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PAULINA: 
 
 OR 
 
 Guy Earlscourt's Wife 
 
 A PLAY IN FIVE ACTS, 
 
 DRAMATIZED EXPRESSLY FOR 
 
 Miss Adelaide M. Oliver, 
 
 J. H. LEEOY. 
 
 4>c 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO : —■ - 
 
 EDWARD BOSQUI & CO., PRINTERS, LEIDESDORFF STREET, COR. CLAY. 
 
 1876. 
 

CHARACTERS. 
 
 Guy Earlscourt 
 
 Francis Earlscourt . . . 
 
 Allan Fane. 
 
 Lord Montalien 
 
 Sir Vane Charteris 
 
 Marmaduke Mason. . , 
 
 Robert Lisle, alias Hawksley 
 
 Peter Jenkins ' 
 
 Mr. Samuel 
 
 Inspector Burnham 
 
 Mr. Carson 
 
 J^^dge 
 
 Clerk — Policeman — Citizens — Jurymen — Etc. 
 
 Paulina Lisle, alias Polly Mason 
 
 Lady Olivia Charteris 
 
 Rosanna Mason 
 
 Alice Warren 
 
 Eliza Long 
 
 IMaud Charteris 
 
 Mrs. Galbraith 
 
 Mrs. Young 
 
 Jane Seaver 
 
PAULINA: 
 
 Guy -Earlscourt's Wife 
 
 ACT FIRST. 
 
 ScF.NE I. — The grounds of Monlalien; a very handsome illuminated gar- 
 den. Whole stage — set aj'bors, trees, banks, garden chairs, etc. 
 R. and L. A terrace at hack r. with steps leading to from c. 
 
 Lord Montalien, Sir Vane Charteris, Lady Charteris and Maud 
 discovered seated on terrace. 
 
 Guy, Francis, Allan Fane, Peter, Samuel and others^ Polly, Alice, 
 Eliza and others^ in an exciting country dance. 
 
 DANCE. 
 
 Fane and Polly, Francis and Alice, Guy^ and Country Girl, Samuel 
 and Eliza, Peter and Girl — others according to circumstances. 
 When dance is finished, all promenade to back, and leave partners 
 seated, etc. , gossiping and flirting. Guy and Francis advance to c. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 I say, Guy, have you noticed the fierce flirtation Fane's got up with 
 that Uttle girl, with the short hair } 
 
6 Paulina : or [Ad I. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 There's so much going on everywhere, there's no knowing what's 
 going on anywhere. / had a pretty girl myself, but she was tongue- 
 tied, and lisped, and never opened her lips, except to say, "Yeth, thir,'' 
 and " No, thir, pleathe," through the whole dance. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Fane's partner seems to have enough to say for herself. Her name's 
 Polly Mason, poor child; but w]iat's in a name. Still, I don't believe 
 we would pity the late Mr. Romeo Montague quite so much, if the 
 lady who swallowed the poison had been Polly Capulet. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Polly Mason. Ah, yes! She's a charming little enigma. She 
 looks like a boy ; she talks like a lady; she has the grace and good 
 breeding of a woman of six seasons, and she is but a handsome, 
 well-grown child. She puzzles me, and to be puzzled is the next step 
 to being interested, and, being interested, to falling in love. I object 
 to falling in love, on principle, and I don't suppose the governor would 
 wish me to marry her, if I did. But, by Jove, Fane shan't have it all 
 his own way ! I shall go in and cut him out. "All is fair in war !" 
 {They go up; Guy goes to Polly and Fane.] 
 
 FANE. 
 
 What the deuce brings you here, Guy .? [Guy, Fane <2?/^ J^olly 
 advancing .^ 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Oh, Miss Mason and I are old friends, or ought to be, which 
 amounts to the same thing. She's been acquainted with my portrait 
 for the past ten years, and really, my dear fellow, you can't expect to 
 monopolize the belle of the occasion in this preposterous way. Miss 
 Mason has promised me unlimited dances, and she is going to waltz 
 with me in two minutes. 
 
 FANE. 
 
 Miss Mason has promised ?7ie unlimited dances, Mr. Earlscourt. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Rash promises are much better broken than kept. [Waltz music.'] 
 Tra, la, la — our waltz. Miss Polly. [Waltz all but Eliza, zvho sits r. 
 sulkily. ] 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 [ Waltzing as she passes to c. from r. ] What, sitting out still, Liza ! 
 How stupid it must be. Ha, ha, ha. 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 7 
 
 GUY. 
 
 l^Aside, as he ivalizes.'] Ha, ha. A countess, or my cousin Diana, 
 could not have stabbed more surely. What a thoroughbred little filly 
 it is. [_To her after waltz finishes. '\ I never regretted the close of a 
 dance before. \^All go up; Maud and others exit from terrace u. Lady 
 Charteris comes down c. Guy joins her.^ 
 
 LADY C. 
 
 Guy, you seem to be enjoying your birthday sports ? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Awful hard work, Lady Charteris — worse than a day's run after the 
 fastest pack in the country. I've danced three sets of quadrilles, two 
 waltzes and one cotillion, and, I give you my word, Lm fit to drop. I 
 never realized before how thankful we should be that one's majority 
 comes only once in a lifetime. I wouldn't have believed it, if 1 hadn't 
 seen it with my own eyes, any human creature could possess the stay- 
 ing power of that girl, and they call women the weaker sex. 
 
 LADY c. 
 Who is that pretty girl in white, you have been dancing with so much ? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 That's Polly; and Polly's as jolly as she's pretty, which is saying a 
 good deal — see how she laughs. It does me good to look at her — 
 that's Polly Mason, Lady Charteris. 
 
 LADY c. 
 [ Wi/h a start:] Mason 1 Mason— 
 
 GUY. 
 
 My dear Lady Charteris, are you ill .^ 
 
 LADY c. 
 
 No, 'tis nothing. Give me your arm. [^Takes his arm; they go up. 
 Duke enters l. q. e.; watches her; she starts on seeing him. Polly 
 comes doivn.] 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Duke, you haven't come for me so soon, have you .? I can't go — 
 it's too soon. I'll stay until it's all over. Oh, you dear, old Duke, 
 I am enjoying it so much. 
 
 duke. 
 
 All right. Duchess. I only called to tell you that, as the gathering 
 
8 Paulina : or [Acf I. 
 
 may break up before the theater is out, I cannot come for you; so you 
 can go home with AHce Warren. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Very well, Duke. I'll get home all safe. What a pity you can't 
 stay and enjoy the fun, too. 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 I don't care for the fun. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. Who 
 is that young swell in the chimney pot hat and dandy boots you've 
 been dancing with ? I don't mean Guy Earlscourt. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Why, that's Mr. Allan Fane. He's an artist, Duke, and wants me 
 to sit to him for Fair Rosamond. 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Allan Fane, Allan Fane ; I've heard that name before, and I have 
 seen that face somewhere. It's a face I don't like, Duchess; it's a 
 weak, womanish face — a false face, or I'm greatly mistaken. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 That's, not like you, Duke. You don't often speak ill of people 
 you don't know. Mr. Fane has been very kind to me; he hasn't let 
 me sit out a single dance, and he even left the great ladies up there to 
 wait on me, and, of course, I feel grateful, and all that — 
 
 DUKE- 
 
 Oh, of course. [AstWe.j I should like the grateful pleasure of 
 punching him for his civility. [A/oud.] Well, good night, little 
 Duchess. [Polly goes up, Joins others, and all exit r. and l. Duke 
 going up L. meets Lady C; they come down c. Dance music at intervals 
 p. P.J 
 
 LADY C. 
 
 [Placing her hand on his ann.'\ You are Duke Mason. She is 
 mine — my daughter, my child, whom I gave you fourteen years ago.? 
 
 duke. 
 Yes, my lady. 
 
 LADY c. 
 
 You have cared for her all those years — she has grown up like that, 
 strong and tall, and healthy, and beautiful — beautiful as he was, and 
 like him; so like him. 
 
 duke. 
 
 Well, yes; she is like him, and when her face is washed, the Duchess 
 isn't a bad looking girl. 
 
Sce7ie 1. ] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 
 
 LADY c. 
 Does she know — who does she think she is ? 
 
 DUKR. 
 
 She thinks she is Polly Mason, an orphan, the child of a dead cousin 
 of mine. The Duchess hasn't a notion of who she really is. 
 
 LADY c. 
 
 The what .? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 I beg your pardon, my lady. I call her the Duchess, because she 
 looks like one, not that 1 was ever personally acquainted with any 
 Duchess. She called herself Polly, but I never took kindly to the name 
 of Polly. 
 
 LADY C. 
 
 Her name is Paulina. 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 {^Forgetting himself.^ Yes, I know it is — he said so. {Suddenly 
 recollecting — aside ^^ Oh, Lord — 
 
 LADY C. 
 
 Who said so } Who could know her name 1 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 It was — it was a sick man who stopped with us when she came. He 
 suggested that her name might be Paulina. 
 
 LADY c. 
 How should he think of it.-* Who was this sick man.^ 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 His name was Hawksley, my lady. {Aside?^ If she asks questions 
 enough, she'll surely find it out; I never could stand pumping. 
 
 LADY c. 
 Why did you leave London } Do you know I wrote to the old ad- 
 dress twice, and my letters were returned } The last fell into the hands 
 of Sir Vane, and there was a scene, and I never dared write again. 1 
 would rather have seen my darling dead than that he should find her 
 out. Oh' if he should recognize the resemblance and discover her 
 identity, even now. Lie knew there was a child — he knows I have hid- 
 den her away. If he should find out. Oh, if he should find out. 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 He will not find out, my lady, if you do not betray yourself. Plow 
 
10 Paulina: or ^ [Ac/ 1. 
 
 should he ? She is Polly Mason, the orphan cousin of a poor scene 
 painter ; and for the resemblance, he will not see it as you do. You 
 do not — you will not take her away, my lady. 
 
 LADY c. 
 Take her away; never, my friend — my good, kind, faithful friend. 
 Do you love her; tell me, is she, indeed, dear to you; would it grieve 
 you to give her up ? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 My lady, nothing on earth could grieve me so deeply. I don't 
 know how a father may feel for an only child, but I know no father in 
 this world could love a daughter more than I love Polly. 
 
 LADY c. 
 And, your sister, she loves her, too ? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 She is the torment and the idol of my sister's life Everyone loves 
 the Duchess. 
 
 LADY C. 
 
 I have been praying for my darling. Oh, heaven keep her and 
 protect her pure from the world — safe from her enemies. 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Her enemies — she has none. 
 
 LADY c. 
 
 She has a terrible enemy while Sir Vane Charteris lives. Save her 
 from him. Look, Mr. Mason, I was an heiress — it was my fortune — 
 my uncle persecuted me. Sir Vane married me. That fortune was 
 so left that it falls to my eldest child at my death. Paulina is my 
 eldest, and to her it shall go, if they cannot prove my first marriage 
 illegal and she illegitimate. Paulina will inherit in spite of him. The 
 marriage zvas legal, I know. I have consulted lawyers on the subject. 
 One hair of her head is dearer to me than a dozen Mauds. It may 
 be wrong; I cannot help it. He is bad, bold, unscrupulous, and 
 spares neither man nor woman in his wrath. 1 tell you this, because 
 you know how he married me, while he knew I loathed him — a man 
 who could stoop to such a marriage would stoop to anything. Would 
 Paulina be safe, think you, then, in his power ? Oh, Mr. Mason, I 
 think I am the most wretched woman the wide earth holds. I thifik 
 my heart broke sixteen years ago, when they told me my darling was 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 11 
 
 dead. The only creature in this world I love is there, and I dare not 
 speak one word to her — dare not give her one kiss, for her father's 
 sake. [Weeps.'] But, I have no right to distress you — you who are 
 my best, my only friend — the only friend, at least, whom I can trust 
 with the secret of my life. Tell me of my child; is she truthful, is 
 she generous, is she, in a word, like her father ? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Amiable — well, I'm not prepared to say that Polly is on all occa- 
 sions. She has a tongue and a temper beyond a donbt — she has a will 
 of her own, too, and makes most people mind her. Bu/, the bravest, 
 the handsomest, the most generous and loving little girl in Great 
 Britain, 
 
 LADY c. 
 
 Thank heaven, and thank you, who have been her father and friend 
 for so many years. Keep her still — keep her until I die and she comes 
 into her fortune. She will be able to reward you then. 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 I hope that day is very far off. I don't want any reward for keeping 
 the Duchess. Life without her would not be worth the having, 
 
 LADY c. 
 Teach her what you can. I cannot even give you a paltry hundred 
 or two for that. I have not a sovereign without the knowledge of Sir 
 Vane Charteris — not a trinket that he would not miss. I am poorer 
 than she is, Mr. Mason. 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Oh, Polly isn't poor, thanks to Hawksley's generosity. She has seven 
 hundred pounds in the Speckhaven Bank. 
 
 LADY c. 
 Who is this Mr. Hawksley, who knows Paulina's name, and gives 
 her seven hundred pounds ? What does it mean ? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 [Aside.] What a dolt — a dunderhead, I am. I've got myself into 
 a pretty mess now. [A/oud.] My lady, Mr. Hawksley is only a very 
 generous and eccentric young man, w^ho took a fancy to Polly's pretty 
 face when a baby, and sends her a Christmas present of fifty pounds 
 from the California gold diggings every year. He was first from the 
 States, you see, and I dare say //la/'s how he came to guess her name. 
 
12 Paulina : or [Ac/ I. 
 
 LADY c. 
 He is very kind. Take the money, then, and educate the child as 
 befits her station that she will one day fill. And. now, a last favor. 
 Will you accompany me to the Grange to-night ? A strange request, 
 you think, but I dare not venture to go in the day time. He would 
 suspect something; he is always suspecting and watching me, and at 
 night 1 fear to go alone — not the cavalier's ghost, but the people I 
 might meet at that hour. Will you be my escort ? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Certainly, Lady Charteris. 
 
 LADY c. 
 
 No, not that name. Sir Vane Charteris has insulted me. Women 
 of my race have given back death before now for less insulting words. 
 If I were in my dying bed, and he knelt before me, I would not for- 
 give him. I go at night, because, when all have retired, I am free — 
 only then; and I go for something I left in my flight fourteen years 
 ago. Ah, you remember that night. My husbands miniature — my 
 lost husband's. Sir Vane Charteris is only that in name. Some let- 
 ters, trinkets — the few presents he ever gave me — they are dearer to me 
 than anything in the world, except his child. I had them ready, and 
 forgot them, somehow, that night in my haste. They may have been 
 removed, but I think not. I left them in the secret drawer of an Indian 
 cabinet, and I know none of the large furniiure was ever taken from 
 the Grange. You will come with me ? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 I will ! 
 
 LADY C. 
 
 You will wait outside the gate, and keep watch. I know how to 
 effect an entrance, and I am not in the least afraid. I will leave you 
 now ; he has missed me long ere this. I must see all clear and quiet ^ 
 and will ihen join you. \_They go up. ] 
 
 CHANGE. 
 
 Scene 2. — Front Landscape. 
 
 [Enter Samuel and Eliza, Peter and Alice, l. 1 e.] 
 
 ELIZA. 
 
 No, Sam; I haven't enjoyed myself a little bit; and as for that Polly 
 Mason, I never saw such a forward girl in mv life. 
 
Scene 2.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 13 
 
 ALICE. 
 
 Oh, Eliza, how can you say that ! 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 \^Ouiside?\ Alice, Alice, wait for me. {^Runs on.~\ Duke said I 
 was to go home with you. 
 
 ELIZA. 
 
 Here she is herself. I've just been telling Sam of the grand con- 
 quests you've made to-night. How did you leave all your friends, 
 Polly, dear ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 All my friends are quite well. I'll tell them you inquired, the next 
 time I see them. They'll feel flattered, particularly Mr. Guy, who 
 danced with you — once — Eliza, wasn't it, and forgot to come back } 
 I Xs to c. ] 
 
 ELIZA. 
 
 I didn't encourage him as much as some people did. I don't believe 
 in gentlemen born dangling after country girls. I should be afraid of 
 what people might say of me. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Then you needn't, Eliza; nobody will ever talk oS. you in that way, 
 I'm quite sure. Gentlemen have such bad taste. 
 
 ELIZA. 
 
 Yes, I thought so myself when I saw two of them dangling after 
 you all the evening. I wonder Rosanna isn't afraid. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Afraid of what .? I'll thank you to speak out, Eliza Long } 
 
 SAMUEL. 
 
 We all know Polly isn't afraid of anything — she wouldn't go three 
 miles out of her w.^y, as Jenkins did last week, rather than pass the 
 haunted Grange. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 No, I would not. 
 
 ELIZA. 
 
 That's easy to say, but it's not so easy to prove. Polly's as much 
 of a coward as the best of us, I dare say, if the truth were known. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I'm not a coward, and I'll thank you not to say so, Eliza. I'm not 
 afraid of you, or w^hat people may say, nor of ghosts either, if it comes 
 to that. 
 
14 Paulina : or [Ac/ I. 
 
 ELIZA. 
 
 Prove it, prove it, if you dare, Polly Mason. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 You dare me to what, Eliza ? 
 
 ELIZA. 
 
 To pass a night alone in the Grange. You are not afraid of ghosts. 
 Prove it, if you dare ! 
 
 ALICE. 
 
 Oh, Eliza, hush ! 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 You hush, Alice, dear. I iv ill do ill I am ;z(?/ afraid of ghosts, but 
 if I were as sure as that I am standing here I should see the tradition- 
 ary ghosts of the knight and murdered lady, I would go. I will do it 
 this very night. Will that satisfy you, Eliza Long .? 
 
 ALICE. 
 
 No, no, Polly ! 
 
 SAMUEL. 
 
 Oh, by George, no; you know Duke wouldn't let you. You know — 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 / shall do it I 
 
 ELIZA. 
 
 Yes, and Duke need never know. We will go with you to the door, 
 and leave you there, and call for you whenever you say. That is, if 
 you really mean it. /wouldn't, if I were you, if I felt the least afraid. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Em not afraid, and I'll thank you not to use the word again. You're 
 a coward, Eliza Long, and you know it, and you hope something evil 
 may befall me, and you would have given a year of your life to stand 
 in my shoes this evening. Bah, do you think I don't understand you ; 
 but Ell go all the same. 
 
 ALICE. 
 
 Don't do it, Polly; you don't know what may happen. It's an 
 awful place, and I should feel as if we had murdered you, if — 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 [Kissing her.'] You poor, little, frightened Alice, I don't believe in 
 ghosts, I tell you, and I shall go to sleep as comfortably in the Grange 
 as ever I did in my life. Don't let us talk about it. Eliza Long shall 
 never call me a coward. 
 
Scene 3.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 15 
 
 ALICE. 
 
 You shal) not go, Polly. What will everybody say, and who knows 
 what may happen. Peter, don't let her go. Eliza, speak to her. 
 
 PETER. 
 
 She may go, if she likes, for me. 
 
 ELIZA. 
 
 Certainly, Polly, I wouldn't go, if I felt the least af — 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 You had better not. Alice, dear, hold your tongue — there is no 
 danger; there are no human things there, and I'm not afraid of ghosts. 
 None of you need come any farther, if you don't wish. How am I 
 to get in } There's a window, if you could only raise it for me, Sam .? 
 
 SAxMUEL. 
 
 All right; come along. I'll raise the window, and help you in. 
 
 \_All exit R. 1 E.] 
 
 Scene 3. — An old oak chamber in 3/ lat-ge practical window c, with 
 shutters to open outside; discovering wood and trees; old fashioned 
 furniture oji. 
 
 [Sam opens shutters, discovering Polly, Alice, Eliza and Peter.] 
 
 [moonlight.] 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Will that room do, Eliza, or is there any other apartment in the 
 house more especially haunted than another } I should like to please 
 you, and it's all the same to me. 
 
 ELIZA. 
 
 Oh, don't ask me; don't say / want you to go; I don't. I think 
 you had better turn back. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I understand you, Eliza. If anything happens, you must prove 
 your innocence. Good night, all. Alice, don't fret about me. 
 
 \Climbing into the window.^ 
 
 ELIZA. 
 
 Come back. 
 
16 Paulina : cr [Ac/ I. 
 
 ALICE. 
 
 Oh, Polly, come back. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 [Inside.] Not if I know it. So, good night; come for me, just 
 whenever you like. [Thej' disappear.] 
 
 POLLY {^shivering). 
 
 Pm not much afraid, but what a dreary old place it is, and what a 
 mad freak of mine. They'll think me as mad as the poor lady they 
 say was murdered here, ever so many years ago; and what will dear, 
 old Duke say, if he finds it out. I don't care. Eliza Long has no 
 business to dare me. Dare, indeed; Pm not the party to take a dare. 
 I wonder who was the last party who sat in that old arm chair. [Sils 
 in arm chair al table c.] Pm awfully tired dancing all the afternoon 
 and night, so PU just try to sleep and dream the lonesome hours away. 
 [Wraps sliawl around her '.\ I wonder if I shall dream of Mr. Fane — 
 no, Mr. Guy. Oh, isn't he nice. Wonder if the rats will object to 
 this intrusion, eh } Phew ! [Kicks out her feet and goes to sleep mumb- 
 ling. ] 
 
 MUSIC 
 
 [Lady Charteris enters cautiously through ivindoiv and goes off r. 2 e. ] 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Shew ! [Kicking.] Bother the rats! [Waking up.] Have I been 
 dreaming; surely I heard something more than rats, [Rubbing her 
 eyes and rising .] Yes, footsteps, human footsteps, and coming this way. 
 
 [Lady Charteris re-enters r. 2 e.] 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Lady Charteris ! 
 
 LADY c. 
 
 Ah ! who speaks .? Who are }ou .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I am Polly Mason, hopelessly vulgar and common! I suppose I 
 was christened Mary — Mary's no great things, but it's better than 
 Polly. Pm the orphan child of dear, old Duke's cousin, dead and 
 gone, and left me the sole legacy of the dying man, and a precious 
 legacy I have been. Duke don't mind my enormities ; indeed, if I 
 murdered somebody, I don't think it would surprise or trouble him 
 any; but, that poor Rosanna, Pve been bringing her gray hairs with 
 sorrow to Speckhaven Cemetery. 
 
Scene 3.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 17 
 
 LADY c. 
 Polly Mason ! [^Rushing io her, as 1/ /or gelling herself.] My child •' 
 My child ! [Recovering herself?)^ What in the world brought you here ; 
 you of all people alive, and at this unearthly hour ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Oh, Lady Charteris, it was foolish, I know, and Duke and Rosanna 
 will be so angry, if they find it out. I'm half sorry now I came, but 
 I could not help it. Eliza Long — you don't know her, of course — 
 but we hate each other, she and I; she says I'm a red haired, freckled, 
 forward minx — dared me to come here and spend a night alone among 
 the ofhosts, and I — well, I know I'm a little fool, but if she dared me 
 to jump into Speckhaven Bay, I think I would do it. They left me 
 here, and are to call for me when they like; and please, my lady, 
 don't tell. I was not afraid; indeed, I wasn't. I could have slept 
 soundly, but Duke would be vexed — Duke's my cousin, please, my 
 lady — and he's such a dear, old cousin, I hate to make him sorry. Oh, 
 Lady Charteris, I know this is your house, but I did not know that 
 you or anybody ever came here, or I'd never have done it. Oh, please 
 don't say I've done anything so very, very wrong. 
 
 LADY c. 
 My darling ! Oh, my darling ! \Weeps and embraces her.'\ 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 [Disengaging herself half frightened.'] ]\Iy lady — 
 
 LADY C. 
 
 I have frightened you, my dear, but you — you resemble some one I 
 once knew. My child, what a strange thing for you to do, to come 
 and spend a night in this dismal place. Were you not terribly fright- 
 ened } 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Well, no, my lady; at least, not until I first heard you. I don't 
 mind a bit, so that Duke and Rosanna don't find out. 
 
 LADY c. 
 You are very fond of your cousins, my dear } 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Oh, very; Duke especially; but every one loves Duke — the starved 
 dogs in the streets, the little beggars who ask alms in the town, every- 
 body — dear, old Duke. 
 
18 Paulina: or [Ac/ I. 
 
 LADY c. 
 And you are happy — truly and really happy ? 
 
 POLLY, 
 
 Happy? Well, no; not quite. I don't think anybody could be 
 happy whose name was Polly Mason. Polly! It reminds of a poll 
 parrot in a cage asking for a cracker. 
 
 LADY c {^smiling). 
 
 Is that all ? Well, my child, you can console yourself with the 
 thought that, like most young ladies, you will one day change your 
 name. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I ought to be a happy girl, I suppose, for everybody is very good to 
 me. My lady, will you please tell me the time ? 
 
 LADY c [looking at her watch). 
 It is just half past one. My errand here is done, and you will re- 
 turn with me — and, Polly — [places hand on her shoulder'] — you know 
 some of the people at Priory; don't mention to any of those young 
 men, should you chance to see them, that you ever met me here. 
 Now, come ! 
 
 POLLY, 
 
 My lady, I cannot go. I promised to wait, and I must. They will 
 call for me presently, and I wouldn't have them find me gone for the 
 world.' I should never hear the last of it. 
 
 lAdy c. 
 Who are they, my little one .? 
 
 POLLY, 
 
 Oh, Alice Warren and Eliza Long, and two young men — you 
 
 wouldn't know any of them. They'll be sure to be here, and I must 
 wait, I promised. 
 
 LADY c. 
 
 A promise must be kept, of course. Will you not get a scolding 
 to-morrow from — this Duke you love so well, for this madcap prank } 
 
 POLLY. ' 
 
 A scolding ! Duke scold/ Ha, ha, ha ! Oh, dear^ no, my lady; 
 no, Duke couldn't scold, if he tried, least of all, me. But, he would 
 look grieved, and that would be ten times worse, and never say a word, 
 and be kinder to me than ever. Rosanna would scold, and I shouldn't 
 mind it a bit ! But, dear, old Duke, no; I hope he won't hear of it ! 
 
Scene 3.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 19 
 
 LADY c. 
 Then he shall not from me, and I must go and leave you here ; it 
 seems almost cruel. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 You are very kind, my lady; but don't mind me; I'm not afraid; 
 and I couldnt go, that's the amount of it. Please, let me help you out. 
 
 LADY c. 
 You are a brave, little girl. Good night, and don't come here any 
 more. \JCisses her, and exits through window7\ 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Now, I wonder what brought her here, all alone, and at this time of 
 night — morning, I mean } Is she going to walk all the way to Monta- 
 lien Priory, and does her husband know she's out .? Oh, dear, I do 
 wish they would come ! It's not so awfully jolly as it might be. Now, 
 if there was only a nice, young fellow, one could endure being alone 
 with him. I think I'll try and amuse myself, the ghosts and rats with 
 a song. 
 
 SONG, 
 
 \_At end of song Alice, Eliza, Sam and Peter appear at window.'] 
 
 OMNES. 
 
 Polly, Polly, are you there, and safe .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Yes, I'm safe, in spite of you, Eliza, and the ghosts and the rats, and 
 I've had a sociable chat with one of them — not the rats, but the ghosts 
 that haunt the Grange — and a very pleasant ghost it is. I hope you're 
 convinced I'm not afraid, now, and if any of you let Duke or Rosanna 
 find out this night's work, I'll — well, don't you do it, that's all. I may 
 be an idiot for my pains, but I'm not going to worry them into their 
 graves. 
 
 OMNES. 
 
 Oh, honor ! We'll never say a word ! 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 See that you don't ! Now, Sam, look out and catch me; I'm going 
 to take a flying leap through that window ! \_Hums symphony of song 
 doivn to front of stage; runs up and teaps into window?^ 
 
 MOONLIGHT. . PICTURE. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
ACT SECOND. 
 
 Scene I. — K plain chamber in 3/ large c. doors, open, hacked by gar den; 
 set doors r. and l. u. y..; plain ^ neat furniture on; curtains on win- 
 doivs each side of c. 
 
 [Duke discovered painting at easel l.] 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 I'll never give the Duchess up, unless she wants to go; and I sup- 
 pose she will want to go — her dream of life is to be a lady; she loves 
 dress and ornaments with the intense love of girlhood. Yes, I suppose 
 she will go, sometime. How brave she is; what a great, generous 
 heart she possesses. People call her vain; well, perhaps, she is; her 
 glass shows her a charming face; she is wilful, wayward, reckless, and 
 something of a "Tomboy," bless her; and when the time comes, she 
 shall go, if she wants to, and I'll never grieve her by letting her see how 
 it breaks my heart. [Rosanna enters d. l. u. e.] 
 
 ROSANNA, 
 
 Duke, where's Polly ? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 I don't know; out sketching, as usual, I suppose. 
 
 ROSANNA. 
 
 Sketching, indeed; more likely gadding about the country with some 
 of those young fellows from the Priory; and, Duke, I never thought of 
 it till this minute, I heard the name, and the truth never struck me, 
 Lady Charteris is at Montalien, and, Duke, Lady Charteris is our 
 Polly's mother. 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Well, somebody must be her mother, and the Duchess will never 
 shame a7iy mother. 
 
22 Paulina : or lAct 11. 
 
 ROSANNA. , ' 
 
 Do you know, Duke, that Polly isn't the same girl since that birth- 
 day festival of Mr. Guy's; she's thinner and paler, and so very much 
 quieter than she used to be. 
 
 [Polly outside l. u, e. singing a line of County Guy; then enters c] 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Ah, here you are, Duchess; where have you been .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Oh, lots of places. To see Alice Warren; and, oh, Duke, I've 
 heard such a budget of news. You know, Mr. Warren is Lord Mon- 
 talien's bailiff, and, of course, knows all about the family — all their 
 secrets, and — 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 He'd better keep them to himself I hope he hasn't been filling 
 your little head with ihem. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 No, but Alice has — do you know, Duke, she says that Lady Char- 
 teris has such a lot of trouble, and that she don't love her husband a 
 little bit. 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 That's no secret; everybody knows that; but, what of it } Wives who 
 do not love their husbands are not so rare, and as long as there is no 
 open scandal, nor the divorce court called into requisition, what does 
 a little marital estrangement signify 1 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 And she told me why Mr. Guy is his father's favorite, though the 
 second son — Lord Montalien was married twice. His first wife was 
 rich, and plain, and ten years older than my lord, and a match of his 
 father's choosing; Lord Montalien was in love with somebody else, but 
 he yielded to his father, and married the rich and ugly Miss Hunting- 
 don, and hated her like poison. 
 
 ROSANNA. 
 
 Why, Polly ! 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Well, I don't know, of course. I should think he did. /would in 
 his place. But, fortunately, she died two years after her marriage, 
 leaving Mr, Francis, and then was his lordship free again. Of course, 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 23 
 
 he immediately returned to his first love, an Italian lady, and, oh, such 
 a beauty — her picture's up there in her boudoir, and Mr. Guy is /ler 
 son. She died before a great while, too, and Lord Montalien has 
 
 been a sort of ever since, wandering about like Noah's dove, and 
 
 finding no rest for the soles of his feet. 
 
 ROSANNA. 
 
 Polly, don't be irreverent ! 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 And so, you see, Rosanna, it's clear enough how Mr. Guy comes to 
 be the favorite. He looks like his mother, whom his father loved, and 
 Mr. Francis looks like h's mother, whom his father detested. That's 
 logic, isn't it ? Mr. Francis is very well looking, you know; but Mr. 
 Guy — oh, Rosanna, Mr. Guy's an a^igel — tall and thin, and wears a 
 mustache, and has the softest voice and hands, and — 
 
 ROSANNA. 
 
 Head, perhaps. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Oh, Duke, why wasn't I born a lady, or why wasn't I born in some 
 land where the poor man is the equal of the rich man, in spite of for- 
 tune's caprices ? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 There is no such country, Duchess. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I wish I had been born in America — there's equality there, where a 
 newsboy at ten may be President at thirty-five, and the equal of kings. 
 But, it's no use talking, I'm only Polly Mason, and I'll never be any- 
 thing else. 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Unless some poor fellow, in a moment of madness, should one day 
 mairy you, Duchess. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Duke, suppose — it isn't likely, you know, of course — that one of 
 these young gentlemen should fall in love with meP Jane Eyre wasn't 
 pretty, and see how she married Mr. Rochester. Not that I think it 
 was any great thing to marry a blind, middle-aged gentleman with only 
 one hand, and homely as sin; and, Duke, that Guy Earlscourt is 
 splendid — splendid — and, then, there's that artist, Mr. Allan Fane, 
 oh ! oh ! 
 
24 Paulina : or [Ac/ II. 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 I wouldn't let that young man dangle after me too much, if I were 
 you, Duchess; he isn't what he pretends to be. I thought I knew him 
 the other evening; he's a humbug — a false, fickle, mean humbug. His 
 father's a very honest man, and a good tailor — a deuce of a screw, 
 though, and — 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 What, Duke; a tailor P 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Yes, Duchess, a tailor; I've bought clothes at the shop in Bond 
 street many a time, and I've seen Mr. Allan Fane when he was a pale- 
 faced little shaver in roundabouts; he doesn't remember me, of course, 
 and I don't care about renewing the acquaintance. He's a tailor's son, 
 fast enough, and I dare say it's the only thing about him not to his 
 discredit. He's a humbug. Duchess, and he's already engaged to 
 marry that middle-aged Miss Hautton — she's rich and high-born, and 
 he's only an adventurer, with a good address and a University educa- 
 tion; don't take any of his presents, or sit for him as a model, or have 
 anything to say to him, Duchess. 
 
 POLLY [aside, weeping). 
 And I thought he loved me. 
 
 ROSANNA. 
 
 That comes of gadding, and dancing, and staying out till all hours 
 in the morning. Look at that child's face; she is growing bilious, or 
 about to have an attack of jaundice; people always turn green and fall 
 into low spirits before jaundice. Do you feel a general sinking all 
 over, Polly, and an inclination to cry .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 No, I don't feel the least inclined to cry, thank you. I know what 
 you want, but you shan't victimize me ; I won't take herb tea, or hot 
 baths, or vegetable pills, or any of the nasty nostrums you like to 
 drench poor sick mortals with. Let me alone, Rosanna ! 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Let her alone, Rosanna; it's the best thing you can do; she has 
 fallen into low spirits, as you remarked, and I'll take her to see our 
 funny new piece at the Lyceum to-night, to freshen her up a bit. 
 
 ROSANNA. 
 
 Very well, Duke; only I don t want to have her laid up now, and 
 
Sce?ie 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 25 
 
 so much to do; and I am sure that wisdom tooth of mine is going to 
 keep me awake all night again. [Exil r. u. e.] 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Well, Duke, have you anything more to say to me '? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Yes, Duchess, I have a proposal to make to you. t 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 What; a proposal of marriage, Duke } 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 No, Duchess; don't be in a hurry, Duchess. What's the matter — 
 you're getting thin, you're losing your appetite — you took only two 
 cups of tea this morning, and three rolls } 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Do you usually count my cups of tea and the number of rolls, sir .? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 You're getting thinner and pale; you're losing your good looks, 
 Miss Mason. You want a change, and you shall have it; Duchess, 
 you shall go to the boarding school. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 To boarding school. Duke } 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 To boarding school, Duchess. You always wanted to go; don't tell 
 me you are going to object now. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 No, Duke, I'm not going to object; I'll go with all the pleasure in 
 life. I need school of some kind, goodness knows — such an ignor- 
 ant, wild, good-for-nothing wretch as I am. Where am I to go } 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 To Brompton — to Miss Primrose's establishment. Squire Weldon's 
 daughter went there, you know; and I'll take you next week, if you 
 think you can be ready. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 That's a question for Rosanna. /can be ready fast enough, if my 
 clothes can. Can you afford it, Duke; it will cost dreadfully, wont it } 
 
26 Paulina : or [Ac/ II. 
 
 I)UKE. 
 
 You have your own private fortune, Miss Mason; it shall come out 
 of //la/. Out of seven hundred, you can spare two for your education, 
 I should hope; and, then, when you can play the piano and work Ber- 
 lin wool pincushions, and are five-and-twenty years old, we will marry 
 you to some sensible, middle-aged professional man — say a lawyer or 
 a doctor. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I hate sensible men; I abhor middle-aged lawyers and doctors, and 
 I shall never marry — 72ever. I'll be an old maid, like Rosanna, and 
 if ever Mr. Hawksley returns from those savage lands, where they dig 
 gold out of the ground as people here do turnips, I'll keep his house 
 for him, if he will let me. Have you anything more to say to me, 
 Duke ? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Nothing more, Duchess; only, I would like to have you come with 
 me to the Lyceum to-night. They're bringing out a new comedy, in 
 three acts, entitled ''Pipes and Beerstad," and there's a screaming farce 
 to follow. Come, and have a good time before you go to Miss Prim- 
 rose and the blackboard ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Thank you, Duke, I'll go, if Rosanna can spare me, and her wis- 
 dom tooth stops aching. 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 All right, Duchess. [Goes hack to his painting?^ 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Engaged io Miss Hautton — traitor, coward; how dare he — how dare 
 he trifle with me so } 
 
 [Allan Fane eniermg l. c] 
 
 FANE. 
 
 Good evening, Miss Mason; I came — 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 For my congratulations, Mr. Fane; I hear you are engaged to the 
 honorable Diana Hautton. Well, you have them. It is an eminently 
 suitable match in every respect — age, birth, fortune, rank, and all. 
 
 FANE. 
 
 My dear Miss Mason — 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 It is not every day that the son of a London tailor gets an oppor- 
 
Scene \.'\ Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 2t 
 
 tunity of marrying an Earl's grand-daughter. Ah, you feel that, Mr. 
 Fane. I know your secret, you see, so carefully guarded. But, don't 
 be alarmed, I wont go to the Priory and tell Miss Hautton. I am 
 afraid, as devotedly as she is attached to you, she might jilt you, if she 
 knew it. I wont tell, Mr. Fane; and I wish you every happiness so 
 suitable a match deserves, if the poor scene painter's poor relation 
 may presume to offer congratulations to a gentleman of Mr. Fane's 
 standing; and, this ring, which you so kindly forced upon my accept- 
 ance, permit me to return it. If you haven't purchased an engage- 
 ment ring for Miss Hautton, I dare say you might make this answer. 
 
 FANE. 
 
 Miss Mason, Polly ; I can't explain ; forgive me — 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Forgive you } Well, Mr. Fane, I will try. It is not that I care for 
 3^ou, much. No, Allan Fane, I know now I never cared for you, bu^ 
 you have hurt me all the same. I shall never have the same faith in 
 mankind again. I seem to have lost my youth in the moment it be- 
 came mine. You have acted badly to me^ — badly, badly; but I will 
 try and forgive you, if I can. Take your ring. 
 
 FANE. 
 
 I cannot. Oh, Polly — 
 
 POLLY {throivs ring at his feef). 
 Don't ever call me Polly again; how dare you do it 1 Take your 
 ring this moment, or I will w^alk straight out of this house up to the 
 Priory, and tell Miss Hautton every word. Don't let me detain you an 
 instant longer, Mr. Fane 1 Miss Hautton may want you. You have 
 had your sport, and a verdant little country girl has helped to while 
 away a Summer holiday, so there is no need to linger now, and the 
 sooner we say good bye the better. 
 
 \^She bows and exits d. r. u. e.] [Fane exits l. c] 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Thank heaven, she doesn't care for the puppy. Fm not ordinarily 
 of a pugilistic nature, and don't, as a rule, let my angry passions rise, 
 but, if I could give Mr. Allan Fane a sound kicking, I think it would 
 do us both good. 
 
 [Lady Charteris entering excitedly l. c] 
 
28 Paulina: or [Ad IL 
 
 LADY C. 
 
 Duke Mason, you have deceived me, and I trusted you. My hus- 
 band is aHve ! 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Lady Charteris ! 
 
 LADY c. 
 
 I am not Lady Charteris, and you know it. I have never for one 
 hour had a right to that hated nam^e. I am Robert Lisle's wife; and 
 Robert Lisle is alive, and you know it ! 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 My lady ! 
 
 LADY C. 
 
 You know it ! You have deceived me long enough, all of you ! I 
 am no child; I will be deceived no longer. On the day — the accursed 
 day — upon which I stood at the altar, Sir Vane Charteris' bride, Robert 
 Lisle — my husband, my only love — was in the church looking at my 
 perjury; and you knew it, like the rest, and, like the rest, have hidden 
 it from me. You, who knew how I loved him. You, whom I never 
 wronged. 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 I did, my lady; forgive me, if you can. It was wrong; I thought 
 so from the first, but what could I do } He bade me keep his secret 
 from you — from you most of all on earth. What could I do but obey.? 
 
 LADY c. 
 He ! you mean — 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 I mean the man who called himself Robert Hawksley, who was 
 Robert Lisle, as I know very well now, and your husband. I don't 
 know how you have found this out. The whole thing is so confused 
 that I hardly know which is the right, and which the wrong. I wanted 
 to tell you the other night in Montalien's Park, but I feared — I feared. 
 What right had I to tell you, you were the wife of two living husbands, 
 bound to each by the ties of motherhood, and so I held my peace. I 
 am sorry for you, my lady — sorry from my inmost heart. I would help 
 you, heaven knows, if I could. 
 
 LADY c. 
 
 You ca7i ! I have come to you for help. Twice before you aided 
 me in my great need; now, help me again, for the third time, in a 
 greater extremity } 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Eaelscourt's Wife. 29 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 I will help you, if I can. Tell me how, Lady Charteris ? 
 
 LADY c. 
 
 Not that name; never again that name; I loathe it, I abhor it, as I 
 do the man who bears it. I am Olivia Lisle ! Oh, thank heaven, that 
 
 I can say it; rolls between us, leagues of land divide us, a deeper 
 
 gulf than earth or ocean hold us asunder. The probabilities that we 
 shall never stand face to face again are as one in ten million. Yet, I 
 thank God, he lives ! My own cow^ardice — my own pitiful weakness 
 in fearing for my child, in wishing to regain her, in too readily believ- 
 ing the lies told me of — of kis death, has brought all this long misery 
 upon me. I must bear it now to my life's close alone, but I must hear 
 all you have to tell. If you have any pity in your heart for so miser- 
 able a wretch, you will speak, and tell me the whole truth ? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 I ivi//, my lady. Heaven knows, I would have told you all, long 
 ago, if I had dared. A great and cruel wrong has been done; whether 
 it can ever be repaired now is not for me to say. The dead and the 
 living are alike to blame — your late uncle, Geoffrey Lyndith, and 
 Sir Vane Charteris. They both knew on your second wedding day 
 that Robert Lisle was alive and in the church at the finish of the cere- 
 mony; he followed to your uncle's house, and had an interview with 
 him there. 
 
 LADY c. 
 
 Oh, heaven, to think that in that hour he was under the same roof 
 with me — in that hour when it was not yet too late. 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 It was too late. Had he insisted upon seeing you, that very instant 
 he would have been given over to the hands of the law, to answer for 
 a crime he had never committed. He was made to believe that you 
 abhored his memory — that you believed him a thief; that you had 
 grown to love Sir Vane Charteris ; that his marriage with you was no 
 marriage, and would be proven, if he made any attempt to see or speak 
 to you. It zvas too late, my lady; your uncle triumphed. Robert 
 Lisle left the house, and fell like a dead man on the street before he 
 had gone ten steps. I took him home; my sister cared for him. 
 When he recovered, he learned that the little child pratding about the 
 house was his. I believe that knowledsre saved him from a suicide's 
 
30 Paulina : or [Ad II. 
 
 grave; it gave him something to Hve for. "She shall be an heiress, 
 yet," he said, as we shook hands and parted. And, now, may I ask 
 how you have learned that he is alive ? 
 
 LADY c. 
 From a story Lord Montalien told at the dinner table to-day, he 
 little dreaming how nearly I was interested. Prepare yourself for a 
 surprise. Montalien will call upon you soon. Whatever may occur, 
 still guard my secret ! 
 
 DUKS. 
 
 After so many years, you need have no fear, my lady. 
 [Sir Vane entering l. c] 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 So, you are here, where I expected to find you, after what has oc- 
 curred. Come home, Lady Charteris ! 
 
 LADY c {shrinking from hi??i). 
 Don't touch me ! Don't come near me ! Don't call me by that 
 name ! I am not your wife; I never was. In the hour you married 
 me, you knew my lawful, my only, husband was alive; and you lied 
 to me, and told me he was dead. False, false, treacherous villain, 
 that you are ! 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 Have you quite done, madam .? This sort of performance is enter- 
 taining enough with the stage lights and appropriate costumes,, and at 
 a suitable hour, but allow me to suggest that this is not the time nor 
 place. Lady Charteris should be at her, our home ! This is the scene 
 painter, I suppose, to whom you gave that fellow's illegit — 
 
 LADY c {springing at him fiercely). 
 If you dare ! You said it once. Take care, take care ! 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 Ah, I remember; you don't like the word; I said it once, over thir- 
 teen years ago. I remember very distinctly. I told you it was not an 
 agreeable recollection for me that I had married the mistress of a coun- 
 try clod, and from that hour to this we have been man and wife only 
 in name. Is Mr. Robert Lisle's interesting daughter and heiress vis- 
 ible, Mr. (ah) Mason .? I suppose not, though, under present circum- 
 stances and company. I should really like to see her, but that pleasure 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 31 
 
 must be reserved for another time. For you, my lady, take my arm .^ 
 [Lady C shrinks from him shuddering.'] 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 Take my arm, madam, and come home, home. Do you know the 
 sort of home provided for such women as you .? 
 
 [Lady C looks ai hi?7i in horror and affright?^ 
 SIR vane. 
 A mad house. Do you hear, madam ! {Hissing?^ A mad house! 
 
 [^Drags her off i.. c.'] 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 I rather fancy if he had the Duchess to deal with, instead of her 
 mother, he'd find the mercury at boiling heat sometimes. "Prepare 
 myself for a surprise." What can it be.? Am I about to lose the 
 Duchess — my bright, beautiful, laughing, mischievous, troublesome, 
 loving little Polly .? Is she going from me, to return no more — she, 
 who for fourteen years has been the joy, the torment, and delight of 
 my life '^ Well, well; let me not anticipate. I suppose I shall know 
 all too soon. 
 
 [Lord Montalien entering l. c, ] 
 
 LORD montalien. 
 
 Mr. Marmaduke Mason, I suppose .? 
 
 duke. 
 Duke Mason, at your service, my lord. 
 
 LORD M [giving letters). 
 
 This letter, for yourself, and one for Miss Ma ^ I mean your 
 
 adopted daughter, will partially explain my business. Read yours — 
 time is not pressing. [Returns up, looks off c. | 
 
 duke [^agitated, opens and glances over letter). 
 Yes, at last; my premonitions were correct. 
 LORD M {coming down). 
 I see by your face, Mr. Mason, that letter explains all .? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Yes, my lord, it was to be expected, sooner or later. 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 It is doubtless painful for you to part with your adopted daughter, 
 after all these years, but the thing is inevitable. Mr. Lisle is un- 
 
32 Paulina : or [Ac/ II. 
 
 bounded in his expressions of gratitude and respect to you, and any 
 reward — 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 All the gold in the Bank of England could not repay me for the 
 loss of Polly. Unless you want to insult me, my lord, you will never 
 allude to this again. 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 You are a noble fellow, and have fulfilled your trust to Robert Lisle 
 right royally. 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 My lord, /cannot tell her. Will you kindly undeceive her; it will 
 not be a hard task — such pleasantness, 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 I am quite sure the young lady will sincerely regret the change of 
 guardians. The news is pleasant, beyond doubt. Mr. Mason, you 
 know more of this young girl's history than / do, for you knew her 
 mother ? 
 
 DUKE (a/armed). 
 
 My lord— 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 Don't distress yourself, Mr. Mason. I am not about to ask you any 
 questions. Indeed, I had much rather not hear the mother's name. 
 It is a very painful story — let us hope the worst is over. Is Miss 
 Mason — I beg her pardon — Miss Lisle, in ? I should like to see her. 
 I presume you have no objection to my telling her at once ? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Certainly not, my lord; the sooner the better. She will be here 
 presently. May I ask how, how soon — 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 I shall leave that entirely to you and her. You are aware it cannot 
 be postponed long, but I shall not hurry her away. She is to go to 
 school. I propose sending her to the Convent of the Sacred Heart, in 
 Paris. I have a prejudice against fashionable boarding schools, as a 
 rule. Had I a daughter, she should never enter one; and I believe 
 the nuns of the Sacred Heart to be the best teachers and the most 
 accomplished ladies under the sun. But for a few weeks, if she 
 chooses. 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 33 
 
 [Polly enters T). l. u. e., singing County Guy; stops suddenly, seeing 
 
 Lord M.l 
 
 DUKE {taking her hand). 
 My lord, this is your ward. Polly, Lord Montalien has come here 
 to see you, and tell you some wonderful news. Try and not be angry 
 with me for keeping it from you so long, and when you have heard 
 all, read this letter. [^Gives letter, and goes off slowly r. c] 
 
 LORD M {places chairs and they sit; takes her hand) . 
 You have your father's face, my child; I liked him the moment I 
 saw him first, and I like you. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 My father — you knew my father, my lord — Duke's cousin } 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 Not Duke's cousin. No tie of blood or name binds you to this good 
 young man, who has brought you up. Your father is alive. That 
 letter you hold is from him, and you are Polly Mason no longer, but 
 
 Paulina Lisle. 
 
 '« 
 
 POLLY {trembling and excited). 
 My — my lord — 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 No need to tremble-^— no need to fear, my child. My news is won- 
 derful news. The best of news for you — your father lives, and has 
 sent you a fortune. You are the heiress of eighty thousand pounds, 
 and I am appointed your guardian ! Miss Paulina Lisle, let me be 
 the first to congratulate you } 
 
 [Polly starts up, and then falls hack in chair. '\ 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 I have told her too abruptly. She is going to faint. I might have 
 known it. Whom shall I call .? 
 
 POLLY {recovering). 
 Wait. I shall not faint. Please go on, my lord; tell me all .? 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 I will tell you your father's story, as I had it from his own lips. 
 Fourteen years ago, we were fellow passengers on a ship returning from 
 America. He told me he was the son of a yeoman farmer, but edu- 
 cated as a gentleman. He had been, two or three years before, Secre- 
 
34 Paulina : or [Ac/ II. 
 
 tary to a man in Stafford, who had a daughter or niece, I forget which, 
 a great heiress, a great beauty, and six years his junior. They fell in 
 love with each other, and, of course, run away to Scotland and got 
 married. They kept their secret for four months; then the truth came 
 out, and there was the deuce to pay. Little Missy was spirited away, 
 and my handsome Secretary, through some nefarious plot on the part 
 of the guardian, was found guilty of stealing money and jewels, and was 
 obliged to -fly from England. Two years after, he returned to find her 
 at the altar, the wife of another; he ascertained there was a child, which 
 he found in the care of these Mason people. Leaving her there, he 
 returned to America, and in California has made the fortune he now 
 sends to his lucky little daughter. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Who was my mother ? 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 I do not know; your father never told me her name. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Does Duke know ? 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 I think it probable. But, my dear Miss Lisle, there may be reasons 
 why you should not know. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 What reasons ? 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 Reasons impossible for me to explain. You can ask Mr. Mason, 
 however, and, if it is right you should know, he will tell you. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Right? Right a daughter should know her mother's name .? How 
 came I to be given to Duke Mason .? 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 Your mother gave you to him, of course ! 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 My mother was a lady, you say, of high birth and station and wealth, 
 and she gives me away to a poor mechanic, and never comes to see or 
 ask after me again. My lord, is she alive .? 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 I have reason to believe she is. 
 
Scene 1. ] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 35 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Why did she not leave everything and go to America with my father 
 when he came for her } 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 Because she was the wife of another man. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 The wife of another man — she thought him dead, then } 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 She did ! 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 He did not seek her out, and undeceive her .? 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 No. And, now, my dear, take my advice. Rest contented with 
 your wonderful good fortune, and don't ask too many questions. You 
 are a great heiress — try and think of that. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 A great heiress, and yet poorer than the poorest, with a father and 
 mother alive, whom I have never seen — never may see — a mother, who 
 cast me off in my infancy; a father at the other end of the world. 
 Lord Montalien, you may not tell me; Duke may not tell me; but I 
 feel it here. If my mother is alive, I shall find it out, and ask her 
 why she deserted her child. For my father, ah. \_Looks at letter P^ 
 Will you permit me, my lord .? 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 Certainly, my dear. {^Retires a little.'] 
 
 POLLY {glances over as if reading'). 
 It is like a fairy tale. Oh, my lord, is all this true, or is it a dream .? 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 Well, my dear, I hope you will soon find it a pleasant reality. I 
 shall not hurry you, but I shall certainly expect you during your short 
 stay in Speckhaven to become a constant visitor at the Priory; or why 
 not make it your home altogether .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 And leave Duke and Rosanna. Oh, no, my lord; I thank you very 
 much all the same. 
 
36 Paulina : or [Ac/ II. 
 
 LORD M. 
 
 Very well, please yourself; and now, my dear, good day. Don't 
 lose your appetite and sleep thinking of this fairy fortune. But, where's 
 the use of advising you; of course you will. \Aside^ How^true 
 and clear she rings. If she had been born in a palace and bred a 
 countess, her manners could not be more simple and perfect. What 
 a' charming little rosebud she is, and how gloriously destined to bloom* 
 in the future ! \_Exit l. c] 
 
 POLLY {reading). 
 
 "■Your mother lives — a lady of rank and title — the wife of another 
 man. But in your heart there must lie no hard thoughts of her- — weak 
 she may have been — guilty, never! She believed — believes still — that Robert 
 Lisle is dead, as I am to her. One day I may return to England and 
 my precious daughter!' My father lives, and from over the wide sea 
 speaks the first sweet, solemn word of fatherly love I have ever heard. 
 [Stretching out her hands.~] Oh, father, father, come to me .? [Kisses 
 letter, and puts it in her pocket or bosom.'] 
 
 [Duke and Rosanna re-entering.'] 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Rosanna, strange things have happened. She knows all, except who 
 her mother is; be careful ! [They advance on either side <?/" Polly. ] 
 Well, Duchess } 
 
 POLLY, 
 
 Well, Duke .? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Who knows but I have been a prophet. You may be a Duchess 
 yet, Miss Lisle. I suppose it is the correct thing to call Lord Monta- 
 lien's ward and the heiress to eighty thousand pounds, Miss Lisle .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Duke I 
 
 DUKE {taking her hand). 
 
 I wish you joy, Duchess; upon mj^- soul, I do; and I hope you'll 
 be as happy in your new life as — as I have tried to make you in this. 
 You are going away, my dear — going away, to come back no more; 
 but I know you will not quite forget Duke and Rosanna. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Forget you; dear, old Duke and Rosanna .? Why, a horrible little 
 monster you must think me; and Ldon't know what you mean, talk- 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Eablscourt's Wife. 3t 
 
 ing about my going away never to come back. If I were Queen Vic- 
 toria's ward and heiress to fifty hundred million pounds, I should come 
 back all the same. This is my home; at least, till my father returns 
 from California to claim me. His right is first and most sacred. Oh, 
 Duke, to think Polly Mason- should ever have had a father ! 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 It is extraordinary. I should have liked to have told you ages ago, 
 but, you see, I was bound by promise to both, and dared not. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Promises to both — that means my mother, I suppose .? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Your mother; yes, Duchess. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Tell me all about her, Duke. My mother — how strange it sounds } 
 What was she like; was she handsome; am I like her .? That sounds 
 conceited, I am afraid, but I don't mean it so. 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 She was — she is beautiful, and you are not in the least like her. 
 You have your father's face and eyes, and a very good face and eyes 
 they are. Her eyes were black, and she was smaller than you. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Duke, I don't think I like my mother. She must have been weak 
 and cold hearted. Why did she give me up .? Why did she marry 
 that other man .? I hate to think of it, even. Why was she not faith- 
 ful through all things, to death, to the husband and child she loved } 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Don't you blame her, Duchess, since she did it for your sake. She 
 would have preferred death to marrying Sir — I mean, marrying again 
 on her own account. She sacrificed herself for you. You were laken 
 from her at your birth. She knew you lived, but nothing more, and 
 she yearned to possess you. She feared for you more than for her- 
 self- — for your future happiness, life, even — and when you were made 
 the price of her sacrifice, she consented. She was never more faithful 
 to the husband she thought dead than in the hour he saw her at the 
 altar, the bride of another man, for she sacrificed her own life to save 
 his child. Your mother is the purest, noblest — the most injured 
 
38 Paulina : or [Ac/ II. 
 
 woman on earth — a martyr. Don't jyou blame her. I cannot bear to 
 hear you. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 You loved my mother like this, Duke ? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 I reverenced her, Miss Lisle ! I pity her, as I never pitied any one 
 in my life. She is very unhappy. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Is — is her husband unkind to her ? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 I am afraid so, my dear. She knows you live and loves you, and 
 must be separated from you, and deny you a mother's care. Is tha^. 
 not enough of itself ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Duke, tell me her name — do. Let me go to her; only once, ever 
 so secretly, and kiss her, and tell her I love her and am sorry for her, 
 too ! Do; oh, Duke, if you ever cared for your little Duchess, whom 
 you are going to lose, tell me her name .? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 I can't Duchess. Don't ask me. Heaven knows, I would refuse 
 you nothing, if I could; but, it must not be; you don't know what 
 you ask; be content. Love her as much as you like; she is worthy 
 of it all; and hope for the best. But the day when you may know 
 your mother and go to her is not yet. Look here ! [Producing opal 
 ring.'] I have kept this for you for fourteen years. Your mother 
 gave it me on the night I saw her first. [Places it on her finger.] It 
 is yours, my girl; wear it for your mother's sake. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 And it is all I may ever know of her. It is all very sad, and very 
 strange. I used to think it would be very beautiful to have a history, 
 to be a heroine of romance; and now I am, and somehow it saddens 
 me more than anything ever did before — to think that I should have 
 a mother, who dare not acknowledge me; that some day I may meet 
 her, and look at her, and not know her. To think that I have a 
 father — an exile, ^ lonely, solitary wanderer in those wild, far off lands, 
 who has lost wife and child through no fault of his, and who may 
 never return. But I will go to him; if he does not come to me, when 
 
Scene 1. ] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 39 
 
 my two years' school life are ended, and bring him back to live here 
 with us. But, oh, Duke, how shall I ever say good bye to you and 
 Rosanna } 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 You must go some time, Duchess, and we can only say, heaven bless 
 you, whenever it comes, Miss Lisle. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Miss Lisle — only think. Miss Paulina Lisle ! I always hated the 
 name of Polly, and so longed for some beautiful and stately appellation. 
 And, lo, here I have it ! Duke, do you, know I really think the new 
 navie gives me more pleasure than the thought of all the money. But 
 to you, dear, darling, old Duh and Rosanna, I shall always be Polly 
 Mason; let come what will, I shall never forget my foster parents I 
 
 [ They go up, hand in hand.~\ 
 
 MUSIC COUNTY GUY. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
ACT THIRD. 
 
 Scene I. — A very handsome drawing room, c. d. open; backed by interior; 
 handsome furniture, piano, etc. 
 
 FRANCIS {^entering l. c). 
 
 Ha, ha, ha ! So everything triumphs with me ! Everything ? No; 
 if PauHna were only my wife, I should have nothing left to wish for. 
 Heavens, how I love that girl ! Her beauty and her devilish pride, 
 and pluck, and obstinacy, have bewitched my senses. I believe I 
 should marry her, if she had not one farthing. I shall prosper in my 
 love, as 1 have prospered in my hate. Ha, ha ! My brilliant young 
 brother, Guy Earlscourt, how is it with \o\xmow P My time is come 
 at last. I am Lord Montalien now, and you are where I have led 
 you, on the high road to ruin. Nay, a ruined man and a pauper to- 
 day. "■ Semper fidelis'' is the motto of your house. And ^^ always 
 /aith/ul" to my revenge, he shall pay me back for every sneer, every 
 slight, every advantage over me, to the- uttermost farthing. I wish he 
 were here, that I might for once throw off the mask and tell him how 
 I hate him. [Enter Guy l. c] Ah, just to my wish ! Well, Guy ! 
 And so the worst is come. Have you visited me to congratulate me, 
 or to ask my sympathy for your own great misfortune } Who thought 
 our aunt would have had the heart to disinherit her favorite } It must 
 have been a tremendous blow. It was your last hope. Perhaps, 
 though, it is not your last hope; perhaps you have come to me in your 
 hour of need to help you } 
 
 GUY. 
 
 No, Frank. I have fallen very low, but my misfortunes or evil 
 courses, which you will, have not quite turned my brain. I have never 
 asked you for a farthing yet ; and I never will. 
 
42 Paulina : or [Ad III. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 And, yet, you remember after our father's death, I told you to come 
 to me in your hour of need, and I would assist you. You were your 
 father's favorite. Guy, you are the son of the, wife he loved — he left 
 you all he had to leave. I wonder how he would feel, if he saw you 
 now? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 We will leave his name out of the discussion, if you please. And, 
 as neither now or at any past time I ever troubled your purse or your 
 brotherly affection, your hitting a man when he's down is in very bad 
 taste, to say the least. I have neither come to you for sympathy nor 
 money. I know how much of either I would get or deserve to get. 
 Shall I tell you why I have come ? 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 By all means. To say farewell, perhaps, on the eve of your life- 
 long exile. What place of refuge have you chosen .? Algeria, Aus- 
 tralia, New Zealand, America } I should really like to know } 
 
 GUY. 
 
 I did not come to say farewell. I came to speak of — Alice Warren. 
 
 FRANCIS {starts). 
 Alice Warren ! What has she to do with me .? Do you expect me 
 to look after your cast off mistresses when you are gone "^ 
 
 GUY. 
 
 I expect nothing of you. Nothing ! How often must I repeat it .? 
 And Alice Warren is no mistress of mine — of any man's. I believe 
 in my soul, whatever she is, you are the scoundrel who has led her 
 astray, under promise of marriage. Hear me out, my lord; I have 
 come to be heard, and I will. If you have one spark of manhood 
 left, you will atone in some way for the great wrong you have done an 
 innocent girl. You will not leave the fresh face you wooed down in 
 Lincolnshire exposed to the disgrace of London gaslight ! 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 I shall do precisely as I please in this, as in all other things. It is 
 refreshing, really, to hear you, of all men, the defender of female in- 
 nocence, such as Alice Warren. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 At least, no innocent girl's ruin lies at my door — no man's betrayal. 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 43 
 
 I repeat, if you have one spark of manhood left, you will atone for 
 the wrongs you have done her. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 How, by a real marriage, make the bailift^'s daughter my Lady 
 Montalien ? May I ask- when you had the pleasure of seeing the lady 
 last, and if she commissioned you to come here and plead her case ? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 I saw her two hours ago, and she commissioned me to do nothing 
 of the sort. I was walking along the Strand with Gus Steadman, and 
 we came face to face with poor Alice. I should not have known her, 
 she has become such a wretched shadow of herself If ever a heart 
 were broken,' I believe her's to be. By heaven, Frank, it is a cruel 
 shame ! If you had murdered her in cold blood, you could not be 
 more guilty than you are. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 And she told you, no doubt, a piteous story of my baseness and my 
 betrayal — or is all this accusation but the figment of your own lively 
 brain ? 
 
 • GUY. 
 
 She told me nothing. She is true to you, false as you have been to 
 her. We scarcely exchanged words. She seemed to have something 
 to say to Steadman, and I walked off and left them. It is no use you 
 wearing a mask with me. When Alice Warren came up to London, 
 last September, poor credulous child, it was to become your wife. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 You are right. And I will throw off the mask with you, my virtue- 
 preaching younger brother. In that other land, to which your misfor- 
 tunes are driving you, you might with pleasure to yourself and profit 
 to your hearers turn Methodist parson ; the role seems to suit you 
 amazingly. I shall deal with Alice Warren exactly as I please ; and, 
 for marriage, I shall marry Paulina Lisle. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Poor Paulina ! May heaven keep her from such a fate ! 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 I shall marry her and her fortune. It will be the delightful occu- 
 pation of my life to break that high spirit, while you are breaking 
 stones out there on the roads in Australia For Alice Warren, she 
 
44 Paulina: or [Act III. 
 
 will fare none the better for your advocacy. Let us speak of yourself. 
 I really feel an interest in your fate, though you may not believe it. 
 You have sent in your papers to sell, I suppose ? You are not mad 
 enough to try and remain in England ? 
 
 [Guy bows, and is about to go.'] 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Pray do not be in such haste .? I have not half finished what I de- 
 sire to say to you. Have you chosen as yet the place of your outlawry .? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 The place of my outlav^ry is a matter that in no way concerns you. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Very true ; and what does it signify — America, Australia, Algeria — 
 it is all the same. But, don't you feel a curiosity to know how you 
 came to be disinherited ? Most men would, I think ; and you were 
 such a favorite with old Miss Earlscourt, as with all women, indeed, 
 young and old. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Through your brotherly kindness, Frank, no doubt. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Quite right — through my brotherly kindness. But for me, you 
 would to-day be heir to our lamented maiden aunt's large fortune — 
 able to snap your fingers in the face of your creditors, and marry Pau- 
 lina Lisle yourself, if you desired it. Shall I tell you, Guy, how I 
 did it .? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 If you please } 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 By means of the girl whose case you have come here to plead — your 
 gambling, your drinking, your mad extravagance in every way, she 
 was prepared to forgive and condone, but not the luring from home, 
 under pretence of marriage, and ruin of a young and virtuous girl, 
 whose father all his life has loved and served you and yours. I went 
 to her and told her all this. I made her believe this — the only thing 
 that could have ruined you, my brilliant, careless Guy, and she tore 
 up the will that left you all — you hear, all — and made me her heir. 
 
 GUY {calmly). 
 
 You did this. I know you always hated me, but I did not — no, 
 I did not think, base as I know you to be, that you were capable 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 45 
 
 of this. Frank, will you tell me why you have hated me } I have 
 been a worthless fellow, but never injured you. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Did you not } Why, curse you, I believe I hated you from your 
 cradle. You were the Isaac, I the Ishmael ; you, the petted, the car- 
 essed, the admired ; I, the unlicked cub, the unloved son of an un- 
 loved mother ! I have hated you for that beauty which women have 
 so admired — for the talents and accomplishments that have rendered 
 you the favorite of men — and I swore to have revenge, and I have had 
 it. Your brilliant life is over. You are a beggar. You go forth to 
 exile and outlawry and disgrace — to starve or work in a foreign land — 
 and the title, and the wealth, and the good repute, are mine. Has 
 more got to be said } Farewell ! 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Frank, you have the heart of a cucumber fried in snow. This is 
 your time. You triumph, but the end is not yet. There is a long 
 life before me, and with what you cannot boast, a clear conscience. I 
 can go into a new world, over the sea, where man is respected for him- 
 self, and not gold or titles. We may not meet again before I depart. 
 I do not wish to prophesy, but let us hope, Frank, that when next we 
 meet, it may not be in a felon's dock. \_Exii l. c] 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 And, if we do, let us hope that the handsome Guy Earlscourt will 
 be the convict. [Polly and others laugh outside r. c] Ah, she is 
 coming — always laughing — and the deuce of it is, a man never knows 
 whether she is laughing with or at him. \_Goes to c, looliing r.] A 
 half-tamed filly, with a wicked light in those sparkling eyes. Ah, Mrs. 
 Galbraith, I fear your sprightly little debutante will give you as much 
 trouble in the future as ever debutante gave chaperon e. That young 
 lady means to have her own way, or know the reason why, as most 
 young ladies with eighty thousand pounds do have their own way, if a 
 stronger will than their own does not interfere. \_Exit l. c] 
 
 [Polly and Fane enter r. c, she laughing?^ 
 
 FANE. 
 
 You are merciless, Miss Lisle ! You had your revenge two years 
 ago on the day you gave me back my ring. You might spare me now. 
 
46 Paulina : or [Ac/ III. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 The ring you presented the same night to Miss Hautton. Please 
 don't try to be sentimental, Mr. Fane. I have grown dreadfully old 
 and wise since that foolish time, and pretty speeches are quite thrown 
 away upon me, I assure you ; and let us hope that Mrs. Fane will 
 never hear of your present visit, for I have heard that she is dreadfully 
 jealous. 
 
 FANE. 
 
 Pretty speeches are thrown away upon you, are they } I can believe 
 it, surfeited with them as you are. Do you know what Madame 
 Rumor says. Miss Lisle } 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Very scandalous things, no doubt. What .? 
 
 FANE. 
 
 That you are to be presented next season as my Lady Montalien. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Then rumor tells most unconscionable fibs. I'm not. 
 
 FANE. 
 
 You never liked Francis Earlscourt } 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Didn't I .? 
 
 FANE. 
 
 You don't like Lord Montalien 1 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Don't I } 
 
 FANE. 
 
 Miss Lisle, you know you don't ; only you won't say so. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 No ; we are to spend the Christmas at the Priory, and to speak ill 
 of my future host in his absence is a return of hospitality not strictly 
 Arabian. 
 
 FANE. 
 
 And how does London life suit you .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Oh, excessively. I am out every night, and I don't know the mean- 
 ing of the word fatigue; and I look forward to next season as a child 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife, 4t 
 
 to a holiday. Do you know the Duchess of Clanronald is going to 
 present me ? 
 
 FANE. 
 
 You are to be envied, Miss Lisle, and after one or two seasons the 
 Morning Post will announce a brilliant marriage. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Well, yes ; I hope so. Everybody marries, and I suppose / shall, 
 after four or five seasons, when I am quite — oh, quite an elderly per- 
 son of four or five-and-twenty — to some fine, old English gentleman, 
 who has a great estate and all that sort of thing. 
 
 FANE. 
 
 Or some fine young English gentleman, who has no great estates, 
 and all that sort of thing — some Guy Earlscourt, or — 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Ah, Guy Earlscourt ! Do you know I haven't seen him ever so 
 long, and people speak of him as though he were the man in the iron 
 mask, or Guy Fawkes, or anything else dreadful. Mrs. Galbraith 
 calls him a ''detrimental," whatever that may be. Pray, what has that 
 unhappy young man done } 
 
 FANE. 
 
 Nothing to any one, save himself You have heard of the road to 
 ruin, I suppose. Well, he has been going at a gallop along that high- 
 way for the last three years. The end must come very soon now. He 
 is involved beyond redemption. Mrs. Galbraith is quite right ; in a 
 marriageable point of view he is a detrimental. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Poor fellow ! I am sorry. I used to like him very much^he was 
 
 so 
 
 handsome. 
 
 FANE. 
 
 And is still. I wonder his handsome face has not won him an 
 heiress long ago. It would, I think, if he tried; but he seems to have 
 no time. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 If he is ruined, as you say, how does he live } 
 
 FANE. 
 
 By a well-made betting book, by a run of luck at cards, by cleverly 
 written magazine articles, and when his aunt was alive, she paid his 
 debts several times. 
 
48 Paulina : or [Ad III. 
 
 [Mrs. Galbraith and Maud laugk outside r. c] 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 Paulina ! Paulina ! 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I hear Mrs. Galbraith bleating for her lambkin. I must go to her, 
 I suppose. 
 
 [They are going up, meet Mrs. G. and Maud, who enter r. c; Fane 
 salutes them and exit l. c] 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Mrs. Galbraith, who is to take us to the concert to-night .? 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 Lord Montalien, of course ; and really it is almost time to dress. 
 Maud, ring for Paulina's maid. There will be such a crush that it is 
 best to be early. 
 
 P0LLY^ 
 
 Don't trouble yourself, Maud. I shall not go. [Sits and reads ?^ 
 
 MRS. G. and MAUD. 
 
 Not go, Paulina .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I shall not go. More — I will never go anywhere again with Lord 
 Montalien. If he comes here to dine, I shall leave the table. It is 
 quite out of my power to forbid him the house, or Sir Vane's box at 
 the theater, or you from picking him up whenever we go out to drive, 
 but what is in my power to do I will. It shall be no fault of mine if 
 people couple our names together. Do not let any whims of mine 
 make any difference in your plans. You and Maud are both dying to 
 go to the debut of this new Marie. Go, by all means. I shall not ! 
 
 MAUD. 
 
 Oh, Paulina ! I shall be so disappointed. 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 Paulina, we cannot go without you ; and, really, I can't see why you 
 object so strongly to Lord Montalien. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 He's like the death's head at the Egyptian banquets — always present 
 and always spoiling my pleasure. He is like one's shadow, or one's 
 poodle, following forever, no matter where one goes. Can't he see he 
 is not wanted .^ 
 
Scene 1. ] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 49 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 My dear, what language ! His lordship's attentions are most flatter- 
 ing to you, and it would be a brilliant, yes, a splendid, match for you. 
 His income is clear fifteen thousand a year, and the title one of the 
 oldest in Britain. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I don't object to the title or the income ; the man I abhor. 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 Abhor ! Paulina, this is strong language. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 It is not young-ladylike, I know ; but my feelings are strong, and 
 my manners have not the repose which marks the cast of Vere de Vere. 
 When I feel strongly, I must speak strongly. I detest, abhor and 
 hate Francis Earlscourt, Lord Montalien ! There. 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 You surprise me, Paulina ; you shock me. Pray, let no ears but 
 mine hear such language from your lips. Your dislike of Lord Mon- 
 talien is most unjust ; he is a model young man in every respect. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Yes, I know. That's one reason why I detest him. I can't bear 
 model young men. His virtues are superhuman, I acknowledge ; and 
 I should smother in the same house with him. Your model young 
 men, who profess all the cardinal virtues outwardly, are always villains 
 at bottom. 
 
 MRS. G, 
 
 Paulina. I really can't listen to this. I repeat, he is an excellent 
 and exemplary young man. He is the best of landlords, and his name 
 heads every subscription list for munificent sums. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Every published list, certainly ; and I have read somewhere " Let 
 not your left hand know what your right hand doeth." His name 
 heads those lists for munificent sums, and I saw him raise his horse- 
 whip to a poor wretch yesterday, who asked him for a shilling. Lord 
 Montalien has fifteen thousand a year, and he is a miser. If he wants 
 me at all, he wants my eighty thousand to add to his store. As you 
 seem to be a friend of his, Mrs. Galbraith, suppose you drop him a 
 
50 Paulina : or [Ac/ III. 
 
 hint to spare me his company for the future. The more I see of him 
 the more I disHke him. 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 You are more than unjust, Miss Lisle. You are unchristian. I 
 thought j'ou were above repeating such cruel calumnies as these behind 
 his back. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I will say them to his face, if you prefer it. I will protest, if he 
 does not cease dogging me as he does. What business have people 
 to couple our names ? I would die before I would marry him. You 
 call me unjust; I tell you, passionately, I am no/. I have reason to 
 hate him. I know he is the man who lured poor Alice Warren from 
 her home. 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 Paulina, that person's name again i Did I not tell you it was in- 
 delicate of you even to allude to her ? 
 
 POLLY. ' 
 
 Yes, you told me so; you do your duty by me in every respect. She 
 has been unfortunate, though no fault of her's. She is in misery and 
 poverty, perhaps, and it is indelicate in her oldest friend to mention 
 her name. Poor little Alice ! 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 Through no fault of her's ? I don't understand you. The fault 
 was her's, and she must bear the penalty you persisted in advertising 
 for her ; let that suffice. She is a lost creature, whose name you 
 should blush to mention ; and, for the rest, no one thinks of her in 
 connection with his lordship. The unhappy young woman fled from 
 her home with his lordship's disreputable younger brother. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Never ! They traveled up to London together — a coincidence, 
 nothing more. Guy Earlscourt affirmed to Alice's father that he was 
 not the partner of her flight, and Mathew Warren believes him. So 
 do I ; so does Captain Villiers. 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 Captain Villiers ! 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Yes ; he was one of the men visiting at the Priory at the time. I 
 asked him. 
 
Scene 1. ] Guy Eaelscourt's Wife. 51 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 Paulina, you asked him ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Don't faint, Mrs. Galbraith. Yes ; 1 had the shocking audacity to 
 ask him if he could throw any light on the subject ; if he believed 
 Lieutenant Earlscourt to be the man with whom she fled ; and he said 
 no, emphatically no. 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 Perhaps he told you also whom he did suspect .^ 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 No; men don't tell of each other. He did not. But, unless Alice 
 herself told me Lord Montalien was guiltless, I would not believe it. 
 Now, you know why I dislike him. His conduct to his brother, too, 
 is abominable. Why don't he pay Guy's debts, as only a brother 
 should } 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 You talk like a child, Paulina. Guy Earlscourt deserves neither 
 your pity nor his brother's help. He is one of the fastest, most reck- 
 less young men of his day, possessed of every vice under heaven, I 
 believe. 
 
 POLLYS 
 
 That will do, Mrs. Galbraith. Who is calumniating the absent 
 now .^ With all his vices, I believe he is far the better man of the two. 
 He used to have a heart, at least. Lord Montalien, like the goddess 
 Minerva, was born without that inconvenient appendage. And, now, 
 as we have done quarrelling, you and Maud had better go and dress 
 for the concert. 
 
 MRS. G (aside). 
 
 What is to be done with such a girl as that } She is afraid of noth- 
 ing — capable of anything, when fully aroused. Come, Maud. 
 
 \^They exit r, c] 
 POLLY {rising, goes io piano). 
 
 I wish I could see Guy. He seems to shun me. Why .? But, he 
 shan't. I will see him, and try to find out more about little Alice. 
 
 \_Plays and sings.~\ 
 
52 Paulina : or ^Ad III. 
 
 Ah, County Guy, the hour is nigh, 
 
 The sun has left the lea ; 
 The orange flower perfumes the bower. 
 
 The breeze is on the sea ; 
 The lark, whose lay, has trilled all day, 
 
 Sits hushed, his partner nigh ; 
 Breeze, bird and flower confess the hour. 
 
 But, where is County Guy ? 
 
 The village maid steals through the shade. 
 
 Her lover's suit to hear ; 
 To beauty shy, by lattice high. 
 
 Sings high-born cavalier ; 
 The star of love, all stars above, 
 
 Now reigns o'er earth and sky, 
 And high and low his influence know, 
 
 But, where is County Guy ? 
 
 [Rising and coming to c] Ah, where is County Guy ! 
 
 GUY {who has re-entered during song). 
 Here, if you mean me, Miss Lisle ? 
 
 POLLY [with a Mock shriek and /right) . 
 Oh, well, yes ; Mr. Earlscourt, I just ^/c/ mean you. I want to ask 
 you a plain question. Tell me the man who lured Alice Warren from 
 her home ? I know you suspect. Tell me who it is .? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Pardon me. Miss Lisle. Not even to you may I breathe my sus- 
 picions. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 It is your brother. I know it is. He always admired her, years 
 ago, and he denies it. But I have vowed to discover the truth, and I 
 shall. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 You are a true friend. Miss Lisle ; and women do not know the 
 meaning of such friendship for each other. 
 
 POLLY, 
 
 I love Alice like a sister. Those I have once liked, I like alwaj's, 
 let them do what they will. 
 
Scene 1. ] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 53 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Your friends are fortunate people, Miss Lisle. You should add me 
 to the list ; it would be a splendid opportunity of exercising your 
 charity. I don't deserve a friend, I am quite aware ; still, I think it 
 would be pleasant to have just one like you. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I am your friend ! 
 
 GUY. 
 
 What, in spite of all the atrocious things that Frank, Sir Vane, 
 Mrs. Galbraith and the world must have told you of such a black sheep 
 as myself.'' 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 In spite of all. If one deserts one's friends because they are un- 
 fortunate, I would not give much for friendship. 
 
 GUY 
 
 Unfortunate ! That is a wild word to apply to such a ne'er- do-well 
 as I am. Still, I thank you, Miss Lisle, and will not soon forget your 
 kind indulgence. 
 
 POLLY {timidly, playing with tassels or handkerchief). 
 Mr. Earlscourt, they say you are — oh, don't be hurt; don't be 
 offended, please — but, wont you let me help you .? I have more 
 money than I want, and it would make me so happy, if only you 
 would — 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Not a word more, Miss Lisle. From my soul I am grateful to you, 
 but you must see it is impossible. Believe me, I will not readily forget 
 your generosity, unworthy as I am of it. 
 
 POLLY {timidly, drawing hack). 
 Oh, do not say unworthy. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 I am unworthy of your compassion. Remember that. Miss Lisle, 
 all they have told you of me is true — whatever has befallen me is 
 merited. I have brought my own ruin, and the end is very near. 
 '■'■Facilis est descensus Averni^' and I am at the bottom of the pit. Well, 
 the descent, at least, has been pleasant, and, when oblivion comes, 
 there is nothing to do but let the waters close over my head — to go out 
 to the exile I have richly earned — to accept my fate and sink from 
 
54 Paulina : or [Ac/ III. 
 
 sight ; and, when the finale comes, if by a shot in a gambHng hell, 
 to cover my face and die with dignity. 
 
 POLLY {shivering'). 
 Oh, pray, Mr. Earlscourt, don't talk like that. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Ah, I see. I am boring you with a sermon. Don't waste your pity 
 on me. I don't deserve it. And, now, as I shall, in all probability, 
 not see yoti again, let me say farewell, and once again thank you for 
 your im.petuous generosity. It will not be forgotten in the far off land; 
 and your memory will aid me in the struggle to deserve better of 
 my kind ! \JCisses her hand and exit l. c] 
 
 POLLY [wipes her eyes). 
 Shall I never see him again } Yes, I feel I shall ; destiny can not 
 be so cruel. I know I shall see him, but when, and how .? 
 
 [Francis enters l. c , looking back off l. c.''\ 
 POLLY [sees him). 
 He, here again ! Am I itever to be rid of this man .? 
 
 FRANCIS {advancing). 
 Miss Lisle, I have been searching for you. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Lord Montalien gives himself a great deal of unnecessary trouble. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Miss Lisle, you are treating me with merciless cruelty. What have 
 I done .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Nothing whatever. Like Caesar's wife, my Lord Montalien is above 
 reproach. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 How bitterly you say that. Miss Lisle, you hate me, and I — would 
 dieTor you. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Extremely heroic of you, my lord. I couldn't think of putting you 
 to any such inconvenience. 
 
 •FRANCIS. 
 
 Is this my brother's doing .? I saw you and Guy together but now. 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 55 
 
 POLLY, 
 
 Oh, did you ? I did not know you had done us the honor of watch- 
 ing us. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 I beg your pardon, Miss Lisle. You might have spared me that 
 gratuitous affront. I did not watch you. You were together openly 
 enough. What has Guy been saying to my discredit .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 My lord, you do your brother scarcely justice, when you ask that 
 question. Guy Earlscourt is no coward to stab in the back. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 He has a warm friend in you, it would seem. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Yes, he has. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Then, with all his madness, with all his miserable recklessness, he 
 is to be envied You give him your friendship, and you shut me out. 
 Again, I ask, Miss Lisle, what have I done .? At least, I have the 
 right to know that. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 And, again, I answer, Lord Montalien, nothing. Your conduct in 
 every phase of life is exemplary. Will that satisfy you ? [Going^ 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Wait one moment — only an instant. I can bear this suspense no 
 longer. I must speak. Paulina, I love you ! Will you be my wife ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 You honor me by your preference ; but, at the same time, I do not 
 think you expect me to say anything but no. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Miss Lisle, Lam to understand you reject me .? 
 POLLY. {^Bows?^ 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 You do not love me .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I do not love you. 
 
56 Paulina : or [Ac/ III. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 But, Paulina, pause — think ! I offer you one of the oldest titles in 
 England, and my position and income are such as to prevent the most 
 malicious from calling me a fortune hunter — and I love you to dis- 
 traction. I would serve for you as Jacob served for Rachel. I will 
 give you time — only do not utterly reject me. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 My lord, let us understand each other. You do not love me, what- 
 ever other motive you have in asking me to be yOur wife. My feelings 
 in regard to you I have not striven to conceal. Before you spoke to me, 
 you knew perfectly well what your answer would be. I believe you to be, 
 in spite of everything you have said, the betrayer of Alice Warren. I 
 feel it ; I know it, as surely as we stand here ! Let there be an end 
 to this farce, then, at once and forever ! Cease to persecute me with 
 attentions as unwelcome as they are useless ! 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Take care ; even you may go too far, Paulina. Much as I love 
 you, even from you I will not endure insult. I know nothing of Alice 
 Warren or her miserable story. My brother, of whom you speak so 
 tenderly, is the man with whom she fled. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 My lord, will you let me pass .? 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 You utterly and forever reject me } 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Utterly and forever ! 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Will nothing move you — the devotion of a life. I offer you such a 
 position as may never be offered again. You are as ambitious as you 
 are beautiful. Think once more before you refuse to become Lady 
 Montalien. 
 
 If I thought for a hundred years, it would not make one atom of 
 difference. You are right ; I am ambitious, and to the title of Lady 
 Montalien I only object, because you offer it. Is that plain enough } 
 Will you let me pass .? 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 57 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 If Guy stood in my place, you mean, and made you the same offer, 
 your answer would be very different ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I mean that^ if you like ? I would a thousand times sooner marry 
 your brother, ruined as he is this hour, than you, with your spotless 
 name and immaculate character ! Now, will you let me pass ? 
 
 [Crosses up io c. ] 
 
 FRANCIS {X's l). 
 
 Pass, Miss Lisle ; I forgive and overlook your cruelty, and will ven- 
 ture still to hope on — the day may come when I will repeat my offer, 
 and you will listen more graciously ! 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 That day will never come ! How dare you address such insolent 
 words to me, Lord Montalien ! You are less than man. I will never 
 speak one word to you again, as long as I live. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 A child's threat, my peerless Paulina ! 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 A child's threat ! You shall see whether or no I can keep a 
 woman's vow. [Exit. ] 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 So I must now play my last trump caid. Sir Vane as her guardian 
 shall lay his commands on her. I hold him in my power, and will 
 force a speedy crisis. 
 
 SIR VANE {entering l. c). 
 
 Ah, Montalien, still here .? 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Yes, Sir Vane, waiting for a little private conversation wdth you. 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 Look sharp about it, will you, or I shall be fast asleep before you get 
 through. [Sits?^ 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 I have no such fear, my dear Sir Vane. You will not go to sleep 
 until you have heard every word, I am quite sure. Can you guess, in 
 the least, what it is I wish to say } 
 
58 Paulina : or [Ac/ III. 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 I am no QEdipus, but I may venture to surmise it is something about 
 my ward. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Precisely, Sir Vane. 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 I have noticed she has cut you lately. Have you had a quarrel .? 
 She's got the devil's own temper, I believe, when her blood's up. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Quite right in every respect, Sir Vane. We have quarreled, and she 
 has the devil's own temper. -Now, who do you suppose she inherits 
 that unhappy disposition from .? Not her mother, surely. Lady Char- 
 teris, it seems to me, was the gentlest of created beings. 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 What do you mean .? What has the name of Lady Charteris to do 
 with Miss Lisle } 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Pray don't excite yourself, Sir Vane. I merely said Paulina must 
 inherit her temper and headstrong disposition from Robert Lisle, Lady 
 Charteris being the most tractable of wives, the most yielding of 
 women. 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 Lord Montalien, what am I to understand } 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 That I know all. That Lady Charteris — nay, give her her rightful 
 name, Mrs. Robert Lisle — is Paulina's mother 1 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 By what right do you dare make this insinuation .? 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 By the right of knowledge — by the right of truth ! Paulina Lisle 
 is the elder daughter and heiress of the lady the world thinks your 
 wife, and your daughter is — 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 If you dare, I will throttle you where you sit. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Then, I will not dare. Sit down, Sir Vane, and don't you lose your 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. ^ 59 
 
 temper as well as your ward. A wise man never permits himself to 
 get angry. Sit down. I knew you would be interested. 
 
 SIR VANE {sits). 
 Proceed. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 This has taken you by surprise, Sir Vane, and yet I have known it 
 some time. And I happen to be able to prove it, if necessary. Carry 
 your mind back twenty years ago or so to the lifetime of Mr. Geoffrey 
 Lyndith, and try if you can recollect a very useful valet in his service, 
 by name James Porter } 
 
 SIR VANE {starts). 
 
 Ah! 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 I see you do remember. He is dead now. By the merest accident 
 I came upon him in his dying hours, and took down his deposition, 
 giving the story of Robert Lisle's marriage— the false accusation of 
 theft, and forced departure from his native land. I have that docu- 
 ment safe. I wonder what Robert Lisle or your wife — let us call her 
 your wife — would not give for it .? You comprehend now, Sir Vane, 
 that your secret is your secret no longer. 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 What do you want .? 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 I want to marry Paulina Lisle. 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 And to claim the fortune of Lady Charteris 1 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 No, Sir Vane ; if I did, I should not ask your aid. I promise to 
 resign all claim upon Lady Charteris' estate — to hand over to you Por- 
 ter's confession, on the condition that you compel Paulina to marry me. 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 Compel ! 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Compel. Nothing but compulsion will ever make her do it. 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 My lord, this is the nineteenth century, young girls are not forced 
 into marrying men they hate, even by their guardians. 
 
60 Paulina : or [Ac/ III. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Sir Vane Charteris, it was the nineteenth century when Olivia Lyn- 
 dith was forced by her guardian to marry a man she hated. What 
 was done twenty years ago can be done again. 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 That was different. She had a motive, and her uncle kept her in 
 solitary confinement until she was ready to consent to anything. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Her uncle was a clever man. Emulate his example, my dear bar- 
 onet. Do as he did — try foul means, if fair will not answer. Solitary 
 confinement will have the same wholesome effect on the daughter it 
 had upon the mother. There is your place, "The Firs," solitary and 
 dreary enough for any prison. Take her down there — keep her there 
 until she yields. 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 Lord Montalien, it cannot be done. She has the obstinacy of the 
 deuce, and the cunning of the demon. We might keep her there shut 
 up for months, and she would not yield — and M^hat would the w^orld 
 
 say.? 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 What will the world say when I discover the hiding place of Lady 
 Charteris, and give her the papers I hold .? What will the world say 
 when the conspiracy of the late Geoffrey Lyndith comes to light } 
 
 SIR VANE. » 
 
 A conspiracy in which 1 had no part. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 No ; Robert Lisle was in the church upon the day of your marriage, 
 and you saw him face to face. 
 
 [Paulina enters as if crossing r. c. to l. ; stops on hearing her name, 
 listens, then gets behind curtains and overhears rest of dialogue.'] 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Take Paulina to " The Firs.*' I will go with you. Night and day 
 I shall plead my suit, until, as constant dropping wears a stone, she 
 yields at length. 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 Well, SO be it. To "The Firs" we go to-morrow, by the noon 
 train. But, I warn you, Montalien, the determined will of that girl is 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 61 
 
 past belief. She is capable of anything. However, she shall not 
 know her destination until we are fairly started. Mrs. Galbraith shall 
 fabricate some story to satisfy her. Once at "The Firs/' I have little 
 fear. It will be all our own way, then. The house is as lonely and 
 desolate as a tomb. You will be with her, day and night. If you 
 cannot make her consent to marry you before Spring, why then — 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 She shall consent, by fair means or foul. She shall only leave " The 
 Firs "' as my wife ! [^They exit r. c] 
 
 POLLY {coming forward) . 
 
 Will she, though ? Well, here's a nice little affair they are fixing up 
 on me. Let me see — how shall I outwit them ? My own will is 
 strong, but that of those two men may be stronger. I'll never go to 
 "The Firs!" I'll die first! Oh, what shall I do.? Anything to 
 escape such a fate as they are planning ? Ah, I have it ! The con- 
 ditions of my father's will. I was Lord Montalien's ward until I should 
 come to age or marry. If Lord Montalien died before either of these 
 events, the power of appointing a new guardian was vested in him ; 
 and in the hour of my marriage, whether with or without the consent 
 of my guardian, or daring my minority, my fortune becomes abso- 
 lutely my own from thenceforth. Ah, ha, gentlemen, I think I shall 
 foil you yet ! [Guy is crossing from l. to r. c] That's it ! Here, 
 County Guy, I want you ! 
 
 GUY {coming forward). 
 
 At your service. Miss Lisle ; what is it } 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 You are going to leave England } 
 
 GUY. 
 
 I am. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 When .? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 In three days. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 For where } 
 
 GUY. 
 
 The new world. I am going to seek my fortune in America. 
 
62 Paulina: or [Act IIL 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 You will never return to England ! Never, never ! 
 
 GUY. 
 
 In all probability, never. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Then, what can it matter to you .? It will make your fate no worse, 
 and it will save me. You shall have half my fortune — do you hear, 
 forty thousand pounds — if you will swear to keep the secret, and never 
 to come back — never to come near me, never to let the world know I 
 married you ! 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Miss Lisle, are you mad .^ 
 
 POLLY^ 
 
 Oh, you don't understand ! I am like the woman in the play, the 
 other evening, you remember ; you acted in it, Camile's husband. 
 I am not mad, though they will drive me so in the end. I tell you 
 they are going to make me marry Lord Montalien, and I hate him ; I 
 hate him. I will kill myself first ! 
 
 GUY. 
 
 They, meaning Sir Vane and Mrs. Galbraith, I suppose } 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Yes. You know " The Firs," that desolate, abandoned old manor 
 house, on the Essex coast. They are going to imprison me there 
 until I consent — they will do with me as was clone with my mother, 
 compel me to marry a man I abhor, and there is only one way of escape. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 And that is to marry some one else. Will you marry me ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I will, if you consent to my conditions. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 What are they .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 That you accept half my fortune, and in the moment of our mar- 
 riage leave me forever. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 The first is easy enough — the' second, well, not so pleasant. Still, 
 to oblige a lady in distress — 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 68 
 
 POLLY [^taking hible from iable). 
 Swear — swear, by all you hold sacred, never to molest me, never to 
 claim any right as my husband — never, come what may, to betray my 
 secret, to leave me at the church door ! Swear ! 
 
 GUY (h'ssmg book). 
 I swear. 
 
 , [Polly replaces book, ajid sinks weeping into chair. ] 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Poor child, it is hard on you. And, now, when is it to be? 
 
 FOLLY. 
 
 They mean to start for " The Firs " by the mid-day train to-morrow. 
 Once there, all is lost. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Then we must be before hand with them. Gad! what a triumph it 
 will be over Frank. Let us see. Will you be married in a church in 
 this city, at day dawn, to-morrow .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Not in a church. Such a marriage in a church would seem a mock- 
 ery — a sacrilege ; anywhere else ! 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Then, by Jove, I have it. What do you say to a marriage before a 
 Registrar — a little signing and countersigning, and the thing is over. 
 There will have to be a little fibbing about your age. I will arrange 
 that. Will that suit you } 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Perfectly. My maid will accompany me, and I will come directly 
 home when the ceremony is over, and tell them that I am out of their 
 power at last. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 And, now, as to the hour. We must be very early, in order to be 
 beforehand with them t Say, between eight and nine. Can you be 
 ready so early } 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I could be ready at midnight to save myself from your brother. At 
 eight o'clock, 1 and my maid will steal from the house, and meet you 
 wherever you say. 
 
64 Paulina : or [Ac/ III. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 My cab shall be in waiting at the corner. The coachman will do 
 for the other witness. Is your maid to be trusted ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I think so, when — well paid. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 And, you will not change your mind — you will not fail ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Am I likely to fail ? Mr. Earlscourt, I wonder what you think of 
 me? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 I understand you. Desperate cases require desperate remedies. 
 Against two such men as Lord Montalien and Sir Vane Charteris you 
 stand no chance. Your marriage with me will save you, at least, from 
 a marriage with him ; and you may trust me to keep my oath. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I know I can trust you ; and, if you will call in a couple of hours 
 after the ceremony, Sir Vane shall pay over to you the sum I have 
 promised. 
 
 GUY, 
 
 Miss Lisle, I wonder what you think o{ me. That part of the com- 
 pact was not in the bond I swore to. If I can serve you, I am con- 
 tent. I can only hope that the day may never come when you will 
 regret more than you do at present to-morrow morning's work. For 
 the money, I distincdy refuse it. I have fallen ver^- low, but I find 
 there is still a lower depth than that to which I have sunk. To accept 
 your generous offer would be a degradation you must permit me to 
 decline. I leave England in two days forever, in all human proba- 
 bility ; but, if at the other side of the world the day should come 
 \vhen my wrecked fortunes may be retrieved, and I can return with 
 honor, I will return. That, too, was not in the bond. 
 
 POLLY {Irembling). 
 You will 7'eiurn ? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 If I can, with credit to myself — with my debts paid, most certainly. 
 But, you need have no fear. 'Never, come what may, in the future, 
 shall I betray your secret. Whether oceans divide us, or we stand side 
 
Scene 1. ] Guy Earlscourt's A¥ife. 65 
 
 by side again, will make no difference. If I have saved you from my 
 half brother, I am satisfied. I ask no more. And now, Paulina, 
 good bye for the present. At eight to-morrow, the morning of Christ- 
 mas Eve, we meet and part, for the last time. Mayhap, for eternity ! 
 
 \_Kisses her hand and exit l. c] 
 
 [^Music, County Guy, p. p. till cur tain. ~\ 
 
 POLLY {she watches him off). 
 
 If my life depended upon it, I could not say, Guy, don't go. No ; 
 my future is as fixed as fate. I have taken the leap in the dark — taken 
 it blindly, desperately, to save myself from a worse fate. And the hour 
 of my bridehood will be the hour of my tvidowhood. In the fullest sense 
 of the word, wedded, yet no wife I \_Falls on her knees weeping ?\ 
 
 MUSIC FORTE. 
 
 SLOW DROP. 
 
ACT FOURTH. 
 
 Scene I. — Same as Third Act. After six years . 
 [Paulina seated u. reading ; Maud at c] 
 
 MAUD. 
 
 Paulina, it is almost five, and quite time to drive ; do you hear ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Well, yes, I hear Maud ; but I really don't think I shall go. My 
 book interests me, which is more than I can say for the ride,. or the 
 Priory. 
 
 MAUD. 
 
 You don't really mean to say that a new book, no matter how in- 
 teresting, is stronger attraction to the reigning beauty of the season 
 than a drive along the lady's mile, at the fashionable hour, on a lovely 
 May day } Don't tell me so, for I couldfit believe it. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 It is perfectly true, nevertheless. My book is intensely interesting, 
 and the daily drive at the same hour, in the same place, seeing the 
 same faces, acknowledging the same bows, becomes, after five seasons — 
 well, to speak mildly, rather monotonous. 
 
 MAUD. 
 
 What book is it } 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 " Under the Southern Cross," by the author of " Paul Rutherford's 
 Wife" and ''Gold and Glitter,'' the two best novels of the day. You 
 remember, even you, Maud, who never read anything except the Court 
 Circular and the Morning Post, read them. 
 
68 Paulina : OR [Ac/ IV. 
 
 MAUD. 
 
 I remember ; they are books of English society, and I read them, 
 because they are so true to nature, to reahty. Half the books of that 
 class are the most wretched caricatures. This man evidently knows 
 what he is writing about. Do you know, Paulina, the heroine of the 
 first is very like you ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Like me ! Is that a compliment to me or Margaret Rutherford ? 
 
 MAUD. 
 
 To you. Paul Rutherford's wife was a bewitching creature, and I 
 am perfectly sure she was drawn from real life — from you, Miss Lisle. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Let me see — as far as I can remember, she was an impulsive, head- 
 strong, rebellious, passionate woman, with good impulses, but spoiling 
 everything by her reckless impetuosity. Yes, I suppose that was like 
 me — in the past, though, Maud. I shudder, when I think of my des- 
 perate deeds of the past. Good heaven, what a perfectly wild, reck- 
 less little outlaw I was ! 
 
 MAUD. 
 
 Indeed ! You never murdered any one, like Lady Audley, I sup- 
 pose — or you never married a head groom, or anything of that sort, 
 did you ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I have done what I can never forget nor forgive; what will haunt me 
 with grief, and shame, and remorse, my life long. People who knew 
 me six years ago, tell me I have changed out of all knowledge. I 
 hope I have. In no way, looks or character, thought or action, would 
 I resemble the Paulina Lisle of six years ago. 
 
 MAUD. 
 
 Then, you Aave a secret in your life, Paulina — that's romantic, and, 
 if you'll believe me, I always thought so. Your fits of gloom, your 
 abstraction — the change in you, somehow. Do you know, I always 
 fancied you were like the heroine of a novel, and had gone through 
 the loved and lost idea poets make such a howling about. Do tell 
 me, Paulina, who was he ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 My dear Maud, my prophetic soul tells me Mrs. Galbraith will be 
 here in five minutes to scold us both. I suppose I should never be 
 
Scene 1. ] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 69 
 
 forgiven, if I did not go. What a farce it all is, Maud, this everlasting 
 routine of dressing, and driving, and dining, and all for what .? We 
 are like a flock of sheep jumping through a hedge, and not one of us 
 knowing why we follow our leader. Life's a comedy, at best, and we 
 the prettily dressed, prettily painted actresses ; and when the lights are 
 out and the play over, I wonder what account we will be asked to give 
 of lives and talents so spent ! 
 
 MAUD. 
 
 Ah, now you talk as if you had a heart. I never thought before you 
 had one. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 No heart, Maud .? I sometimes think it would be better for half of 
 us, if that impossibility could occur, and we were born without heart, 
 without memory, without conscience — our past enormities would not, 
 then, rise up to embitter our whole future lives. 
 
 MAUD. 
 
 Oh, stuff ! I didn't come here to talk metaphysics. Miss Lisle, 
 you're a — it's not a very elegant word, but exceedingly expressive — 
 you're a humbug ! 
 
 [Enter l, c. Mrs. Galbraith, Guy and Fane.] 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 Paulina, my child, here is a surprise for you — a resurrection from 
 the dead ; the prodigal returned, a prodigal no longer. Guy, I don't 
 think there is any need of an introduction between you and Paulina ^ 
 
 POLLY {turns when she hears his name). 
 Alive ! 
 
 \_Nearly faints, but, by an effort, masters her feelings ; stands statue-like 
 staring ai him. ] 
 
 [Mrs. G., Fane and Maud saunter off l. c, as prearranged.'] 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 It is a surprise ! Months ago, I read of Mr. Earlscourt's death in 
 an American paper. But, perhaps, it was another Guy Earlscourt .? 
 
 guy. 
 No, I fancy not. I was the man whose obituary you read. It was 
 rather a close thing, but good nursing brought me safely through it, 
 as you see. 
 
^0 Paulina : or [Ad IV. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 When did you arrive ? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Three days ago ; and, on the ground of old friendship, ventured to 
 intrude here only now. Beside, I wished to see you. 
 
 POLLY (coldly). 
 To see me ! And what can Mr. Guy Earlscourt, after his six year's 
 exile, possibly have to say to me ? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Nothing whatever concerning himself — with all his presumption he 
 does not presume so far as IhaL I came as the messenger of another 
 person^ in whom I think, even the belle of five seasons, may be inter- 
 ested. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I know of no acquaintance of yours, Mr. Earlscourt, in whom I 
 take the slightest interest. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 No ; not even Colonel Robert Hawksley .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Ah, my father ! What of him .? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Ah, ha ! I thought you would be interested. Colonel Hawksley 
 is here. Miss Lisle, and I am his messenger. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Here, here ! My father at last. Oh, Mr. Earlscourt, where is he.? 
 Take me to him at once — at once } 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Restrain yourself, Miss Lisle. You will see him soon. His pres- 
 ence here for a time must be kept seciet ; above all, Sir Vane Char- 
 teris and his family are to be kept in total ignorance. Get rid of the 
 others as soon as possible. I will bring him to you ; he will then ex- 
 plain for himself 
 
 \^Re-enier Mrs. G., Maud ^;Z(2' Fane.] 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 Oh, Mr. Earlscourt, we are so happy to welcome you back — such a 
 surprise ! Paulina, love, is it not — and a celebrated author and hero, 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 71 
 
 and everything. Mr. Fane tells us he is the author of those charming 
 novels, " Paul Rutherford's " and the other. And he fought like a lion 
 in the American civil war. Everybody is talking of you and your 
 books, I assure you, Mr. Earlscourt ! 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Everybody does me too much honor, Mrs Galbraith. Miss Lisle, 
 adieu ! {^Exchanges glances with Fane and exits l. c. ] 
 
 FANE. 
 
 Lucky fellow ! Always fell upon his feet. Writes books and makes 
 pots of money ! I wish I could write, instead of painting pictures. 
 The women will all be throwing themselves at his head. Miss Char- 
 teris says he's the handsomest man in London. Miss Lisle, what's 
 your opinion ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Really, I have not thought sufficiently upon the subject to form an 
 opinion — one cannot decide so important a question, and award the 
 palm of masculine beauty all in a moment. 
 
 MAUD. 
 
 All in a moment ! Why, Paulina, you knew Guy ages ago, down 
 in Lincolnshire, and when you first came out; or was it before you came 
 out here in London .? 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 Oh, he's very handsome, and clever, and fascinating — always was — 
 and has just that sort of reputation which makes all romantic girls 
 lose their heads at once. But, my dear girls, don't either of you ever 
 be mad enough to fall in love with a literary man. The wives of men 
 of genius are the most miserable creatures under the sun. Look at 
 Lady Byron, Lady Bulwer, Mrs. Hayden and hosts of others — always 
 the same story — private misery, public separation. Marry a man with- 
 out two ideas in his head, and his heart in the right place, and you 
 will stand a better chance of happiness, than with so brilliant a literary 
 meteor as Guy Earlscourt. 
 
 MAUD. 
 
 Quite an elegant speech, aunt, but, spite of your warning, I think I 
 should prefer a little mild melancholy, as the wife of Mr. Earlscourt, 
 to the perfect bliss you speak of with a man who has not two ideas in 
 his head. 
 
 POLLY i^aside). 
 
 What right has she to talk of being his wife .? 
 
72 Paulina : or . [Ad IV. 
 
 FANE. 
 
 Earlscourt will have none of you, ladies. He was in my studio 
 this morning — somebody chaffed him about the execution his beautiful 
 eyes and last novel had wrought with ihe /air sex. He laughed at first, 
 then grew serious, and said, " I wish it to be understood, 1 am not 
 going to marry ; I am as much vowed to celibacy as though I wore 
 the Templar's cross ; I shall marry no one i' and he said it as though 
 he meant it. But, do you know. I fancy he has left his heart behind 
 him among those lovely Americans he talks so much about. He says 
 American ladies are all pretty — absolutely,, without exception, that a 
 plain girl in the streets of New York is as rare as a black swan. 
 
 POLLY (^aside). 
 Oh, what have I done .? What have I done .? 
 
 MRS. G. 
 
 Yes, Mr. Earlscourt is a very clever man, and a reader of human 
 nature. Such a declaration is all that is needed to throw over him a 
 halo of mystery and romance, and make him amply irresistible. You 
 don't speak, Paulina ; what are you thinking of.? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I am thinking how exceedingly kind it is of Mr. Earlscourt to put 
 us on our guard. He is such a dazzling light that we all, poor moths, 
 must inevitably be scorched to death, if he had not warned us away. 
 I suppose your hero is no more conceited than most men, Maud ; he 
 only shows it a little more plainly. Why not advertise at once in the 
 Times .- " The ladies of England are hereby warned not to bestow their 
 affections upon the undersigned, as he is quite unable to reciprocate, 
 and intends to make none of them happy by the offer of his heart and 
 hand." 
 
 MAUD. 
 
 How you do hate him, Paulina, dear ; don't you. He never jilted 
 you, did he — for instance, six years ago, when you and he were sur- 
 prised together one evening, you remember, and poor auntie here was 
 
 so angry ! 
 
 POLLY [fiercely). 
 Maud, how dare you ! \_Takes corner r. ] 
 
 MAUD [aside). 
 Ah, ha ! He did jilt her, then. I'll keep an eye on her. 
 [Enter Sir Vane l. c. down to Paulina.] 
 
Scene l.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 78 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 Paulina, do you know who has come ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Yes, I know. 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 Good heaven, PauHna, what is lo be done ? You showed me the 
 paper that spoke of him as dead ; and now here he is back again ! 
 What is to be done ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Take them all away, and don't let me be disturbed. Leave me 
 alone. I am not fit to talk to you or any one. 
 
 [Sir Vane ^akes Mrs. G,, Maud and Fane ^ r. c] 
 
 [Mus'ic p. p. County Guy, till Lisle (?«.] 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Oh, why has he returned, and how will it end ! He scorns and 
 despises me ; how can he do otherwise .? What is my life to be, bound 
 to him, and held apart from him by that very tie of marriage 1 Oh, 
 what have I done .? What have I done .? 
 
 [^Enter Guy, showing on Robert Lisle l. c] 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Miss Lisle — a gentleman you do not remember ever meeting before — 
 your father ! [^Exit l. c] 
 
 lisle, 
 Paulina, my daughter ! 
 
 POLLY {rushes to his embrace). 
 My father ! 
 
 lisle. 
 You see, I have answered your prayer at last. The dead here, after 
 tvvo-and-twenty years, to reclaim your mother, my wife. The time has 
 come for you to learn who your mother really is. My daughter, have 
 you never suspected } You have met her, known her, Paulina. She 
 whom you knew as Lady Charteris, was five-and-twenty years ago 
 Robert Lisle's wife, and your mother. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Lady Charteris, my mother ! Ah, poor mother ! 
 
74 Paulina : or [Ad IV. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 I never knew, until a few months ago, the terrible fact that she was 
 not insane when shut up in a mad-house. Mr. Earlscourt told me. 
 I have returned at the earliest possible moment, and I will never rest 
 until I have found and reclaimed her. I have been in England only 
 three days, and already the search is being made. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Oh, my father, this is a very great, very glad surprise. I can only 
 regret you did not tell me all long ago. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 What good would it have done .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 This, that Sir Vane Charteris should never have shut my mother up 
 in a mad-house. By some means or other, I would have rescued her 
 long ago. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 Are you much surprised to hear your mother's name } 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 No, I think not ; and, yet, I never suspected. How strange it all 
 is. I never saw much of her, but I liked her exceedingly, and to think 
 Sir Vane Charteris knew I was her daughter all these years ! 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 How has he treated you, Paulina — harshly .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 He dare not ! I would endure harshness from no guardian alive ! 
 In one instance only did he ever try to coerce me, and 1 baffled him 
 in that. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 He did. Your letters never told me, Paulina. 
 
 No ; of what use would it have been ; you could not have helped 
 me. I fought my own battle, and won. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 He wished you to marry some one he had chosen for you — for your 
 fortune, no doubt .? 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 75 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 He wished me to marry Lord Montalien, from what motive I do 
 not know. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 Lord Montalien ! What, Guy's elder brother .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Mr. Earlscourt's elder brother. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 And you would not — you did not care for him .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I not only did not care for him — one might get over that — I hated 
 him. I believed him to have wronged a friend I loved very dearly. I 
 would have died a thousand times sooner than marry him. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 I wonder if that hatred extends to Guy ; I hope not, for I have grown 
 as fond of him as though he were my own son. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I have no reason to dislike Mr. Earlscourt ; he did me a great ser- 
 vice once— a service few men would have rendered. 
 
 LISLE, 
 
 You must have been equally astonished and delighted when he ap- 
 peared so suddenly before you, but now. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Very much surprised^ since I thought him dead. Do you not know 
 his death was announced some months ago in one of the American 
 papers you sent me .? 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 I did not know it. And you really thought him dead until he ap- 
 peared like a ghost before you — not that Guy much resembles a ghost 
 at present. It was as close a thing as I ever saw, though. He had half 
 a hundred wounds, and fought through the campaign like a lion. It 
 was while he lay sick in the hospital, almost to death, that I found your 
 picture in a locket attached to his watch-chain, and discovered that he 
 knew you and was a countryman. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 My picture; how came he by that.^ I certainly never gave it to him. 
 
76 Paulina: or , [Ac/ IV. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 He told me as much afterwards — owned that he purloined it as a 
 souvenir of England and you^ to carry into exile. Ah, he is a brave 
 lad, and a gallant one He saved my life once, at the risk of his own. 
 
 POLLY {inlerested). 
 Tell me about it, father .? 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 'Tis very short and simple, but worthy of record. In one of our 
 severe battles, out there in Virginia, my horse was killed under me ; 
 I was surrounded by the enemy ; Guy, with a small party of men, cut 
 his way through the human wall, just in time to shatter an arm that 
 was raised to end my existence. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Ah, brave, brave Guy ! 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 Guy Earlscourt has the noblest nature of any man I know. His 
 comrades idolized him — his officers respected him. I believe he is a 
 true genius, and destined to make a shining mark in the literature of 
 his day. 
 
 POLLY {aside). 
 
 And this is the man I thought capable of selling his manhood for 
 my money — the man who has sacrificed his future to save me from 
 his brother. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 I don't see the need of our spending the first hours of our meeting 
 in talking altogether of Earlscourt, fine fellow though he be ! It 
 strikes me, I should like to hear something of yourself, 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 A most unprofitable subject. I am a fashionable lady, wrapped up 
 in dressing, dancing, driving — rather a striking contrast to the sort of 
 life you have been leading. And, now, let us talk of my mother } 
 What do you propose to do — how to find her .? 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 The work has already commenced. Duke Mason and the most 
 skilled detective of Scotland Yard have bsen at it for two days. Last 
 night, Duke told me he t lought they had the clue, and were on the 
 right track, and I should not be surprised at any moment to hear from, 
 or perhaps see your mother herself. My poor Olivia, what has she not 
 
Scene l.~\ Guy Earlscourt's Wife. tt 
 
 suffered all her life long ! Can anything in the future ever atone to 
 her for the past ? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Let us hope so, my father. If we can only find her, I am quite sure 
 we can make her happy. You are sure Sir Vane Charteris cannot in- 
 validate your marriage ? 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 Quite certain — it is beyond dispute. But, until she is found, I will 
 keep out of sight and await events. 
 
 [Music p. p. County Guy, till Lady C. on.\ 
 
 [Enter Duke l. c] 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Ah, Duchess ! Beg pardon, Miss Lisle ! 
 
 POLLY {rushing to his embrace). 
 
 No, Duke ; Duchess, little Polly, always to you — you dear, old 
 Duke, my foster father ! Now, tell us, Duke, what success ; have you 
 found her .? 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Hold your breath now, Duchess ; don't lose your head. We have 
 found her. 
 
 POLLY {rapturously embraces and kisses Duke, then her father). 
 Ah, heaven ! Found, found ! My poor mother ! 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 Yes, we found her in a private asylum, near Cheswick. She is in 
 tolerably good health, both mentally and bodily, and the medical 
 superintendent had been expecting the baronet every day for the last 
 three weeks to take his wife away. So, we just forged an order, brought 
 her away, and she is now in a carriage at the door, awaiting further 
 orders. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Oh, let me go to her instantly .? 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 Stay, my daughter. Mason, bring her in here } [Exit Duke.] She 
 must not see me first. Paulina, you must prepare her for this meet- 
 ing. My poor^Olivia, after four-and-twenty years of suffering, we are 
 to be united ! Thank heaven ! [Retires. ^^ 
 
78 Paulina : or [Ad IV. 
 
 [Duke re-enters, leading Lady Charteris veiled.~\ 
 
 POLLY {rushes to her, embraces ajid kisses her). 
 My dear mother ! At last I can utter that holy name ! You look 
 bewildered, darling mother. Oh, how easy, how natural the name 
 comes. I know all, you see — that you are my mother — everything. 
 Who do you think has told me .? \_Kisses her again.'] My father ! 
 
 LADY c. 
 Your father ! 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 And your husband — your only, your rightful husband, Robert Lisle. 
 
 LADY c. 
 Robert ! My Robert ! He is alive still .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Alive and well, dear mother ; and, now, try to bear good news as 
 bravely as you have borne misfortune — coming home to claim you. 
 
 [Lady C, with a cry of joy, nearly faints.] 
 POLLY {supporting her). 
 Poor little mother ! Yes, coming home to claim you. You are 
 his wife, you know. He has the right — that wicked baronet has none. 
 He is coming, mother. Oh, mother, think of that ! 
 
 LADY c {struggling ivith excitement) . 
 Paulina ! He — he is here I Tell me ; I can bear to hear such joy- 
 ful news. Robert is here .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 My father is here. Nothing can ever come between you and him 
 
 again. 
 
 LADY c {sinks in chair). 
 
 Robert alive. Robert back. After four-and-twenty years of end- 
 less, infinite misery, he is to be mine again. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Mother, if you faint, I will never forgive you. Wait till you see 
 my father, then I give you leave to faint, if you will insist upon it. 
 
 Lisi-E {advancing). 
 My Olivia ! 
 
 LADY c {with a cry). 
 Robert ! [Faints in his arms. ] 
 
Scene 1.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 79 
 
 {^Enier Sir Vane l. c] 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 A¥hat is the meaning of this .? Who are you, sir, who holds my 
 wife } How dare you remove Lady Charteris from the asylum, where 
 I placed her .? 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 Mason, will you carry my wife into the next room } Paulina, will 
 you accompany them, and endeavor to restore her .? For this man, / 
 will answer his questions. [Places Lady C. m Duke's arms] 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 You will not quarrel with him, father ; he is not worth it. There 
 will be no altercation — promise me that. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 I promise, my dear. I have not the slightest intention of blustering 
 or quarreling with Sir Vane Charteris. A stronger power than mine 
 shall deal with him — the English law. 
 
 SIR vane. 
 Lady Charteris shall not quit this room. Mason, on your peril, you 
 touch my wife ! 
 
 DUKE. 
 
 This is not the first time I have assisted her. 
 
 [Takes her off d. l. 3. e., followed by Polly.] 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 Now, then, Sir Vane Charteris, I will hear what you have to say. 
 You asked me a moment ago, who I was } I don't think you ever 
 needed to ask that question. 
 
 SIR VANE. 
 
 You are Robert Lisle, the yoeman's son, who four-and-twenty years 
 ago inveigled a simple girl into a sham marriage ; who absconded with 
 her uncle's money and jewels, and afterwards fled to x\merica to escape 
 transportation. You perceive, I know you well. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 I thought so, for the sham marriage, as you call it, is a marriage 
 that our English law holds binding. You, Sir Vane Charteris, are a 
 bigamist with intent. You saw me in the church on the morning of 
 that mockery of marriage. How will you answer to a British jury for 
 
80 Paulina : or [Ac/ IV. 
 
 thai? When Olivia discovered I was alive, you shut her up in a mad- 
 house for six years — how will you answer a jury for ihaip As to the 
 other absurd charge you speak of, I was the greatest of fools ever to 
 let that bugbear alarm me ; you cannot support that trumped-up 
 accusation. I have found my wife, and I mean to keep her. The law 
 shall judge between us of the legality of the first and second mar- 
 riages. You are free to act as you please, in all respects, save intrud- 
 ing your presence upon my wife. Never dare to degrade her again by 
 it, unless you wish me to take the law in my own hand ! Did you 
 ever hear o^ Judge Lynch, Sir Vane.? I came from a land where he is 
 well known, and if you ever look at or speak to her again, I'll strangle 
 you as I would a snake that crawled across my path ! Now, go ! 
 
 [Enter Francis l. c] 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Will you wait one moment 1 Excuse me, if I have inadvertently 
 overheard your conversation. Sir Vane Charteris, I am exceedingly 
 happy to see you on the present occasion. You, sir, are, I presume, 
 Robert Lisle .? 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 I am, sir. Who are you .? 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Lord Montalien, very much at your service, and disposed, like my 
 father before me, to do you a good turn. I owe Sir Vane here a little 
 grudge, and am inclined to wipe it off. Do you remember. Sir Vane, 
 some six years ago, you baulked the dearest wish of my life.? I told 
 you, then, when I could repay you ; trust me not to forget the debt. 
 Mr, Lisle, have you any recollection in your past life of a man named 
 James Porter .? He was valet, five-and-twenty years ago, to Geoffrey 
 Lyndith — that may aid your memory. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 I recollect. What of him .? 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Only that he is dead, and upon his death-bed made a deposition 
 which I took down, and have in my possession at present, duly wit- 
 nessed. In that confession, he gives the whole nefarious plot by which 
 you were driven out of England. It clears you in every respect, I 
 shall be most happy to place that document in your hands. 
 
 [Gives paper, ^ 
 
Scene 1. ] Guy Eaelscourt's Wife. 81 
 
 SIR VANE, 
 
 Robert Lisle shall answer for his abduction and retention of my 
 wife. For you and your miserable documents, Lord Montalien, I 
 care nothing. The law shall judge between us. \Exit l. c. ) 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 The law shall. I thank your lordship for this unexpected favor. 
 My good name should have been cleared by my own eftorts, but the 
 confession of Porter simplifies all that. You will excuse me for leav- 
 ing you so abruptly, but my long lost, newly found, suffering wife will 
 need all my attention. {^Bows and exit d. l. u. e.] 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 So, all my plotting has been in vain ; Guy has returned The past 
 wiped out and forgotten — rich, famous, and handsomer than ever. 
 And she always liked him, always, I know it, and will marry him now; 
 and one day this accursed heart disease will carry me off, and he will 
 reign in my stead as Montalien. \_Exit l. c] 
 
 \_Music p. p. County Guy, till curtain. ] 
 POLLY {re-entering'). 
 
 Father, mother, restored to me at last ! The mystery of the past 
 eight years solved. How stupid, how blind I have been } And, now, 
 what of the future, bound as I am } And Guy, too, what of him } 
 My life has been all a mistake, and my own folly alone is to be blamed. 
 I must remain here and go into society, and play my part for the 
 present, and bear the world's insolent wonder — worse than that — meet 
 him there, see him the petted, caressed, of all the giddy throng, who 
 seek fortune and notoriety. {^Sees Guy entering c] Ah, he is there ! 
 Shall I avoid him .? {Going towards door r.] 
 
 {Enter Guy l. c. ] 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Stay, Miss Lisle ; only one word, as it is the last time we may ever 
 meet. For the sake of eight years, when we were friends, when little 
 " Polly" did not hate me, say good bye } 
 
 POLLY {aside). 
 
 Hate him ! [Struggles to overcome her feelings, then slowly and coldly 
 gives him her hand.'] You came to say farewell to my father and 
 mother .? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 And to you, Paulina. I may call you so, may I not .? It is for the 
 
82 Paulina : or [Ad IV. 
 
 last time. My mission here is fulfilled. It was only to accompany 
 your father I was ever induced to return to the land of my birth. Acci- 
 dent threw us together. In that new world of strife we were com- 
 panions in arms — we foreigners assisting in the most suicidal war the 
 world ever knew — where father and son, brother and brother, stood 
 opposed to each other, in a cause where each thought the other wrong. 
 Well, thank heaven, it is over now. And I shall return to America in 
 a few days, and remain there forever. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Forever ! 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Yes; I hope to pass a peaceful life out there among congenial 
 spirits, where all are happy, brave and free ; and I could not go with- 
 out saying good bye, and asking you to forgive me. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Forgive you ! For what .? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 For letting you sacrifice your life, six years ago. I see clearly now, 
 that I should have saved you, but not in that way. You were mad 
 that night — driven wild by their persecution, the fear of imprisonment, 
 and a marriage with Francis. You scarcely knew what you were do- 
 ing, but I was sane enough, and I have never forgiven myself, in all 
 these years, for taking advantage of your helplessness and terrors, and 
 making you my wife. You hate me ; you have not tried to conceal 
 it, and, I dare say, I deserve it. My presence here shall be no barrier 
 t(5 your future happiness. Farewell, once more, and try to forgive me 
 when I am gone ! 
 
 POLLY {aside). 
 
 My happiness ! Oh, what a mockery ! \_Aloud.'] Stay, Mr. Earls- 
 court ; you will surely see my father .? I will send him to you. iGoes 
 slowly to D. R. u. E.; meets Lisle, who enters.'] Father, here is Mr. 
 Earlscourt, to make his adieus. [^Exit t). r. u. e.] 
 
 lisle {watches her off). 
 
 How is this, Guy .? Going already ! Where .? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Yes, Colonel ; back to America. My work here is done. If I have 
 been of service to you and yours, I am amply repaid. So, let us say 
 farewell, and part, as we have always been, friends. 
 \_Enter Burnham l. c] 
 
Scene 1. ] Guy Eaklscourt's Wife. . 83 
 
 BURNHAM. 
 
 I believe I am speaking to the Honorable Guy Earlscourt ? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Yes ; and you .? 
 
 BURNHAM. 
 
 Inspector Burnham, of the Metropolitan police. I have been in- 
 formed, Mr. Earlscourt. that it is your intention to sail in a few days 
 for New York Is it true } 
 
 GUY. 
 
 It is quite true. May I ask, in turn, how my departure can possibly 
 concern you? 
 
 BURNHAM. 
 
 In this way, Mr. Earlscourt, that it must be postponed. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Indeed ! And, why .? 
 
 BURNHAM. 
 
 My business here is of a very unpleasant nature, but it must be done. 
 [^Laying his hand on Guy's shoulder ?\ Mr. Earlscourt, I arrest you, on 
 the charge of having caused or been party to the death of Alice War- 
 ren, on the morning of Christmas Eve, 1862. Mr. Guy Earlscourt, 
 sir, you must consider yourself my prisoner. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 The death of Alice Warren ! You mean to tell me that Alice War- 
 ren is dead .? 
 
 BURNHAM. 
 
 Foully murdered, on the morning of Christmas Eve, between the 
 hours of eight and nine. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 On the morning of Christmas Eve, between the hours of eight and 
 nine ! What singular fatality is this .? I am quite at your service, Mr. 
 Burnham. An absurd mistake this. Colonel, which may postpone my 
 journey to New York. Farewell, for the present. Let us hope a few 
 days will set this ridiculous error right. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 But, good heaven, Guy, you can surely disprove this monstrous 
 charge at once ! Make an effort. You certainly must remember 
 what you were doing, and with whom you were, at that hour, 
 
 GUY. 
 
 I remember very distinctly what I was doing, and with whom I was. 
 
84 Paulina : or Guy Earlscourt's Wife. [Ac^ IV. 
 
 I do not see fit, however, just at present to take Mr. Burnham into my 
 confidence. I am quite ready to go with him at any moment. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 And, when the time comes, in a few days or hours, you will prove 
 an alibi, and overthrow this preposterous charge. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 And, if I cannot prove an alibip If I cannot, or will not, reveal 
 where and with whom I was on that day and at that hour, will you 
 believe me guilty, Colonel .? 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 Never ! But you do not mean this, Guy } 
 
 guy, 
 
 I mean it. This charge must, and will, doubtless, fall to the ground 
 of itself; but, come what may, it is out of my power to prove an alibi. 
 And, whatever happens, keep her, Miss Lisle, in ignorance of this. Let 
 her never learn it, if it is in your power to prevent it. I could not 
 quite bear that. I may now tell you, what I would not out there in 
 Virginia, I love Paulina with a love as devoted as it is hopeless. Alice 
 Warren was to her as a sister. I cannot endure that she should think 
 I was suspected of her murder. Promise me, old friend, that you 
 will do this — the greatest, perhaps the last, favor I shall ask } Promise ! 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 I promise to keep her in ignorance as long as I can. But, sooner 
 or later, she must learn the truth in spite of me. 
 
 guy. 
 Of course, but, until the matter is quite decided, keep her in total 
 ignorance. Take her abroad, anything, so that she will not hear of it. 
 [Aside.] ^^ Come what may, I will keep my oath f Semper fidelis ! 
 Now, sir, I am ready. 
 
 [Guy and Burnham go to c. d.; Lisle to d. r. u. e.J 
 POLLY [entering d. r. u. e). 
 Father, will you come to my mother. She has quite recovered, and 
 so anxious to see you. \_Sees Guy, starts back trembling.'] Father, 
 what is the meaning of this } Who is that strange man .? 
 [Guy with his finger to his lips.] 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 Nothing, my darling; come to your mother ! 
 
 PICTURE. MUSIC — forte. 
 
 QUICK CURTAIN. 
 
ACT FIFTH. 
 
 Scene 1. — Prison. 
 \_Enter Guy and Lisle d. f. r.] 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 I ask you, once again, Guy, if you do not mean to throw aside this 
 mad reticence and vindicate your innocence, as I know you can ? You 
 have engaged excellent counsel, but we don't want his eloquence. We 
 do want a plain, straightforward statement of facts, as regards your 
 doings on the morning of the 24th of December. When an accused 
 man refuses to account for his conduct, with a strong prima facie case 
 made out against him, the law is justified in believing that his silence 
 arises from guilty or sinister motives. The evidence against you is 
 purely circumstantial, and erroneous, of course, but men have been 
 hanged before now on purely circumstantial and erroneous evidence, 
 
 GUY. 
 
 They won't hang me ; at least, I hope not. The evidence that suf- 
 fices for a Coroner or Police Magistrate won't always stand the test of 
 a Grand Jury. It will be unpleasant to be committed to Newgate until 
 the Assizes, and I suppose I must come in for my share. An alibi I 
 cannot prove. It is, as I told you before, simply impossible. If I am 
 cleared, it must be by the breaking of this chain of evidence they have 
 so skilfully wrought against me — not by any revelation of my own. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 And you persist in refusing to tell where you were on the morning 
 of Christmas Eve, between eight and nine. Guy, this is folly and 
 madness. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Perhaps ! Well, Colonel, between the hours of eight and nine, on 
 that memorable morning, I believe, I was driving about the streets of 
 
86 Paulina : or [Ad V. 
 
 London in a cab, whose number I am totally ignorant of. It was the 
 day of my departure, remember, and I had no end of business on 
 hand. Don't distress yourself on my account, I beg. The chain of 
 circumstantial evidence which Inspector Burnham has forged may 
 seem very strong to Burnham — perhaps it isP We must chance it. 
 At the very worst, should the worst come, it will only be a committal 
 to prison for a few months — a splendid opportunity for quiet medita- 
 tion, and the writing of another popular novel. 
 
 LISLE, 
 
 An opportunity that will effectually blight your reputation, ruin your 
 prospects for life. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Hardly, I think. It will be disagreeable, not a doubt about that ! 
 If I have a weakness, it is for plenty of fresh air, and oxygen, and 
 those are luxuries hardly attainable in Newgate, I suppose, during the 
 months of August and September. But my notoriety will scarcely 
 waft across the Atlantic ; and I go there, you know, the hour I am 
 released. And, if it does — well, if it does, what matter.? 
 
 LISLE {laying hand on shoulder^ 
 Guy, who is she .? 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Colonel ! 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 Who is the woman who is at the bottom of this .? Who are you try- 
 ing to screen .? 
 
 GUY {laughing). 
 
 So, Colonel, you go in also for the cynical idea that there must be 
 a woman at the bottom of all the troubles of mankind. I have told 
 you the truth. I was driving about the London streets at that fatal 
 hour. Why won't you believe me } 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 I believe you are trying to screen some one. I believe that some 
 quixotic piece of foolish generosity will be your ruin ! A man's first 
 'duties are to his God and his country — the second, to himself. You 
 could tell, if you would, where, and with whom, you were, and you 
 will not. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 I will not, if you like it better ! Not, if death were the penalty. You 
 know the motto of our house, " Semper Fidelis^' and I shall be faith- 
 
Scene 2.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 87 
 
 ful in this ! Let us say no more on this matter, my friend ; come what 
 may, you, I trust, will always believe me innocent. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 Always, to the end. 
 
 POLICEMAN {entering l. d. f). 
 Mr. Earlscourt, the Court is now sitting ; you will please step in P 
 
 [They exit l. d. f.] 
 CHANGE. 
 
 Scene 2. — A Court Roo?n, c. d. open, backed by interior; Judge s stand 
 L. ; Witness box near ; Prisoners box r. ; Jurymen s stand r. ; 
 Clerk's table in Jront oj Judges stand. 
 
 Discovered: Judge, Clerk; Guy in box ; hisLE ?tear /ii?n. Jury, Wit- 
 nesses, Visitors, Policemen, Etc. 
 
 Fane, Duke, Francis, Burnham, Carson, Saunders and Mrs. Young. 
 
 JUDGE. 
 
 As the witnesses have all been sworn, we will now proceed with the 
 case. Mr. Saunders, repeat to the Court the statement you made be- 
 fore the Coroner's inquest, in your o\Vn way .'' 
 
 SAUNDERS {in witness stand). 
 
 Right, your honor. My name's Bill Saunders, which I was christ- 
 ened William James ; and I follows the sea for a livin', as you may see 
 for yourselves. When I'm on shore, I lives with my old mother, out 
 Battersea Way. Well, on the mornin' of Christmas Eve, I started on 
 foot for London, to join the Golden Pagoda, on which good ship I 
 was going on a three years' cruise to China, she being ready for sea 
 that evening. It was a tarnal stormy mornin', your honor — axin' your 
 honor's parding for swearin' — a snowin' and a blowin', like as if it was 
 Canada instead of Old England. I was used to snow-storms, though, 
 and trudged along never mindin' — along the waste fields and marshes, 
 and old brick yards. It blew fit to take your head off. It wasn't the 
 sort of mornin' nor the time of day you would look to see any one 
 out a drivin' ; and so, when I see a horse and wagon a comin' furious 
 in the other direction, I stood still behind a pile of rubbish and made 
 a telescope with my fists so [Illustrates.] There was a man and a 
 woman. The wagon stopped sudden-like, the man jumped out and 
 helped the woman after. " Somethin' wrong with the turnout, " I 
 
88 Paulina : or [Ac/ V. 
 
 says to myself, and keeps well out o' sight. A minute arter, I hears 
 the report of a pistol. Then I knew for sartin foul play was going on, 
 and that I'd better keep still. If I didn't, I'd get a pistol ball through my 
 own head. So, you may be sure, I was purty invisible. A minute 
 arters, the man leaves. Then I goes and looks, and there I sees the 
 girl dead, piled away in a hole among the bricks. Then I gets away 
 from them ere parts, just as quick as I could. 
 
 CARSON. 
 
 What was the time, then ? 
 
 SAUNDERS. 
 
 It wanted just twenty minutes o' nine. I looked at my watch, and 
 I know it's correct, 'cause the Capin' often regulates his barometers by 
 her. 
 
 CARSON. 
 
 And, why have you never told this tale before ? 
 
 SAUNDFRS. 
 
 Well, you see, I had to sail that very day; and, besides, once afore, 
 out in Bermuda, I got into a scrape by finding a body that way, and 
 nearly got hung for a murder I didn't do. 
 
 JUDGE. ' 
 
 And how have you came to disclose this novv ? 
 
 SAUNDERS. 
 
 Well, your honor, I couldn't forget it. In my watch on deck o' 
 nights, that there young woman used to come afore me — and I could 
 see her again lyin' dead on her face, in that dismal spot where nobody 
 might ever find her. So, I made up my mind, as soon as I got back 
 to London, to make a clean breast of it — and that's all about it. 
 
 CARSON. 
 
 And the man who fired the pistol — what was he like ? 
 
 SAUNDERS. 
 
 I couldn't see his face, he was so muffled up with a great scarf twisted 
 round the lower part of his face, and a fur cap, with the peak pulled 
 over his nose. He was tall and slim-like — he wore a rough overcoat, 
 and I took him to be a gentleman, but I shouldn't know him again, 
 if I saw him. 
 
 CARSON. 
 
 You can stand down. 
 
Scene %'] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 89 
 
 SAUNDERS. 
 
 Thank ye. \_Steps doivn, and goes among crowd.'] 
 
 CARSON. 
 
 Inspector Burnham, please take the stand .? 
 
 [BuRNHAM gets in witness box.] 
 
 CARSON. 
 
 Please state what you know of this affair } 
 
 BURNHAM. 
 
 I undertook to work up this case, upon the representations of the 
 first witness. I visited the place described by him, and found the re- 
 mains of the young girl-— collected them together, and had an inquest. 
 Searched for and found the witness, upon whose testimony I arrested 
 the prisoner. That is all. 
 
 CARSON 
 
 That will do. [Burnham retires?^ Mr. Allan Fane, please take the 
 
 stand .? 
 
 [Fane gets in iviiness box.] 
 
 CARSON. 
 
 Mr. Fane, what do you know of this sad case } 
 
 FANE. 
 
 Nothing whatever of the case. But, 1 have known Mr. Guy Earls- 
 court for years. I have seen him in company with Miss Warren many 
 times — both the September of her flight, and other years during my 
 Summer visits to Montalien Priory. Know that he went up lo Lon- 
 don one evening, late in September. Heard next day Miss Warren 
 was missing, and had gone with him. I was surprised at the news — 
 did not credit it, for 1 had never thought him a lover of hers. I never 
 knew him to pay more attention to her than the other men did who 
 were stopping at the Priory — not half so much as his brother, and I 
 believe Mr. Earlscourt's own statement, that he met her by accident at 
 the station. I am^ convinced that he is quite incapable either of de- 
 liberate seduction or murder. I know that his reputation has not been 
 stainless in the past, but his guilt, if there be any, has been the com- 
 mon folly of youth — never crimes. 
 
 CARSON. 
 
 That will do, Mr. Fane. [Fane descends.] Francis Lord Monta- 
 lien. [Francis talies stand.] Will your lordship be kind enough to 
 make your statement to the Court .? 
 
90 Paulina : or [Ac/ V. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 I knew Miss Warren off and on for many years. I always had the 
 highest respect for her personally, and for the whole family. I called 
 at the house very often when passing — never went there personally. I 
 often met my brother there, and have met him walking with Miss War- 
 ren, and frequently jested with him about his attentions to the Bailiff's 
 pretty daughter, but never considered them serious. 1 was aware of 
 his intentions of going up to London on the evening of the 29th, but 
 knew nothing of the girl's flight until next day. 1 was very much 
 surprised and shocked when informed they had fled together, and came 
 to town next day on purpose to remonstrate with him, but did not suc- 
 ceed in seeing him then or many weeks after, and have never seen 
 Alice Warren since her flight. I have since advised my brother for 
 his good, and have often spoken to him on the subject of Miss Warren, 
 but was always rebuffed ; and from the time of his Jiighi to America, 
 I have never heard of, or from him, till the present unhappy expose. 
 I often thought his departure was somewhat suspicious. 
 
 CARSON. 
 
 That will do, my lord. Mrs. Young. [Francis retires, and Mrs. 
 Young takes the stand. ] You keep a lodging-house in the Strand, I 
 believe, Mrs. Young. Will you please state to the Court what occurred 
 at your house in the month of December, 1862 .? 
 
 MRS. young. 
 I don't remember dates very well, but, I think, it was late in the 
 month of November, that a gendeman came and took my two-pair- 
 back rooms for a lady — a Mrs. Brown he called her. 
 
 CARSON. 
 
 Was that the gendeman .? [Pointing to Guy.] 
 
 MRS. YOUNG {^surveying Guy). 
 No, not a bit like him ; fairer, and not a bit like him. Well, Mrs. 
 Brown came next day — a poor, pale, sickly, young creature, with noth- 
 ing to say, and a broken-hearted look like. I suspected something 
 wrong from the first, but did not enquire. I am a poor woman, and 
 glad to let my lodgings without asking too many questions. The gen- 
 tleman came next day, and stajed over an hour with a sick man up 
 stairs, taking down the dying man's deposition about something or. 
 other I did not exactly understand. When he was gone, I asked Mrs. 
 Brown if that was any relation } She told me he was her husband. 
 
Scene 2.] Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 91 
 
 After that first visit, he never entered the house but once again, and 
 that was the day before Christmas Eve. He did not stay over half an 
 hour. Mrs. Brown came out of her room after he left, with a sort of 
 joyful look, paid her bill, and told me her husband was coming next 
 morning to take her away. " I am going home, Mrs. Young," she 
 said, " to my dear home down in Lincolnshire, and my husband is 
 going to acknowledge our marriage, at last ; he is much above me in 
 rank, and could not do it any sooner." A few minutes before eight 
 o'clock, on the morning of Christmas Eve, her husband came. ''Frank, 
 at last," she said, bid me good bye, and left. 
 
 CARSON. 
 
 Are you sure she called him Frank P 
 
 MRS. YOUNG. 
 
 Sure as I am on my oath now. 
 
 CARSON. 
 
 Do you think you would know him again .? 
 
 MRS. YOUNG. 
 
 I am certaiii I should know him again. 
 
 CARSON. 
 
 Look round, and see if he is present .? 
 
 MRS. YOUNG {^points to Guy, after looking to Guy). 
 
 Thafs not him ; not a bit like him 1 \_Sees Francis.] Thafs him ! 
 That's the man Mrs. Brow^n called her husband — the man who brought 
 her to my place, who took her away at eight o'clock, on Christmas 
 Eve morning, six years ago. 
 
 \_Enter Paulina l. c. veiled, followed by Jane Seaver.] 
 POLLY (to Lisle excitedly). 
 Father, why have you kept this from me .? Do you want me to add 
 murder to my other crimes .? Oh, father, lo think they should be try- 
 ing tiim for his life, and I the cause of it all ^ 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 Paulina, are you mad .'' 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I w^ould have been, had I not heard of this in time to save him. I 
 bound him by oath, and he has kept it well — would have kept it to the 
 scaffold. Mr Earlscourt is the noblest, the most loyal, the most gen- 
 
92 Paulina : or [Ac/ V. 
 
 erous of men. It is my turn to do an act of simple justice now. Will 
 the Court please hear a simple statement from me.? 
 
 [Going to Clerk's table.'] 
 
 JUDGE. 
 
 Certainly. Your name, madam, if you please .? 
 
 POLLY {removes veil). 
 I am called Paulina Lisle, but it is not my name. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 Paulina, not your name ! 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Wait ; when you have heard all, you will understand. I have known 
 the Honorable Guy Earlscourt for the past eight years. We were always 
 very good friends. The deceased was also my most intimate friend. 
 Mr. Earlscourt was never her lover ! Never ! I know it ! On the 
 night of December 23rd, 1862, I met Mr. Earlscourt at my guardian's 
 house. I was in great trouble. My guardian was trying to force me 
 into a marriage with a gentleman I disliked. He was going to take 
 me to Essex on the 24th, and imprison me in a country house of his 
 until I consented. I told Mr. Earlscourt of this, and he asked me to 
 marry him instead. He did it only to save me, for when I was of age 
 or married, I was free and out of my guardian's power. I consented on 
 conditions, that he would keep our marriage a secret, and that he would 
 never assert his claim as my husband, under any circumstances. He 
 bound himself by oath to all I demanded. I told my maid, and no 
 one else. I bound her also by oath to keep the secret. At precisely 
 eight o'clock, on the morning of Christmas Eve, my maid and I stole 
 from the house. Mr. Earlscourt was waiting for us at the corner of 
 the street with a cab. We drove to a Registrar's office and were mar- 
 ried. Here is the certificate. I swear that during the whole of that 
 hour, from eight to nine, when the murder was committed, Mr. Earls- 
 court was in my company. 
 
 JUDGE. 
 
 You acknowledge, then, that you are Mr. Earlscourt's wife .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 I am Mr. Earlscourt's wife ! Yes I 
 
 JUDGE. 
 
 Are you aware that a wife cannot give evidence for or against a hus- 
 band .? 
 
Scene 2.] " Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 98 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 No. Very well ; my maid is here to corroborate my testimony, if 
 mine will not do. 
 
 JUDGE. 
 
 Let her take the stand, and be sworn. [Jane Seavers takes witness 
 stand, and is sivorn.'] Please make your statement, Mrs Seaver .? 
 
 jane. 
 I can only corroborate every word that Miss Lisle has said, and swear 
 that Mr. Earlscourt was in our company during the hour in question. 
 I would further state that I myself informed Miss Lisle of Mr. Earls- 
 court's present danger, it having been kept from her, as I understand, 
 by his desire — knowing, as I did, that he could prove an alibi, but, in 
 honor, would not. Miss Lisle no sooner heard and understood the 
 state of affairs than she resolved upon the present step. 
 
 judge. 
 That will do. Mr. Earlscourt, I am most happy to say that you are 
 honorably acquitted. Place Lord Montalien under arrest. 
 
 [Burnham leads Francis off c; Court breaks up; all exit ^ but principal 
 characters. Guy comes forward; all congratulate him. ] 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Paulina ! 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Guy ! 
 
 GUY. 
 
 I have not words to thank you for your unheard generosity. I have 
 not deserved it. But my gratitude is none the less, Paulina. You are 
 the bravest, noblest woman on earth ! 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 No, Guy ; neither noble or brave. I have been selfish and a cow- 
 ard, from first to last. Such words of praise seem like mockery, from 
 your lips of all men. 
 
 GUY. 
 
 They are true — true as heaven ! I have fancied, in the past, that 
 you hated me. I gave you reason, I know, but, in the hour when I 
 thought you abhored me most, I never failed to do you justice. It was 
 my rightful punishment, that you, so sweet, so gentle to all the rest of 
 the world, should hate me. 
 
94 Paulina : or Guy Earlscourt's Wife. [Ac/ V. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Hate you ! Oh, blind, blind, blind ! 
 
 GUY. 
 
 Have I been blind ? Can you care for me, after all, Paulina .? I 
 have been unworthy, but, since the hour that made me your husband, 
 I have never done that which would have been an insult to yoi^ mem- 
 ory. I have striven to bear a better and purer life to redeem my name 
 and honor, to wash out the vice and vileness of the past. Through 
 all these years I have had no hope, no thought, that you could ever 
 care for me. Even now, if you say but the word, I go and leave you 
 in peace forever ! But, oh, Paulina, if you knew h^v I love you, 
 how bitterer than death such a parting will be. 
 
 POLLY. % 
 
 Guy, six years ago, I forgot my womanhood, and asked you to marry 
 
 me. I ask a greater boon now. I ask you to love me, and don't go 
 
 away .? 
 
 guy. 
 
 Do I hear aright } You do not hate me, then, after all .? 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 Oh, Guy, how stupid the cleverest of you men are about these things. 
 Anybody but you could have seen that I loved you besl when I hated 
 you most. Hale you ? Oh, Guy, I have laved you all my life ! 
 
 MUSIC COUNTY GUY. ' PICTURE. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 

 PAULINA: 
 
 Guy Earlscourt's Wife. 
 
 A PLAY IN FIVE ACTS, 
 
 DRAMATI2,ED EXPRESSLY FOR 
 
 Miss Adelaide M. Oliver, 
 
 J. H. LEHOY. 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO : 
 
 EDWARD BOSQUl & CO., PRINTERS, LEIDESDORFF STREET, COR. CLAY. 
 
 1876. 
 
Entereb accobding to Act op Congbess, in the Coptright Office of the Library 
 OF Congress, Washington, D. C, by Miss Adelaide M. Oliver, 1876. 
 

 
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