
 {enter, l., Manly; he comes doivn c, looking abstracted) 
 
 is a joily specimen of a bridegroom. ^ 
 
 Man' (turns round). Kendrick ? , r u 
 
 Capt. A. {mock solemnity). I have spared you lOr her 
 sake. A less — hm ! — a less — what shall 1 say ? 
 
 Man Say nothing — at least, I mean, on that subject; 
 1-t bygones be bygones and give me the credit of trying to 
 keep her in the family, for I believe that was your motive. ^ 
 C\PT. A. Well, i't might be worse, {lakes Manly s 
 hand^ Arthur, I wish you joy, 'pon my word 1 do Next 
 to winning the prize myself, 1 would prefer you should be the 
 fortunate one. Let's bury the pipe, I mean the hatchet, and 
 smoke the cigarette of peace. {Liohts a cigarette^ I 
 would offer you one, but you do not sm.oke, so 1 11 smoke tor 
 
 ^°Man. Do you think anything could make you serious ? 
 Capt. A. {'pufs violently). Yes ! 
 Man. What'? . ,. ^ 
 
 C-\PT. A. Real trouble. If those I love were in distress 
 or dancrer 1 believe I'd come out strong. But I see no acca- 
 sion iox sadness ; then whv be sad ? We must set the ball 
 to rolling soon. Lanternk to light, dancing on the lawn, 
 music, and so forth. I propose to have a little surprise, 
 quartette singing. You went back on me, and now we 
 must make up for lost time. 
 
36 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 {Enter Edtth />'<?/;/ ho7tse.) 
 Man. (Jitriis ajid sees her). Edith ! 
 
 Capt. a. {aside to Manly). Don't let out too strong. 
 Man. {goes to her). We have been talking about our 
 arrangements for this evening. {Takes her hand and comes 
 front., R. Qh^vi. goes up L.) 
 
 Edith {looks after Capt.). Do not let me interrupt you, 
 dear uncle. 
 
 Capt. A. {to Edith). I was saying that we must hurry 
 with our preparations. I've had' to shoulder the whole. 
 Arthur, just a moment. Will you excuse him.? My dear! 
 Hm! — 
 
 Edith {surprised^. Why, yes, if you need his help. 
 
 Capt. A. I won't carry him off. 
 
 Man. {goes to hiin). What is it.? 
 
 Capt. A. {low tone). Had you just as lief not hold her 
 hand while I'm in sight? 
 
 Man. {laughs). Is it disagreeable ? 
 
 Capt. A. Rather so. Let me down easy. 
 
 Man. I'll be careful. 
 
 Capt. A. Thanks ! {Pnffs on cigarette.) 
 
 'MAT<i. {returns to Edith). Has your mother returned.? 
 
 Edith. No ! The house seemed so lonesome without 
 her, I could not stay, and father keeps by himself, so I felt 
 quite deserted. Can I help you and uncle in your plans for 
 the entertainment.? 
 
 Man. I should be very happy to have your assistance. 
 {Adjusts her lace shawl.) Be careful about walking on the 
 lawn, the dew is falling. {Bends over her.) 
 
 Capt. A. {turns away). Arthur! 
 
 Man. {low tone). If you should come to harm, I would 
 never forgive myself. 
 
 Capt. A. Arthur ! 
 
 Edith. Uncle is calling you. 
 
 Man. {to Capt.). Well ? 
 
 Capt. A. Let up just a little, please ! 
 
 Man. I was advising her to be careful, and — 
 
 Capt. A. That's all right. Make it as easy for me as 
 you can. {Comes front.) 
 
 Man. (c. stage, Capt. l.. Edith r.). I think Edith may 
 suggest something, Kendrick, that would add to the even- 
 ing's enjoyment. 
 
 Capt. A. I am ready for any suggestion. My dear ! 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 3/ 
 
 Ahem! {Aside to Arthur.) Arthur! (Edith looks 
 down thoughtfully.) 
 
 Man. Wdl! 
 
 Capt. a. Do you mind if I call her " my clear " ? 
 
 Man. Nonsense! {To Edith.) Does the spirit 
 move ? 
 
 Edith, I have it. A rose wreath 1 
 
 Capt. A. What for ? 
 
 Edith. A rose wreath is the emblem of fidelity. In 
 Austria they hav - a large wreath at the wedding, and it is 
 given to the bride after'the ceremony is performed. Father 
 would know about it. Oh ! it would be splendid. I will 
 manage it. Father and mother together, and Mamie holding 
 the rose wreath, she could repeat a little verse. Dear uncle, 
 you could write a few lines — a little poem ? 
 
 Capt. A. Ahem ! My talents don't run in that direction. 
 'Twould take till next birthday party to think of anything. 
 You had better try it, Arthur. {Goes up.) 
 
 Man. It is a charming idea. Your loving heart alone 
 could suggest it. {Bends over her tenderly.) May the day 
 soon come when I can offer you the rose wreath. 
 
 Capt. A. {turns and sees them). Great Jupiter ! {Exit 
 rapidly., whistling, L. 3 e.) 
 
 Edith. You forget that uncle is here. {Looks up?) Oh! 
 {Laughs.) He has deserted us. 
 
 Man. I fear I am the cause of it. Well, I can make 
 amends by helping him. {Turns to go. Enter Waldemar 
 from house:) Make the rose wreath, I will turn poet for 
 your sake, and you can arrange the rest. 
 
 Wal. {steps forward). A rose wreath ? For whom ? 
 
 Edith. For — I — oh, I thought perhaps it would please 
 you and mother. 
 
 Wal. Forme? No! No! Not for me ! That simple 
 custom is for the young, those who are at the threshold of 
 wedded life. Keep the wreath for yourself. {Takes their 
 hands and unites them.) Let imagination, hope, and love 
 bring every charm to aid your happiness, but above all keep 
 nothing from each other. There can be no enduring happi- 
 ness when faith is lost. {Goes up stage and looks off.) 
 
 Edith {goes towards house, turns on the steps ; to 
 Arthur). Arthur, I love you ! {Exit into house. Manly 
 follows her to the steps. Waldemar co7nes down.) 
 
 Wal. The die is cast, Arthur, and you cannot turn back. 
 
38 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 What a treasure you have won ! She will be faithful unto 
 death. There is no trace of pride or selfishness in her 
 nature. 
 
 Man. a treasure I shall guard with all my strength while 
 life endures. I owe this blessing to you. How can I ever 
 repay you ? 
 
 Wal. You may have the opportunity to show your cour- 
 age and devotion ere long. 
 
 Max. Vou are still in dread of this fellow ? 
 
 Wal. Yes. Uncertainty is always terrible. He will 
 surely come. But when } Perhaps when he may cause 
 deadly injury. 
 
 {Enter James, l. 3 e.) 
 
 James. That fellow is here again. Shall I let him enter, 
 sir ? 
 
 Wal. Yes, I will see him here. 
 
 James. Yes, sir. 
 
 {Exit L. 3 E.) 
 
 Wal. At last ! Arthur, go in and see to it that Edith 
 does not meet him or overhear us. Keep her in ignorance 
 for her sake and your own. 
 
 Man. {on steps). I will obey your commands, but if you 
 need me call. You shall not be a sacrifice on the altar of 
 our happiness. 
 
 {Exit Manly into hoj(Se.) 
 
 Wal. If he knew the true cause of my fear, would he 
 speak such words ? 
 {Enter James, showing; in Ramenoff. Points to Wal.) 
 
 James. This is Mr. Waldemar. {To Waldemar.) Do 
 you wish me to remain here, sir.'* 
 
 Wal. No! Remain in the garden and allow no one to 
 disturb me. 
 
 (James bows ; looks sharply at Ramenoff, and exit.') 
 
 Wal. ( front l., turns and looks for a few moments at 
 Ramenoff; aside). Courage! It is he ! 
 
 Rame. {comes slowly front, looking at Wal.), You are 
 glad to see me ? {V^Ai^.tnrnsaway.) No.'' I am happy 
 to see you. {Looks around and plucks a flower from vase, 
 p aying with it.) You have a fine place, quite a change it 
 must be for one who has been under some restraint. Every- 
 thing is beautiful, fine, and the appearance is changed. No 
 stripes in the clothes now, my fine comrade. We like the 
 plain goods better. Heh ! 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 39 
 
 Wal. Stop ! Cease your mockery, and tell me what you 
 want. 
 
 Rame. Not so fast, my good friend. I have waited so 
 lonij, I can take a little time now. I have been looking for- 
 ward to this meeting for many years. I cannot lose one bit 
 of my pleasure. 
 
 Wal. Can you find pleasure in torture ? 
 
 Rame. Torture ? It is I who have known that. I had 
 years of it, suffering the torments of the damned while you 
 — you have lived in Paradise. I have some feeling, and I 
 want a better greeting than this after so long a parting. We 
 were in the same boat, my fine fellow ; you took a short voy- 
 age and I a long one, but we were in the same boat. 
 '^Wal. Name the price of your silence, I will give it if it is 
 in my power, but only on one condition — that you leave this 
 place and never return. I have buried the past and atoned 
 for it. ^ , 
 
 Rame. So ! I'm not welcome. You are not proud of 
 me ! 
 
 Wal. {contemptuously). Be done with this. Name your 
 price and go I 
 
 Rame. My price .? Ah, my good friend, your money can- 
 not buy what I want. There was a time when money could 
 have served, but now it cannot. Will money bring back the 
 dead ? 
 
 Wal. {aside). He thinks they are both dead. 
 
 Rame. I was not so bad company for you in the old days. 
 Who was your friend in prison ? Me. Whose arm stopped 
 the blow that would have cost you your life.? Mhie ! In 
 return I asked that you should care for my wife and child. I 
 have come to call you to account. 
 
 Wal. If you came to me in true repentance ! If you 
 were ashamed of the past, but in this way — 
 
 Rame. {excited). Ashamed ! What was it I did ? I 
 robbed ; yes ! A rich man who had himself stolen from 
 others many times the little money I took from him. What 
 of it? This — he stole by the law, I against the law. He 
 rolls on in his carriage, and me they sent to prison. Ashamed .? 
 Yes — that I took so little. (Waldemar turns away.) 
 You turn away from me ? I will obey you and stop this 
 idle talking. Listen! 
 
 \N xi.. {turns quickly). Hush! Not so loud ! 
 
 Rame. Hear what I tell you. When you left me sixteen 
 
40 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 years ago this winter past, I thought you were my friend. 
 You wrote me, and I answered your letter ; it came back to 
 me ; on it was written, '• Not to be found. There is no such 
 person here." You were gone and you could so easily have left 
 word. You could have written, but no ! It was too much 
 trouble, or you thought, " He is buried alive ; perhaps he will 
 die and never call me to account." After a time a inan from 
 our city was thrown into prison. He was put in your cell. 
 (Waldemar s/ar/s.) That hurts .'' He! Think of me in 
 a living tomb, what I felt when he told me the mother and 
 child were dead. I would not believe it. I had faith in you 
 and your lying face. Years went by, and at last they told 
 me there was a cutdown for good conduct and I was free. 
 Free at last ! I had been very quiet and made no trouble, 
 but in here {points to his breast) a fire burns. I left the 
 prison, hid away my little money in the belt, saying to my- 
 self, ''They must be living. I will save the money for them, 
 they may need it." Fool that I was ! I carried my shoes 
 to save them, walked when I was sick and should ride, lived 
 on bread when I needed meat. For what ? To find a grave 
 in the paupers' field. {Breaks down.') 
 
 Wal. {affected). Ramenoff! 
 
 Ram. {sudden outburst). But I threw myself on that 
 grave, and I took an oath, " They shall be revenged." 
 
 Wal. On whom ? 
 
 Rame. On you. For you let them starve as if they were 
 doirs. and stole the money I gave you. 
 
 Wal. You wrong me. I kept my promise — cared for 
 them — did all I could to improve their condition. I spent 
 all you gave me, worked at hard, laborious employment such 
 as I would once have scorned, and spent my earnings for 
 them. But I soon lost my place. Some one told my em- 
 ployer who I was and where I had been. He paid me off 
 and said there was no work for me. I tried again — earned 
 a little, was turned away with the remark, " We want no 
 jailbirds here." 
 
 Rame. The ruffian ! I could kill such a man. 
 
 Wal. Then we suffered together — we lacked for food, 
 the mother was sick, when I arrived she failed rapidly — 
 and — 
 
 Rame. {after a momenfs silence bows his head). The 
 mother first, then the little one. Mein kleiftes Gretchen; 
 I can see her now with yellow curls around her forehead ! 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 4I 
 
 she could just talk a few words then. Oh, that she had lived ! 
 She might have fallen in good hands and been different from 
 me. In my dreams I would see her a young woman good 
 and lovely. I do not call myself a saint, but I'm not so bad 
 either. I loved her — I tell you I loved her. Foolish 
 dreams, foolish! Ha, ha, ha! Ach, ineiii Gott ! {Sinks 
 into a chair and sobs.) 
 
 Wal. {after a pause). Ramenoff! They told you wrong 
 — the grave was in the churchyard, not the paupers' field. 
 I placed a stone to mark the spot — placed it with my own 
 hands. 
 
 Rame. In the churchyard .? Do you speak the truth ? 
 They told me wrong ? 
 
 Wal. Yes. If ever you go back to our country you can 
 find it and see that I tell the truth. 
 
 Rame. Back 1 No, never ! But I believe you tell what 
 is true. And the little one — she is by the mother ? Her 
 name is there — and the age, like she was the child pf—of, 
 you know what I would say ? Is it so ? 
 
 Wal. {abruptly). I have told you the truth. Now for 
 my sake go from here peaceably. Go to some distant 
 place. I will help you to do better, give you money, and aid 
 you in starting life over again. You can atone for the past 
 and be honest. 
 
 Rame. Honest ! You change your tune to me. I'm now 
 the mi-^erable outcast, and you the honest man. But I will 
 not quarrel. You have kept your word to me, and for that 
 I thank you. Do not say to me, go ! I shall go when I 
 like and stay when I please. 
 
 Wal. (angry). Can you not understand there is nothing 
 between us? With your record and your feeling you can 
 only do harm. Your crime was great, mine a trifling affair in 
 comparison. 
 
 Rame. Trifling.-' Your wife, she did not think so. 
 
 Wal. {confused). What ? 
 
 Rame. Your wife felt bad when I told her. 
 
 Wal. No, you could not, you would not be such a fiend. 
 
 Rame. She laughed at me, and would throw me out as if 
 I was some rubbish. Then I — 
 
 Wal. {frantically springs at him). Oh, you scoundrel ! 
 
 Rame. {steps back coolly). Do you want to go again to 
 prison } 
 
 Wal. {throws up his hands). You have made the whole 
 
42 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 world a prison to me {Sinks mto a chair near table • buries 
 his face in his hands.) ^ (juries 
 
 Rame I did not think -I was mad — but it is not so 
 bad that ,t cannot be mended. What is it I have done ? 
 
 Wal. {slow/y rising). You have robbed me of my wife ' 
 You could not spare even her. Your envious nature longed 
 to see her crushed and broken. You looked upon her in'ail 
 her pru e so fl.r abov-e you, and thought to humble tha pride 
 urrow that smooth brow with anguish, blanch those cheeks 
 xvith feaT, wnng tears from those bright eyes. Oh, hovv si e 
 must suffer from your brutal hatred! You might have aken 
 from me al the fruit of my years of labor, deduced me to 
 
 fobllf' '"'V'°''' ""^ ^ ^""^^ ^^'-'^'^ >'«"• But vou have 
 robbed me of my greatest treasure -that I can never for! 
 give. You have finished your work. Now go ' 
 
 1- ?^^T^- .,/ ''■'" ^^- (^^^'-'^-^ to go up.) 1 will tell her I 
 hed. I will try and save you. 
 
 Wal You cannot save me. But let me tell you some- 
 thmg that mav awaken a pang of remorse You s;,v n,, 
 oved your child .. She liL^- (RAMrN0Pp'^.";J5^,/°,^ 
 fo^r'pLisllment' You shall never see her. That slfall be . 
 
 Rame. My little Gretchen lives .? Not see her.' This 
 would be a terrible punishment. You cannot mean it. I did 
 wrong and I'm very sorry for it. I would give a great deal 
 now to make things right. Think of what you do. Tell me 
 where she is. ■' ^ 
 
 {Music from house. ) 
 Wal. No, go ! ^ 
 
 Rame J will go where she is and stand where I can see 
 her but I will not tell her who I am. Let me see herf 
 Wal. Never ! 
 
 ..,-£''"'"'{ -li ^'-^y^ wronged you, but siill you have a home, a 
 wife, a child, riches and honor. What have I } Poverty and 
 rags. Let me see my little Gretchen ^ 
 
 . ^."^i^-yf^'ti^^g)' Of what use is it .' She is no longer 
 a child but a woman in whose presence you should fear to 
 go. She IS in the midst of loving friends, engaged to be 
 
 end to all this and destroy her happiness forever. 
 
 Rame. 1 promise you I will not betray myself. {Listens.) 
 liiat song ! I know it ! Who plays ? ^ ^ 
 
 Wal. Your daughter. 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 43 
 
 Rame. {excited). My daughter ! I will see her. {Starts 
 towards house.) 
 
 Wal. {sfops hi}fi). Not there! Here! Look to it — 
 keep your promise. Do not ruin her happiness, as you have 
 mine. {Calls.) Edith ! 
 
 Rame. Edith ! No, Gretchen ! 
 
 Wal. I call her Edith. {Calls.) Edith ! 
 {Music stops.)' 
 
 Rame. Even the name I gave her is taken away. 
 {Enter Edith from house ; she stands on the steps leading 
 
 to house where the moonlight falls on her. She is dressed 
 
 in white and wears a lace shawl.) 
 
 Edith. Father, was it you who called ? 
 
 Rame, {aside). She calls him father. {AloJid, standifig 
 c, up stage.) Yes. {Aside.) I did not dream when I 
 thought I had seen that face before. It is my peasant wife 
 before me a lady. {Goes to her sloivly.) You were very 
 kind to me, and so, as I go from this place now forever, I 
 thought I would hke to see you once again and tell you — 
 good-by. {Bows.) 
 
 Edith {extetids her hand). I am sorry you are so un- 
 happy. 
 
 Rame. {about to take her hand., draws back., then lifts the 
 shawl to his face). My little one ! 
 
 Wal. {low tone). Ramenofif! 
 
 Rame. Alein kleiiies Gretchen! 
 
 Wal. Dein versprechen ! 
 
 Rame. {retreating). Yes, yes ! My little Gretchen is 
 dead. {Going r. slowly.) To me forever she is dead ! 
 {Exit slowly, R.) 
 
 Edith {coming down). His little girl is dead ? 
 
 Wal. He lost her many years ago. 
 
 Edith. And he still thinks of her and loves her ? Can 
 you help him ? Promise me you will. 
 
 Wal. I will, if it is in my power. 
 
 Edith {embraces him). I thank you. 
 
 Wal. I wish to be alone. Forget this scene and be 
 hapi)y, I am poor company to-day. 
 
 Edith {zuhile goiiio). Come as soon as you can to see 
 the grounds. Uncle is working hard, and Arthur and 1 have 
 promised to help him. Will you come t ♦ 
 
 Wal. Perhaps. Before long. 
 
44 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 {^Exit Edith, r. 3 e., throwing a kiss to Waldemar, who 
 
 looks after her.) 
 
 Wal. She will be happy. A bri<iht future awaits her. 
 The future ! What will it bring to me ? Disgrace and ruin. 
 {Goes sloivly to chair at small table j sits.) Disgrace ! Worse 
 than death. Oh, what joy to forget, to sink into oblivion for- 
 ever ! {//and falls on pistol-box. Pries it open with pocket 
 knife., takes pistol and sloivly raises it. Sees the bouquet 
 Mamie ^^^7'^ him., takes itnp; his hand with pistol drops 
 down, //olds bouqtiet to his lips and then leans his head 
 on his hands. Enter Manly from house ; goes to Wal- 
 demar.) 
 
 Man. a new misfortune? 
 
 Wal. {raising head). No. He has gone and promised 
 never to return. 
 
 Man. Thank Heaven ! 
 
 Wal. Do you still feel the same ? Are you willing to 
 abide by the result 'i 
 
 Man. I am ; nothing can change me. 
 
 Wal. Edith is waiting for you. Go to her, and make the 
 most of your happiness. " Love's young dream." 
 
 Man. I hope you will overcome this depression. It mars 
 our pleasure. [Gives him his hand.) I shall never forget 
 how loyal you have been. I shall always remember with 
 gratitude your untiring devotion. 
 
 {Exit Manly into garden.) 
 
 Wal. I can keep up this farce no longer. I must leave 
 this place before exposure and disgrace thrust me forth. I 
 will take one last look upon all that is so dear. I will bid 
 farewell to the bedside of my child — the dearest spot on 
 earth to me. Here, where I have ruled as an emperor, I 
 shall be known as an outcast, an exile. 
 
 {Exit slowly into house. Empty stfige for a few mo- 
 ments, then enter Capt. A., R. 3 e.) 
 
 Capt. a. Now for the best piece of strategy I ever did. 
 Eloquence! come to my aid. Mamie must remain with 
 Edith. •' Little pitchers have big ears." F'ather and Isabel 
 shall come here. 1 will keep on the left flank, and prevent 
 a retreat, and trust to pluck and sharp shooting. {Goes up 
 to R. 3 E.) Father! Isabel! {Goes of and returns with 
 them.) Head up, sister! Where's your courage .^ 
 
 ISA. {goes to chair, R.). My courage is gone. Destroyed 
 by as cruel a blow as ever wife received. You have per- 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 45 
 
 suaded me to come thus far, but every moment I feel how 
 impossible it will he to meet him. The very thought makes 
 me tremble. I worshipped him — and now to see him so de- 
 graded and fallen, and to think he has deceived me so cruelly ! 
 (Sods.) 
 
 Myr. {fakes chair, L.). It was cowardly. I loved him as 
 a son, — trusted him fully. To think that he should creep 
 into our t'iimily like a thief in the night. Our family has 
 been honored for generations. There is not a shadow of a 
 suspicion as to our integrity. I am justly proud of our 
 record. Do you think, Kendrick, that I will submit to have 
 it disgraced by a — 
 
 Is A. Father ! Do not speak the word. {Bows her head 
 in shame.) 
 
 Capt. a. {wipes his forehead ; aside). It's harder than 
 I bargained for. {To them.) I don't know what crime he 
 was accused of I don't want to know, — but I do know 
 that he has been upright and noble ever since he came 
 among us. Let that stand to balance the account. Father, 
 you owe him a debt of gratitude for saving your fortune and 
 your honor. 
 
 Myr. He saved my fortune, but not my honor. I will 
 not accept a compromise in such a matter. He gained access 
 to my home, took charge of affairs, and married Isabel under 
 false pretences. Kendrick, suppose you were in my place, 
 and a man should ask for your daughter's hand in marriage. 
 Would you accept him if you knew that he had been in 
 prison ? 
 
 Capt. A. I can't imagine it. It strikes me that does not 
 touch the difficulty. 
 
 Myr. The marriage was effected through fraud, and 
 according to law is null and void. 
 
 Capt. A. The point is : they are married ; we are not 
 to form a bond, but we are trying to — to loose what is 
 already bound. 
 
 Myr. I will not make any allowance for such sophistry. 
 No child of mine shall bear a dishonored name. 
 
 Capt. A. But what name will you give to Mamie ? 
 
 Myr. Mine ! A name she can be proud of 
 
 Capt. A. {aside). If I could get farther out of the way. 
 {To Myron.) Isabel is the only one to decide the question. 
 Leave it to her. {To Isabel.) What do you propose ? 
 
 Isabel {reluctantly). A separation. 
 
46 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 Capt. a. Floored ! {Goes tip and returns.^ Two 
 against one. Heavy odds. I can't understand why it is 
 that you should turn accuser and I become his champion. 
 Our positions should be reversed. Where is your love and 
 devotion ? 
 
 ISA. What I loved in him has gone. His honesty, 
 loyalty, and truth. What remains awakens no feeling of 
 devotion. Look where I may, the walls of a prison stand 
 between us. 
 
 Capt. A. Have you thought of the effect on society in 
 case of a separation .? Whaf excuse can you offer to account 
 for your desertion ~^ 
 
 ISA. Desertion ? He has deceived me for years. 
 
 Capt. A. What can you say to his child, when she 
 wonders at her father's absence.'' (Isabel covers her face 
 with her hafids j aside.) I've found the key to her heart. 
 Father ! I beseech you not to be unjust. I acknowledge 
 the appearances are against him. But do not judge him un- 
 heard. 
 
 Myr. The notice in that paper, and the letter signed by 
 him, are positive proof. 
 
 Capt. A. Who offers this evidence ? An ex-convict ; a 
 miserable fellow, — perhaps he does it from hatred. Is it 
 fair to condemn on such authority? Come! Give him the 
 benefit of the doubt. Let Isabel see him and decide for her- 
 self. {Goes to his father.') 
 
 Myr. {rises). Well, be it so. I fear he cannot clear him- 
 self But whatever she concludes I will agree to. Daughter, 
 remember my teachings. If he be unworthy, do not be per- 
 suaded to do wrong. 
 
 {Exit with Captain, r. 3 e.) 
 
 ISA. How can I meet him ? {Enter Waldemar slowly 
 fro7n house.) I dare not cross that threshold again. {Sees 
 VJa'LT^'EUAK and ttirns away.) 
 
 Wal. If I am the occasion for your fear, you need not 
 hesitate. I am going away. 
 
 IsA. {faint voice). You will leave me! Oh, Frederick, 
 you know — that wretched man — 
 
 Wal. I know that he met you and told you we were 
 together in — 
 
 ISA. Yes. But it is not true? Say it is a slander! I 
 will take your word rather than to believe him. You have 
 always told me the truth. Speak ! 
 
OUT OF THE SHADOW. 4/ 
 
 Wal. I cannot. I was in prison for two years. (Isabel 
 shrinks away from him.) I was justly accused, tried before 
 a court, pleaded guilty ! Was sentenced and served out my 
 term (Isabel sinks into chair.) In justice to myselt and 
 vou whom I have deceived, it is best for me to tell the nature 
 bf mv offence. My father was cashier in a large banking 
 liouse in Vienna. I was employed in the same establish- 
 ment and had charge of certain funds and securities. He 
 speculated with the funds of the bank and lost, i^^- ]!"[;« 
 drew near when the examination of the books would be 
 made. My father confided in me, — almost crazy with gnet 
 and shame at his crime, and fearing exposure - he beg^^ed 
 me to think of some way of concealing his loss. Oii the 
 impulse of the moment and actuated by love tor him I prom- 
 ised to try to save him. Unknown to my fother I placed 
 in his drawer funds entrusted to me, and all the cash needed 
 to make good his deficiency, — hoping that when they found 
 his books balanced with the amount in hand they would be 
 satisfied. But I was mistaken. They examined my accounts 
 and also those of the other clerks. The chairman ot the 
 committee announced that an error had been discovered and 
 it woula be necessarv to examine the accounts with still 
 greater care. No accusations would be made until they 
 were certain, but they believed they had found the guuty 
 party. Before he could speak further, the report ot a pistol 
 rang through the office — and my father lay dying at our 
 feet? We rushed to him — but he was dead. Had he knowai 
 that I sacrificed myself to save his honor, perhaps he would 
 have stayed his hand. At the trial I pleaded guilty. The 
 iudcve asked if I could offer any defense, I answered, no ! 
 Ho?v could I ! The law makes no allowance for a son s de- 
 votion. How could I prove my innocence? The hps ot 
 the only witness who could have spoken in my defence were 
 sealed forever. . ^i tt i • i 
 
 ISA. A noble sacrifice, but still a a-ime. Oh, Frederick, 
 whv have you kept this from me all these years ? 
 
 Wal. If 1 had told it to you and your father when 1 first 
 arrived, your doors would have been closed to me. Oh, how 
 often has the confession trembled on my lips. Before we 
 were married, I have gone to you determined you should 
 know the truth, but at the sound of your voice my courage 
 failed. I feared I might lose you. After marriage I dared 
 not confess I had deceived you. If you could realize how I 
 
48 cut OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 Suffered, and still suffer, you would forgive. Have you ever 
 had cause to complain of one thoughtless or unkind act ? 
 
 IsA. Oh, no ! {Aside.) My heart cries out to him, but 
 my pride can see nothing but a prison wall. 
 
 Wal. Isabel, I have nothing further to say — forget and 
 in future forgive me if you can — farewell! {Ttn-ns to 
 go. Enter Captain with Mamie. Mamie carries a large 
 wreath of white roses; she runs down. Waldemar 
 throws his arms around Jier.') My child ! 
 
 Mamie. Papa! See! I am to give mamma this wreath 
 of white roses. Mamma, you put your hand this side, and I 
 here, papa there. Then I am to say a few words sister 
 Edith taught me. Come, mamma ! 
 
 Wal. {looks at Isabel). Can you refuse? 
 
 Is A. {slowly takes wreath, stands R. Waldemar l., 
 WkiMY. Q.., each holding wreath; a7td Maui^e., within the 
 wreath, holding it up with both hands, repeats verse.') 
 
 Mamie. 
 
 As your hands with mine unite. 
 Upon this wreath of purest white, 
 
 May love our hearts imbue ! 
 When a year has passed away, 
 Again we'll meet to keep this day, 
 
 And our true love renew. 
 
 Wal. Shall her simple words be fulfilled ? 
 {Extends right hand to Isabel.) 
 
 Isa. {clasps his hand). She ha^ taught me to forget and 
 forgive. Love has conquered pride. {Throws her arins 
 around Mamie.) My precious one. You have brought me 
 badk to myself and to the path I shall never leave. {Kisses 
 her.) 
 
 Wal. {takes her hand). Am I indeed forgiven ? 
 
 Isa. {gives both hands). Frederick, you have taught me 
 there is a higher power than the law of man, and in this I 
 will believe even as I trust in you. My husband! 
 
 Wal. ( embraces her). My true wife ! 
 {Enter all. Factory bell rings. Enter workmen. General 
 rejoicing^ 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
THE UNIVERSAL STAGE, 
 
 f'' ALWAYS INTENDED. A Comedy in 1 
 
 '• Act. By Hurace Wigaii. 3 male, 3 female char. 
 
 YT.IE ANONYMOCIS KISS. A Vaudeville. 
 
 ^> 2 n!a!;^, 2 femalo cliar. 
 
 ^ AlJOrilER GLASS. A Drama in 1 Act. 
 
 Bv riionias Morton. <> mule, .'i tVmale char. 
 
 AUNT CHARLOTTfl'S MAID. A Farce 
 
 in 1 Act. liv J. .V. -Morton, o male, 3 female char. 
 
 THE BABE'S IN THE WOOD. A Comedy 
 
 in 3 Acts. Bv loin Tavior. 10 male, 3 fenialo char. 
 
 BLANKS AND PitlZES. A Comedietta 
 
 in 1 Act. Bv Dexter rimith. 6 male, 2 female char. 
 
 BLUE AND CHSRRf. A Comedy in 1 
 
 Ac^ 3 male, 2 female char. 
 
 ■BOUQUEi. A Comadietta in 1 Act. By 
 
 .1. A. Woodward. 2 mile, 2 female char. 
 
 BOWLED our. A Faroe in 1 Act. By 
 
 H. T. Craven. 4 male, 3 female char. 
 
 BUOTHER BILL AND ME. A Farce in 
 
 1 A-t. Bv W. E. Siiter. 4 male. 3 female char. 
 
 A BQLL IN A CHINA SHOP. A Comedy 
 
 in 2 Acts. By Charles AV.itthews. 6 male, 4 female 
 
 THE CHRISTENING. A Farce in 1 Act. 
 
 Bv J. B. liu'ksron^. 5 male, 6 female char. 
 
 THE CLEFT STICK. AComedy in3 Acts. 
 
 5 mal", 3 female char. 
 
 COUSIN TO>I. A Comedietta in 1 Act. 
 
 By U.'O. Rob-Tts. 3 male, 2 female char. 
 
 DAMON AND PrrHIAS. A Farce. 6 
 
 male, 4 female char. 
 
 DANDELION'S DODGES. A Farce in 1 
 
 Act. By T. .J. Williams. 4 male, 2 female char. 
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT. 
 
 A Drama in 2 Acts. By Edvvard Fitzball. 6 male, 
 
 2 female char. 
 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. An Interlude 
 
 in 1 A.^t. Bv W. H. Murrav. 10 male, 1 female. 
 
 DONE ON BOTH SIDES. A Farce in 1 
 
 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 2 female char. 
 
 DON'T JUDGE BY APPEARANCES. A 
 
 Farce in i Act. Bv .J. .\I. Morton. 3 male, 2 female. 
 
 DORA. A Pastoral Drama in 3 Acts. By 
 
 Chas. Reade. 5 male, 2 female char. 
 
 A DOUBTFUL VICTORY. A Comedy in 
 
 1 Act. 3 male, 2 female char. 
 
 DUNDUCKE IT Y'S PICNIC. A Farce in 1 
 
 Act. Bv r. J. Williams. 6 male, 3 female char. 
 
 EAST LYNNE. A Drama in 5 Acti. 8 
 
 . male. 7 female char. 
 
 GASPARDO THE GONDOLIER. A Drama 
 
 .i:5Auis. Bv George Aimjr. 10 male, 2 female. 
 
 GIVE A DOG A BAD NAME. A Farce. 
 
 2 mal'. 2 (ennle "^har. 
 
 THE HIDDEN HAND. A Drama i n 5 Acts. 
 
 Bv Robert Jones, lo male, 7 femaie char. 
 
 HIT HIM, HE HAS NO FRIENDS. A 
 
 Farce in 1 Act. By E. Yates and .\. H. HaiTiagton. 
 7 male, 3 female char. 
 
 A HUSBAND TO ORDER. A Serio-comic 
 
 Drama in 2 Acts, o male, 3 female char. 
 
 I'VE WRITTEN TO BROWNE. A Farce 
 
 in 1 Act. BvT.. I. Williams. 4 male, 3 female char. 
 
 JOHN DOBBS. A Farce in 1 Act. By 
 
 .1. .M. Mortnii. 5 ma'p, 2 female char. 
 
 JOHN W0PP3. A Faroe in 1 Act. By 
 
 W. E. Sater. 4 male, 2 female char. 
 
 THE LOST CHILDREN. A Musical En- 
 tertainment in ^1 Acts. By Mrs. Lewis Jtrvey. 8 
 male, .5 female char., and chonii. 
 
 LOOK AFTER BROV/N. A Farce i n 1 Act. 
 
 By Geort^e A. .Stuart. Ji.O. 6 male, 1 fcmalj char. 
 
 LOST IN LONDON. A Drama in 3 Acts. 
 
 6 male, 4 female chur. 
 
 LYING WILL OUT. A Comedy in 4 Acts. 
 
 Bv H. Pelharn Cur'is. 6 male, 4 female char. 
 
 MADAM IS ABED. A Vaudeville in 1 Act. 
 
 2 male, 2 female char. 
 
 MARY MOO ; or, Which Shall I Marry? 
 
 A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 2 male, 1 fi-m. 
 
 MONSEIGNEUR. A Drama in 2 Acts. By 
 
 Thomas .\rclier 15 male, 3 female char. 
 
 MY PRECIOUS BETSY. A Farce in 1 Act. 
 
 By J. .M. Morton. 4 male, 4 female char. 
 
 MY TURN NEXT. A Farce in 1 Act. By 
 
 T.J Wiiliams. 4 male, 3 female char. 
 
 NICHOLAS FLAM, A Cometiy in 2 Acts. 
 
 Bv J. B. Buckstone. 5 male, 3 female char. 
 
 NONE SO DEAF AS THOSE WHO WON'T 
 
 Hear. A Comedietta in 1 Act. By H. P. Curtis. 2 
 male, 2 female char. 
 
 NURSEY CHICKWEED. A Farce in 1 Act. 
 
 By T. .1. Williams. 4 male, 2 female char. 
 
 OLD HONESTY. A Comic Drama in 2 
 
 Acts. Bv .1. M. Morton. 5 male, 2 female char. 
 
 ONLY A 'CLOD. A Comic Drp.ma in 1 Act. 
 
 Bv J. P. Simpson. 4 male, 1 female char. 
 
 PAYABLE ON DEMAND. A Uoraestio 
 
 Drama in 2 Acts. 7 male. 1 female char. 
 
 THE PHANTOM BREAKFAST. A Farce 
 
 in 1 Act. Bv Chas. .Selby. 3 male, 2 female char. 
 
 rUTKINS; Heir to Castles in the Air. 
 
 A Comic Drama in 1 Act. By W. R. Emerson. 2 
 
 male, 2 female char. 
 
 THE QUEEN'S HEART, A Comedy in 3 
 
 Acts, o male, 4 female char. 
 
 A RACE FOR A WIDOW. A Farce in 1 
 
 Act. 3y T. J. Williams. 5 male, 4 female char. 
 
 SARAH'S YOUNG MAN. A Farce in ] 
 
 Act. Bv W. E. Suter. 3 male, 3 female char 
 
 THE SCARLET LETTER. A Drama in 3 
 
 Acts, h male, 7 female char. 
 
 SILVERSTONE'S WAGER. A Comedi- 
 
 etta in 1 Act. By R. R. Andrews. 4 male, 3 female. 
 
 A SLICE OF LUCK. A Farce in 1 Act. 
 
 By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 2 female char. 
 
 SMASHINGTON GOIT. A Farce in 1 Act, 
 
 By T. J. WiUianis. 5 male, 3 female char. 
 
 A SOLDIER, A SAILOR, A TINKER, 
 
 and a 'lailor. A Farce in 1 Act. 4 male, 2 female. 
 
 SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. 
 
 A Drama in 1 Act. By Slingsby Lawrence. 3 male, 
 
 3 female char. 
 
 TRUE UNTO DEATH. A Drama in 2 Acts. 
 
 By J. Sheridan Knowles. 6 male, 2 female char. 
 
 THE TURKISH BATH. A Farce in 1 Act. 
 
 By Montague Williams and F. C. Bumand. 6 male, 
 1 female char. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN IN A FIX. A Farce 
 
 in 1 Act. Bv W. E. Suter. 2 maie cbar. 
 
 TWO HEADS BETTER THAN ONE. A 
 
 Farce in 1 Act. Bv l.enox Home. 4 male, 1 female. 
 
 THE TWO PUDDIFOOTS. A Farce in 1 
 
 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 
 
 AN UGLY CUSTOMER. A Farce in 1 Act. 
 
 Bv Thoma-i J. Williams. 3 male, 2 female char. 
 
 UJCLE ROBERT. A Comedy in 3 Acts. 
 
 hv II. P. ( urtis. 6 .Tiale, 2 female char. 
 
 A VERY PLEASANT EVENING. A Farce 
 
 in 1 Act. Bv W. E. .Suter. 3 male char. 
 
 THE WELSH GIRL. A Comedy in 1 Act. 
 
 Bv Mrs. Planche. 3 male, 2 female cbar. 
 
 WHICH WILL HAVE HIM? A Vaude- 
 
 ville. 1 male. 2 female char. 
 
 THE WIFE'S SECRET. A Play in 5 Acts. 
 
 Bv (ieo. W. I.cvell. 10 male, 2 female char. 
 
 YOUR LIFE'S IN DANGER A Farce in 
 
 1 Act. By J. M. Wortou, 3 male, 5 female char. 
 
 WALTER H. BAKER & CO., PubUshers, Boston, Mass. 
 
 p. O. Box 2846. 
 
A NEW PLAY FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS. 
 
 A Companion to "REBECCA'S TRIUMPH." 
 
 ANITA'S TRIAL; 
 
 Or, Our Girls in Camp. 
 
 By Esther B. Tiffany, author of "A Rice Pudding," "That Patrick," 
 
 "Young Mr. Pritchard," etc. 
 
 Price, -------35 cents. 
 
 This is a bright and si)arkling comedy in three acts, for eleven 
 female characters. Its story is entertaining, and its dialogue dis- 
 tinguished by this author's delicate humorous touch. One scene only 
 is necessary for the three acts — a camp in the woods, easily arranged. 
 The dresses are simple and picturesque camping costumes. The enor- 
 mous success of "Rebecca's Triumph " has created a demand for this 
 sort of piece, to meet which we confidently present "Anita's Trial," 
 in which is solved, with no less success than in its predecessor, the 
 difficult problem of constructing a play of strong human interest with- 
 out the assistance of male characters. 
 
 The n HRQNQTHANATOLETRQN: 
 
 OR, OLD TIMES MADE NEW. 
 
 An entertainment in one act for sixteen girls, written for the Class Day 
 Exercises at Dana Hall School, Wellesley, Mass., by two members 
 of the Class of '87 and first performed before members of the school 
 and their friends, June 18, 1887, and later at Ellsworth, Maine, 
 April 6, 1888. 
 
 Price, ------- J86 cents. 
 
 THE PEAK SISTERS. 
 
 A humorous entertainment for young ladies. Arranged by Mary B. 
 HoRNE. Any number of ladies may take part, but seven only are 
 necessary. No scenery; costumes very simple. This laughable 
 trifle meets with invariable success wherever performed. 
 
 Price, -------15 cents. 
 
 THE BOOK OF DRILLS. 
 
 A group of entertainments for female characters for stage or floor per- 
 formance, by Mary B. Horne, the author of " The Peak Sisters," etc. 
 
 Price, .--.---80 cents. 
 
 WALTER E BAKER & CO., PnDIlsta, 23 Winter St, Boston. 
 
 ». J. rARKHILL 4 CO., PNlNTgiJS, 222 FRA 
 
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