/£) LIBRARY OF C0NG ^,L 016 165 557 Hollinger Corp. pH 8.5 THE LETTER H. A DRAMA IN A PROLOGUE AND THREE ACTS. BY CHAS. F: PIDGIN AND MARY M. GAY. BOSTON, MASS. 1883. -*\ jt PRINTED TO TAKK THE PLACE OF MSS. NOT FOR SALE. COPYRIGHT, 1880 AND 1883 BY Maky M. Gay and Chas. F. Pidgin. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. CHARACTERS IN THE PROLOGUE. Gen. Horace Hamilton, IT. S. A., commanding at Thi- bodeauxville, Louisiana. Col. Henry Higby, his best friend. Litre, Gen. H.'s colored servant, addicted to stammering. BURSLEM, private, IT. S. A. DORUS, a Creole, wife of Gen. Hamilton. Lenore Clifton, her sister. Saida, an octoroon; Mrs. H.'s maid. Carmelit.v, a Mexican girl. Dieppo, Carmelita's child. CHARACTERS IX THE PLAY. Horace Hamilton, late a General in the IT. S. A. Hon. Henry Higby, Member of Congress, Col. N.G.S.N.Y. Herman, his son. Hikppo, a street musician. Luke, Mr. Hamilton's servant. Dr. Burslem, who makes insanity a specialty. DOBUt?, Mr. Hamilton's daughter. Lenore Clifton, her aunt. Saida, Luke's wife; Mr. H.'s servant. Carmelita LrcELLO, a Mexican lady. Johnny, 1 T , , . , , , ., , t,^,^,v Luke and Saida s children. t) ijijii, ( United States and Confederate Soldiers; Guests. SCENES. PROLOGUE. — Interior of Gen. Hamilton's Headquarters at Thibodeauxville, Louisiana. ACT I. — Scene 1. Exterior of Mr. Hamilton's Residence at Saratoga, Ncav York. Scene 2. A Path in the Woods. Scene 3. Same as Scene 1. The Garden Party. ACT II.— Exterior of Mr. Higby's Cottage at Lake George. ACT III. — Interior of Mr. Higby's Cottage at Lake George. TIME. PROLOGUE.— 1863. ACT I.— June 1881. ACT II.— A month later. ACT III.— Six weeks later. THE LETTER H. PROLOGUE. Scene I. — Interior of Gen. Hamilton' 1 s Headquarters at Thibodeauxville, Louisiana. As curtain rises, Gen. Hamilton is discovered seated at table reading letters and dispatches. Gen. H. (Looking at letter which he holds in Jus hands.) A let- ter tor Dorus. Postmarked Baton Rouge, from her sister Lenore - from the date - it must have been delayed - how happy Dorus will be with her sister. (Calls. )Luke, Luke! ( Enter Luke c. ) Luke, take this to Mrs. Hamilton. ( Passes letter to Luke. ) Luke. Yes - M-a-a-s-s-a Gen-er-al! (Goes l. 1. E.) Gen. H. Luke, you will never make a soldier. A good sol- dier when he is ordered to do anything does it, and makes no talk. Do you think you could obey an order and keep your ton- gue quiet? Luke. No, M-a-a-s-s-a Gen-er-al! (Gen. H. rises as if to fol- low Luke who looks at Gen. H. and then darts ouiL.l.E. Gen. H. falls back in chair laughing.) Gen. H. Luke*s tongue is his most useful m< mber-to/iim - to others -the most troublesome, - he stammers terribly. Ah, Burslem — (Enter Private Burslem, c, advances, salutes, passes dispatch to Gen.H. who reads it.) Tell the orderly there is no reply. ( Burslem salutes and exits c.) (Beads.) "Send one full regiment of infantry to G< n. Barker at once, by special train. ,? Gen. Barker is going Norihto rejoin the Army of the Potomac. Who shall I send? Col. Duncan? Col. Higby? Both are brave men and would prefer fighting in Virginia to garrison duty in Louisiana. Higby returns to-day after a three months absence on special duty. He is my tried, true and trusty friend. If in the coming crisis I should lose my wile, as many husbands have, I shall wish such a friend nigh at hand. I will send Col. Duncan. (Calls.) Luke! Luke!! Luke!!! (Enter Luke c.) ( Writes.) Take this to Col. Duncan. (Luke advances and tetkes the paper.) Now don't fish for an answer but go at once. (Luke stands and regards the Gen.) Why dont you go? Has your stammering settled in your legs? Luke. N-o-o- M-a-a-a-s-s-a Gin-gin-gin — Gen. H. What is it? What is it? Luke. There's a wo-o-o-o-man outside- wa-a-a-nts to see you. 6 THELETTEEH. Gen. H. Admit her. (Luke exits c. Gen. H. rises, comes down stage R. turns and looks c. as Carmelita enters. Luke looks in, then exits suddenly. Carmelita with her eyes fixed on the Gen. comes c. opposite table, as Gen. H. resumes his seat at the table. A pause.) Well, my good woman, what do you want? Car. (Passionately.) My husband! Gen. H. War is more apt to make widows than to supply lost husbands. Who is he? Where is he? Car. Ha is my husbaa 1, the father of my little boy. Gen. H. (Aside.) Some gay young soldier's escapade. The old story. (To Car.) Is he in the Federal army? Car. (Sadly.) I don't know where he is, but I must find him. Gen. H. Of course you must, but the chances are that you won't. He may be a prisoner, or he may have been sent North, or he may be dead. Car. Dead? No, not dead. He must not die until my little boy has the right (o bear his lather's name. Gen. H. (Aside ) Not married. Worse thin I supposed, (to Car.) What is your name, and where are you from? Car. Carmelita. Guadalaxara. Gen. II. Mexican? (Carmelita nodai) What's the boy's nam;'? Car. Dieppo, a.ter my father, Gen. II. You mean his father; then he's a Mexican; we've got most every nationality in the Federal army but I don't think you'll find any Mexicans there. Vera Cruz, Buena Vista. Cher- ubuscoand Mexico are a little too recent for that. Car. He's not Mexican, American! lie never saw our little boy. He promised to come hack, Gen. H. They always do. lie didn't came? Car. He never dij. I have waited so long,oh! so Ion:, but he has not come,- and with my litil i boy I am going, I know not where, any where, to the North, tofin 1 him. (Gen. If. rises and goes to Carmelita.) Gen.H. My poor girl, I pity you from the bottom of my ivart . asldo every trusting woman who falls a victim to man's duplicity . who gives to him the priceless ire isure of her love, and h is her life wrecked as though woman's virtue was as cheap 'as the word of her betrayer. But, Carmelita, your search is hopeless; ah! but you have not told me his name — Car. Horace Hamilton! ( G in. H. reaolls ami looks astonished. I You start, you know him. Thank God! Gen.H. Know Hoi-ace Hamilton? No! I don't know tin- man you mean. Car. You do know him. You cannot deceive a woman whose child must see its father. Gen.H. I Avill be honest with you, poor girl. 1 do know a Horace Hamilton, intimately, but he never was in Mexico nev er saw you, I am sure. I will investigate. Comeagain; it it is as I think I will give you a pass to go North. THE LETTER H. 7 Catc. And I shall find him? Gen. H. My poor girl, I hope you will. (Garmelita grasps the Gen.'s hand and kisses it; then slowly exits c. her eyes fixed on the Gen. who gives a sign of satisfaction when he turns and sees that she is gone.) What is this mystery? My name! Why, her piercing eyes, ami pathetic voice almost made me think I was the villain after all. I will look at the regimental rosters ; there may be another Horace Hamilton; if not, a pass to the North will re- move her from hei - e; and, in my wife's state of health, that is an important point .(Gen. H. exits door R. Enter Saida and Luke c.) SA[. Now, Luke, you go about your own business and let me alone. Luke. I con-sid-er it my bus-bus-iness to let } - ou a-a-lone. Sai. I mi glad jcuclo. 1 was airaid you considered it your business to look after me. Luke. Not a bi-bi-bi-bit of it. I Wouldn't g-g-g-give apic-pic- picayune for a girl that couldn't look a-a-after herself. Sai. The girl that marries you will have to look after herself and you too. Why, the preacher will charge extra you'll keep him waiting so long while you're saying y-v-y-y-es. If she's an economical girl sIk-'H finish saying it for you. Luke. Do-do-don'tyou m-o-o-ck me, Saida, I'm s-s-sensitive on that point. Sai. Sensitive? (Laug hs.) Why, you've got a numb tongue in a numbskull! (Saida runs L. I.E. as Bur slum enters c.) Luke. You do-o-o-nt know much, you don't know how to statu- stam-sta-stammer. Sai. Sho! you couldn't say booh to a bull-frog. (Laughs and runs out L.l.E.) Luke. Yes, I co-co-could say boo-boo-boo-booh to a bu-bu-bu- bull fr-fr-fr-og, just come ba-ba-ba-back and hear me! (Burslem comes down and ships Luke on back. Luke jumps.) What's the mat- ter? Buks. That's what I want to know. What is the matter. Quar- relling with Saida again? Luke. Well, I a-aint go-go-go-in' tolether be-be-browbeatme if she is a pivpretty girl. Burs. I am afraid Luke you don't know how to manage girls . Luke. Oh yes, I do, Cap'n. You see my Uncle Zeke he knew girls all through and he said to me, Luke, said he, if you ever like a girl you musn't hang round her nor let her know you like her, 'cause if you do she'll persume on you. Said he, nothing will make a girl persume on a feller so quick as spooning. He said I must always play off and be kind of sassy and independent until I had got her sighing like a green wood tire ; he said when I could draw tears in her eyes then it was always safe to pop and I'm going to act strictly 'cording to orders, 'cause you see (throwing himself into easy chair l.) what Uncle Zeke did'nt know 8 THE LETTER H. about girls ain't worth prying into much. {Jumps up and down in chair. ) I wish I was an angel and could always sit in a sofa chair. (Burslem beckons to Luke, who jumps up.) Burs. (Chucking Luke in the side, laughing.) So you were try- ing the sassy, independent style on Saida, eh? Luke. (Chucking Burslem in the side andlaugliing.) Yes, sa-a- s-sy talk, the way I gi-gi-give it is pr-pr-pretty hard to stand. Burs. (Chucking Luke again, and laughing.) Did she cry? Luke. (Chucking Burslem again, and laughing.) She, she was m-o-o-st raa-a-d enough to e-e-a-eat me. (They chuck each other and laugh loudly. Enter Col. Iligby. c. Burslem salutes him and. going up c. exits.) Col. H. (To Luke.) Tell Gen. Hamilton that Col. Higby wishes to see him. (Luke exits door R. Col. Iligby sits in chair L. ) What is the matter with me? My hand trembles like a sick man's. I'm nervous to-day. I fancied as I came from the levee that I saw a face like Cavmelita's. Can I never forgei that girl? Little hope that she, with her warm, impetuous nature has forgotten me, if I, with my cold Northern blood, cannot banish her face from my memory. But it could not have been her — besides, this woman had a child with her. Thank Heaven, whoever she was, she did not sec me. (Enter Gen. H. R door. He advances quickly towards Col. Higby, who rises and meets himc. They shake hands heartily.) Gen. H. Ha! old fellow. Back again? I'm glad to see you. When did you get in? Col. H. Just now, this minute. Two first things to do. you know ; to call on Horace Hamilton, Esq., the only man of the kind in the world, (Gen. II. starts.) and then to get my dinner at headquarters with my old comrades. But, how do I find you in body and mind? Gen. H. Healthy in one, never better, and happy in the other. Col. H. And the bonny wife, whom I have never seen, but of whom I have heard so much. You wrote me she was to leave New Orleans and join you here. Gen. H. She is with me, and is as well as can be expected. Col. H. Ha! let me congratulate you. A noble boy or a, bouncing girl, which? Gen. H. Congratulate me? What about, pray? Can't a man's wife be as well as can be expected without — Col. H. Ah, I see my impetuous speech has got me in diffi- culty. I humbly beg your pardon, General, and will postpone my enthusiasm. (Both smile.) And now what can you tell me after a year of matrimony? Gen. H. That if marriage is, as you used to say, a lottery, that I have won the grand prize— she is the dearest and sweetest woman in the world. Col. H.It is every good husband's right and privilege to think THE LETTER H. 9 that and say it to his friends. I sincerely hope you will be able to say the same words five years from date. The marriage cer- tificate, like a promissory note, sometimes makes the signers wish they had never learned to write. (Laiujhs.) Gen. H. (Seriously.) I shall always be able to tell the same stoiy. I'm sure of that. I only wonder that I lived thirty- eight years without knowing that she existed, and, stranger still that I really imagined that I was enjoying life hugely. My advice to all vagabond bachelors is to marry. (Laughs.) Col. H. But you forget, they might not all be able to get, as you have, the sweetest woman in the world. With so many to choose from and so few prizes, the chances of drawing a blank are calculated to dishearten one. Few men ever secure their hearts' choice among women. Gen. II.- I can truly say that I have. Col. II. You are a happy exception. Most men love women who are above them — out of their reach, you know, or, per- haps, those already appropriated — angjJs whom fate has cru- elly and with malice aforethought given to somebody else, who usually don't appreciate the treasures lavished upon them. Gen. II. I hope you have not had what is called a "bitter experience." Col. II. My dear Horace, I never really loved but two women in my life. One, my first passion, was a married woman all unconscious of my infatuation, and the mother of three chil- dren. Like Goethe's Charlotte, I have seen her buttering bread for her progeny, and in my unbounded love I would have mar- ried the entire family. The next was a beautiful girl who didn't please my rich lather and would have thrown our set into convulsions. Both dreams are over. Gen. II. But you married — I don't understand you — Col. II. Of course you don't. A generous, whole souled man like yourself who carries his heart on his sleeve would not be likely to understand. Ida Delmaine was a pure, sweet wo- man, as free, from guile as a new blown rose. She loved me sincerely, unworthy as I was of such devotion. We passed four years of quiet, serene contentment, and then she died, — and J missed Iter. I missed her loving welcome, her cheery voice and musical laugh, her familiar step, the ballads she used to sing to me — but, as good, and pure and sweet as she was, I was never in love with her. I respected her, liked her, was proud of her — but she never filled ray heart as {pauses) either of the other women have done. But, General, what's the news ? What is going on here? Any excitement to ruffle your peace of mind? Gen II. Yes, something happened only a few moments be- fore you came, in — mysterious — and may had to unpleasant consequences. I will tell you the whole story Henry and per- haps you can advise me what to do. I'm at my wits' end. 10 THE LETTER H. Col. H. Command me. Gen. H. A young Mexican girl (Col. II. starts.) was here in search of her betrayer, an American — and worse still, she has a child — Dieppo she calls him — Col. H. (Aside.) It was Carmelita. (To Gen. H.) What was her name ? Gen. H. Carmelita, a very pretty name, too, and she, hand- ■ some now, must have been beautiful — Col. H. She teas / I mean, she was a Mexican girl, you said — didn't you ? Gen. H. Yes, from Guadalaxara. Col. H. (Aside.) Poor Carmelita. Gen. H. Yes, but listen to the most wonderful thing of all — the name of her betrayer — Col. H. (Aside.) It is coming. Good God! My son, my poor Herman. (To Gen. II.) Yes, Ms name — who was the villain — Gen. H. Don't use that word, until you know his name. You may wish to choose a milder one — Col. H. (Aside.) He is playing with me. (To Gen. H.) Who was he ? (Sternly.) Gen. II. She says Lis name was — (Col. H. averts his face.) Horace Hamilton ! Col. II. (With an incredulous stare.) Horace Hamilton ? (Laughs excitedly.) Why, what a joke. (Laughs again.) Gen. H. Yes, but a serious joke, or likely to be. She don't know my name note, but it will come out, and then what a scandal — and think of my poor wife — Henry what can I do ? Col. H. (Aside. ) 1 must and will save Herman at whatever cost. (To Gen. II.) Now, Horace, this is a wonderful coinci- dence '■ — almost as wonderful as a man marrying the right wo- man. I can explain this whole matter. Gen. H. Thank God! Henry, you have a chance to prove yourself my best friend. Do this, and Horace Hamilton will never lose faith in you until you bid him to. Col. II. I shall hold you to that compact, Horace. (They clasp hands.) The story is a short one. Years ago, just after we left Harvard, with a boon companion, Avho shall be name- less, as he is dead, 1 visited Mexico on business for my father, who, you know, made his fortune in the Mexican and South American trade. My friend was always falling in love and this Carmelita was one of his flames. Do you know, I remembered her and thought I saw her here to-day. Gen. H. But why did he give my name ? That is still a mystery. Col. H. I can only imagine why. We often talked of home and friends and your name was always on my lips. He was young and unscrupulous — he assumed a name — and it was yours. He can never explain it — for, as I said, he is dead. THE LETTER H. 11 He was in the city of Mexico — I at Vera Cruz — when he wrote me that he was ill with a fever and wished to see me. I arrived too late. He probably intended to tell me this sad story of the girl — and of his deception in using your name. With all his faults, he was a gentleman and I know he would have told me to find Carmelita and make some reparation for the wrong done her, the full extent of which, however, he might not then have known. Shall you see Car this woman again? Gen. H. Oh, yes, I told her to come back — Col. H. Soon? She may come while I am here. I don't wish to see her. I loved Arthur — -and if I see his victim I shall pity her — and love his memory less. Gen. H. Very natural. I do not expect her for an hour yet. She wants a pass to go North to find her husband. I have or- dered Col. Duncan North to report at Washington. I did think of sending you. Col. H. {Excitedly.) And why not? Horace, do me a favor. Countermand your order to Duncan and let me go. And there is no use in giving this Mexican girl the pass. Give her this money — here are a thousand dollars — Arthur would bless me if he knew it — and, I am rich and can spare it. Give it to her- — from him. (Passes money to Gen. H.) Gen. H. After your long absence I had hoped to have you with us as a friend and counsellor. Col. H. No, Horace, I wish to get North. I must have a furlough and see my boy, my Herman — and also meet my polit- ical friends who wish me to accept a nomination for Congress — my district is sure — in that case I shall leave the army. Gen. H. If I am a judge of human nature you love that boy. Col. H. With my whole heart and soul — as you do your wile —and will love your child if — Gen. H. Don't speak of it, Henry. Col. H. Your .son or daughter shall never suffer if I can help them — anil who knows but that some day my son and your daughter may not marry. (They clasp hands.) We may never meet again, Horace. I have your picture. Here is mine — taken before the warlike whisker was a comfort as well as a necessity — now, give me the order to go North, and let Col. Duncan enjoy his good dinners and whist parties a while longer; (They (jo to table R. Gen. It. sits and writes, ivhile Col. H. sits on other side of table. Mrs. Hamilton looks in at balcony window l, ami overhears conversation) and you will give Carmelita the money? Gen. H. Yes, certainly, — she don't know my name — but il is only right, under the circumstances, Henry, that J should give her the money and tell her to bring up her boy to be worthy of his dead father — that Horace Hamilton, you know. (Lauahs.) Eh! Higby? Col. H. It is strange she never knew your name — but you don't look like a young man — or as you did when you were 12 THE LETTER H. young, I mean — and then your beard and uniform are great dis- guises. Nobody would suspect you. You are safe, Horace, but keep it from your wife. She wouldn't relish the story, simple as it is. (Mrs. II. retires from window.) Gen. H. (Passing paper to Col. II.) But you must see my wife before you go. (Calls.) Saida! Saida! (Enter Saida l.I.e.) Saida, tell Mrs. Hamilton that my friend Col. Higby is here, and I would like to present him, if she will join us here. (Saida bows, and exits l.I.e.) (Enter Luke c.) What is it, sir? Luke. That wo-o-o-man has co-o-me ba-a-ck. Gen. H. What woman? Col. H. (Starting up.) 'Tis Carmelita. Luke. That Me-e-e-x-ican wo-o-o-man. Col. H. Horace, I don't wish to see her. Where can I go? Gen. H. (Rising.) In here. (Opens door it. Col. H. looking towards door C, exits n door.) Luke. Sh-a-a-11 1 sh-o-o-o-w her in? Gent. H. Yes. (Luke exits c. Saida enters l.I.e.) Sai. Mrs. Hamilton will come at once, sir. Gen. H. (Agitated.) No, Luke, I forgot— Oh! Saida, tell her that important business — official business — will keep me for a few moments. I will call you when I am at leisure. Go — (Enter Carmelita c. with the child, Dieppo.) (To Saida.) What are you standing there for? Go, at once! (Sternly.) (Saidaexits L.X e.) (Carmelita comes down l, kneels and embraces her child, then bursts into tears. Gen. H. sits at table, moves about uneasily — then rises and comes c. Col. Higby in room jr. over- hears conversation.) Carmelita, (tenderly) my poor girl, I have investigated the matter and I find that your lover — the man who should have been your husband and the father oi your boy — is dead! Car. (Shaking her head.) He is not dead. I will not believe it. Gen. H. It is an unwelcome truth, and sad news to give you. but, unfortunately, or fortunately perhaps, it has been proved to me by a friend of his, one who loved him as a brother. That friend is rich, and offers you, in the name of his dead friend all that he can — this money to support you and bring up your little boy. (Passes the money to Carmelita.) Cai;. Will this money buy this little boy a father — will tins money make me a wife — will this money give us both a rigbl to his father's name? (Passionately.) Gen. H. No, my poor girl, it will not. Car. Of what use is this money to me then? (Throwsit at the GencraV s feet.) I can buy nothing with it that we wish. You may thank his friends I never can. Dieppo, conn; here. (The boy runs to her side. Carmelita pushes back his hair from his forehead and shows the Letter II.) Do you see that mark? Gen. H. (Examining it.) Yes, how curious — it looks like a THE LETTER H. 13 letter H. How came it there? Did your boy get that scar by ac- cident? Car. No, I burned that letter H in his flesh with my own hand. Gen. H. (Aside.) What a fiend! (To Carmelita.) How could a mother's heart allow a mother's hand to disfigure an innocent child in such a brutal way? Car. Because it was a mother's outraged heart that gave strength to a mother's hand to burn in her little boy's fiesh the letter H — so his mother might never forget the name of his father — never falter in her search for him, until (Mrs. Hamil- ton at balcony window L. overhears conversation,) kneeling at his feet as I do now, she could say, this is your child Horace Hamilton — look upon this brand of shame and refuse us justice if you dare. (A groan from Mrs. II. L.) Gen. H. (Drawing Carmelita c.) Hush, woman, do notspeak so loud. Your betrayer deceived you in more than you imag- ine. His name was not Horace Hamilton — that is my name! (Carmelita breaks away from him — looks at him for an instant, then rushes forward with Dieppo and fills on her knees before him.) Car. Then you are lie! (Laughs hysterically.) This is your boy! My little Dieppo, this is your father — Gen. H. (Aside.) My God! Ibis is terrible. Madam, whether you are an honest but misguided woman or a bold adventuress, makes no difference to me now. You must leave this plac3 at once. (Aside.) If my wife should learn of this it would kill her and all my hopes. (To Carmelita.) Woman, you must go now, and never come here again. Do you hear. J Car. (To Dieppo, satiric ally.) Your father, Gen. Horace Hamilton, said he was dead, and gave us money — now, he says we must go away Dieppo an 1 never see him again. We will not go, will we, Dieppo? we have travelled too many miles, wept too many bitter tears to give him up so quickly — have we not, Dieppo? Gen. H. (Bunningto door c.) (Calls.) Luke! Luke! Burslem! Burslem! (TVte*/ enter hurriedly c. Gen. II. comes down stage in a 1 passion and points to Carmelita and Dieppo.) Take them away! (Carmelita shrieks and throw'ng her arms about the General clings to him.) Take them away, I say. Luke. (Excited.) Wh-e-e-e-e-e-re to, Ma-a-a-ssa General? Gen. H. To the guard house — keep her there if you have to chain her — gag her if she won't stop her noise — Burslem you take care of the boy. Car. Give me my boy— my Dieppo— you shall not take him from me. You may cut ine in pieces but you shall not steal my boy from me. (Gr-asps Dieppo.) Gen. H. Put them both in the guard house then — and quick too — (Luke and Burslem drag Carmelita and Dieppo out c. she 14 THE LETTER H. resisting and shrieking. As they exit, enter Col. Higby from door R.) Henry, this is terrible. Col. H. Horace, it is. I have heard every word. That letter H — burned in that poor boy's head — what a fiendish idea— but Genera], you have gone so far, you must keep on to — Gen. H. The bitter end? Col. H. No, the worst is over. Send her back to Mexico and you will never hear anything from her — {Eider Mrs. Hamilton hastily l.I.e.) Mes. II. Why Horace, what were those dreadful shrieks I heard just now— (Sees Col. II. and stops L. C.) Gen. H. My darling, my old college chum and life long friend. Col. Henry Higby — (Mrs. II. bows — Col. II. advances and bows.) Col. H. Do not misunderstand your husl and, I beg of you, Mrs. Hamilton — I was not the cause of tbose shrieks — but a, drunken soldier in a slide of delirium who intruded into this rocm and was forcibly taken to the guard house. Mbs. H. They sounded like a woman's shrieks. (Gen. II. starts.) Col. II. (With none] alance.) Did they? They may have at a distance, but in this room they sec mid to me as being worthy of a full grown man. (Enter BursUvn c.) Gen. H. (Turning suddenly.) From Col. Duncan? Bi'Rs. Yts. sir, his legimtnt is ready to move — but the Col- onel was taken down with ague an hour ago. Gen. H. (To Col. II.) Then. Higby, I will send you in bis place. It is your old regiment, the "Jijth— say good-bye to Mis. Hamilton and meet me at the station in ten minutes. Col. H. Well and good— my luggage is at the station now- where I left it on my arrival. Good-bye, Horace. Gen. H. Good-lye. Henry. (They chop hands. Gen. II. and Bvrslem exit c.) Col. II. I shall lose my dinner after all. Being a soldier is fulh' as sad a life as being a bachelor. I must many again and settle down. Mls. II. Why don't you? Col. H. Your husband advises such a course, and even flat- ters me by saving he knows several young ladies who would not scorn my petition. Mes. H. Look out, Col. Higby. that lie don't palm off upon you any of his old flames. Col. H. Old flames! (Astonished.) AVhy Horace never bad any — you are his first and last love, he says. Few husbands inn comfort their wives wdth a like assertion. Mes. H. Wives are sometimes credulous enough to believe all their husbands tell them. I, of course, am bound to think my husband a saint, if he says so. Col. H. (Aside.) Hardly the Paradise that Horace painted. THE LETTER H. 15 (2*0 Mrs. H.) If he told me he was a saint I should believe him. Mrs. H. Col. Higby,you are what my husband is not, a man of the world. You have a witty speech, a sharp retort or a dex- terous touch of flattery always at your tongue's end. Pardon me, I am not a woman of the world as far as experience goes, but I have that intuition which all women have, only in our Creole race it reaches its highest point of perception. I can read you, and I know you do not think my husband a saint, but you are too good a friend— and man's friendship unlike woman's lives through ill repute — I say you are too good a friend to say any thing to his discredit. Col. II. I could not if I would. But madam, your language — Mrs. H. I know what you would say. You wish to intimate that I am not acting with propriety, but that does not disturb or restrain me, under the present circumstances. I understand you — if you do not fathom my purpose. You would not say a word against my husband if you could. Col. H. J\o, Mrs. Hamilton, I would not! Mrs. II. Thank 30U for your frankness. I knew as much be- fore you spoke. Well and good — if you prefer that I should be governed by suspicion rather than (ell me the truth, allow me to differ with you as to the quality and value of your friendship for my husband. Col. H. Madam, what do you mean? What is your purpose? Mrs. H. To learn the truth if it kills me — (aside) and it will. Col. Higby, do you know the name of the man who betrayed that Mexican girl — the father of that boy? You see, I know something already. Col. H. The father is dead. Mrs. H. Col. Higby, that is a falsehood! Col. H. Madam — Mrs. II. The agony of the moment must excuse plain words. You know he lives. I know he lives. Dare you raise your right hand before God and take your oath that the father of that boy- is dead? Col. H. I can — Mrs. H. Think twice before you speak — and remember a Creole is never satisiied with one man's word. Can you take the oath? Before Heaven I believe that if you lie to me a brand as indelible as that letter H will be burned in your heart — aye, it will show in your face. Will you take the oath? (Enter Burslem c. Be salutes Col. Higby.) Burs. The regiment is passing, sir. (Music.) Col. H. I will be there in an instant. ( Waves his hand. Burs- lem exits c.) Mrs. H. Will you take the oath? Col. II. I have not the time. I cannot. I will not. Mrs. Hamilton, I am, as you say, a man of the world — but I am also 16 THE LETTER H. a soldier— and when duty calls, I must forsake beaut}-— even if it is in distress. (Bows and exits C.) (Music of band outside. Mrs. H. totters and staggering across stage falls on sofa B.) {The music dies away. ) Mrs. H. (liaising her head, still sitting on sofa.) He knows me to be just what I am,— a humiliated, degraded, wretched wife; dishonored ami heartbroken. Every word he uttered was a stab at my heart. He did not know that I had heard all, but he did not dare to take that oath even to save his friend. After I am gone, Horace shall know how his friend betrayed him. (Iiising.) 1 must find that woman. I must look at that child again and see that fatal letter, high up under his dark curls. Yes, I will find him if I live. 1 will drag him into his father's presence, and lay bare the honid brand, and while his lather gazes upon it. 1 will fix my eyes on my saintly husband! (Puts her hand, to her forehead and reels backward as Let. ore enters c. and supports her. Mrs. II. recoils, then with a glad cry throws herself into her sister's arms. A pause.) Len. (Stepping back •■ from Mrs. II.) My poor darling— what is the matter? You mustn't act in this way. An n't you glad that Lenore has come to take care of you? MRS. H. I am glad you are here Lenore. Ccme to me. (Puis her head on Lenore' 1 s shoulder.) 1 must lelljyott, Lenoie, or my heart will break with its weight ot woe and despair. Len. (Aside.) Hysterics. (To Mrs. II.) Hoi us you must lie down and rest. A Utile sleep : nd you will soon be better. Mes. H. I shall never be well — never again Lenore. Len. Nonsense, Bonis, Horace and I with our lo\ing care will soon drive such thoughts away. Mrs. II. He? My Horace? (Laughs sardonically.) He has a little boy to love— he knew her before he did me— he bttraytd her— but she has found him. The boy is handsome and bright and he will love him. I can n member just how ihe little toy looks. I should know him among ten thousand. How fortunate that the brand was put upon him. The mother was a wist/ wo- man. She knows it will secure the child's safety and suppoit. There is practical justice in that. I will brand my child, ton. Len. Good Heavens. Dorus, are you mad, what do you mean? Mrs. H. (Fiercely.) I mean that child is a slander upon my name, a living reproach upon my life. It must be got rid of ! For the child to live — is a sin — to kill it must be a duty. It would be a virtue to destroy sin, would it not, Lenore? When that child is dead, then my honor will be vindicated. The child must, die, die, die! Len. My poor Dorus, where can Horace be? What lias he done? Mrs. H. Do you know Lenore when my baby is born it will be kin to that child — my pure, heaven-crowned baby will be a blood relation of that child of sin. No! No! this kniie (dr(!. Mypcor sipltr. G door of house, turns and sees Hamilton.) HlG. Horace. Mr. II. (Looking ujp.) Ah, Henry, glad to see you. (Rises and shakes hands with Hiijby.) Hig. Tears, Horace? Has Dorus come? (Mr. H. nods.) Of course she has. Then those are tears of joy for the happy pres- ent. Mr. H. I will be honest, Henry, no! They are tears of sor- row for the sad, the bitter past. Hig. Curse such women, say I. That Mexican was an adven- turess. Her every act proved it. She claimed you, when you said your name was Horace Hamilton; when you proved you could not be the one, at sight of my picture, she says / am the one — probably remembering having seen me with my friend. She was an adventuress, but not a dangerous one — for she was a bungler — Mr. II. Yes, but that bungling broke up my home, killed my wife, made me an old man in a year, — do you know, Henry, I never told you before, that in my despair I cursed you as the cause of all my woe? Hig. Horace, we will forget that; you have suffered, so have I. Your daughter lives — Mr. H. Yes, and she is the image of her mother — Hig. My son lives, and I have striven to make my Herman a better man than his father, and worthy of such a girl as Dorus. Horace, let us bury the unhappy past and think only of the present, rich in our children's love, and of the hopeful future, with all that means, for us all. (They clasp hands.) And now, what are you going to do this evening, at the reception? Ma. H. Only an informal gathering of friends to welcome THE LETTER H. 2$ Dorus and Lenore home — Is Hermnn coming? Hig. He will be here soon — he is (oo anxious to see Dorus to let anything keep him away. Mit. H. (Going L.) Ah, here they come. (Enter Dorus and Lenore from house L.) Hig. (Boivs, then advances.) L dies, welcome home — to America — in which fair land you will find no more devoted ad- mirer than myself. (They shake hands.) Dor. Which is the stronger passion in your breast, Mr.Higby, — devotion or admiral ion V Hig. At the present instant, each is struggling for Ihe mastery. Dor. Col. Higby, you are living in the wrong age — you are mediaeval — the incarnation of chivalric thoughts and dainty speeches. Aunty, aren't you sorry Col. Higby is so old? (Laughs.) Len. Colonel, she is a wild, wayward girl. Don. {Going to her /a£A-er.)Papa, will you allow Aunt Lenore to speak so of me before company? Do you think I am wayward papa? Ma. II. I know you are my blessing. (Embraces her.) Doit. There, do you hear that, Aunty? I am a blessing— to one man — I wonder if I shall ever be to .-mother? Hig. Of course you will — to Herman, for instance— my son. Have you forgotten him? Shouldn't you remember your old playmate? Don. I think so. I can't say positively, but I don't think I have forgotten him entirely, unless he has changed very much. What is he like, anyway? (Mr. II. and Lenore go up stage, in conversation.) Hig. Well, rather tall — or medium height — light complexion— Dor. I hate light complexioned people — Hig. Really, classic feaiures-^- Dou. Always in genteel repose, like a face carved in stone, I suppose. For my part it always smacks of Kalian imagery to speak of marble brows and alabaster noses. Hig. My dear young lady, you supply your own similes, and then find fault with me as though I was the author — Dor. It is a bad habit I learned in Paris, where people, you know, are so superficial that they are rarely sensitive to flattery. What is his hair — unless my memory is treacherous it was sus- piciously near a red — auburn, in the shade. Hig. Your memory is not reliable — it is a dark brown — Dor. And his temperament — is he as cross as you — can be? Hig. He is very gay — Dor. I detest gaiety — in a man. It usually denotes a weak, frivolous disposition. 24 THE LETTER H. Hig. Your opinion of my son is unjust, because premature, and a father could hardly be expected to extol his virtues to one who should know them. (Aside.) The same curl of the lip that I remember in her mother. (To Dorus, with an assumption ofgayety.) After all, I believe you are glad he is coming. Now, tell me honestly, shall you not be pleased to see him? Dor. (With nonchalance.) Oh, no doubt he will prove quite amusing. Hig. (With a touch of anger.) Amusing! I have not educated him merely to amuse others. Dor. Why does he leave college? Is he finished? Hig. He has a vacation. Dor. Why don't you put him in the army? Hig. Why so? Dor. Because, when men are in the army, they are safely out of the way. Hig. (Turning away.) Hum! (Aside.) She don't like me. Her mother didn't. (Mr. Hamilton and Lenore come down stage.) Mr. II. Dorus, what did you think of Paris? Dor. It is magnificent. Mr. II. Did you make pleasant acquaintances there? Dor. Oh! yes — some of very high degree, the Count Mercenda, Lord Stanford, the poet Sanders, and Signor Brindelh, a musi- cal composer from Rome, were our most intimate frimds. Mr. II. What was the Count like? Dor. (Mock-heroically.) Eyes of a pale, bluish yellow — like the sky now above us — a forehead exactly one inch in height, and a mouth — yes, a mouth like an open sepulchre. (Laughs.) Lkn. Stop, Dorus, you know you are not speaking the truth. The Count is not handsome, but certainly he is far from being the ugly person you have pictured. Hig. Miss Dorus has a happy faculty of graphically misrep- resenting those gentlemen whom she has seen — it could hardly be expected that she would have a correct idea of my son whom she has not seen for seven years. Dor. (To her father.) Lord Stanford is a little more orna- mental than the Count. He is loosely jointed, like an acrobat, and has white eyes. His chin is more modest than the Count's forehead. It could be doubled to advantage. His manners when he leaves a room are charming. I was delighted whenever I saw him reaching for his hat, he did it with such a lordly air, you know. Hig. How about the poet? Was he supremely amusing? Dor. I should have liked the poet, but for one thing. He had an agonizing nose. Mr. H. (Laughing.) An agonizing nose? What sort of nose is that? Len. Horace, you ought not to encourage the child in using such objectionable expressions about people — it is not right. THE LETTER H. 25 HlG. (Aside.) Evidently a tender spot. Dor. Don't mind her, papa. She dotes on poets in general, but on Raphael Sanders in particular. His masterpiece was an ode to a cauliflower. Len. Dorus, for shame. Dor. Beg pardon, Aunty, you said his poems were delightful —I didn't read them — they were usually about flowers and veg- etables — my poet is Shakespeare — he wrote about men and wo- men. Mr. H. Come, Lenore, we are no match for Dorus — and I can't be cross to her on her first day at home. We'll go and su- perintend the preparations for our gala time this evening. What could we do without you, Lenore? (Mr.H. and Lenore exit into house L.) Hig. Do you think your Aunt will ever marry, Miss Dorus? Don. Many? No indeed. Do you think I would allow such a thing? I couldn't exist Without Aunty. I wouldn't give her up except to the best man living — so don't you be silly enough to lift an eye in that direction. It would be useless, I assure you. Hio. (With signs of vexation.) Can't a man ask a harmless question but you must fly in his face like that? Don't be afraid, I am not a marrying man — Don. I'm happy to hear it. Hig. (Taking out cigar.) Do you object to smoke? Doi?. To speak frankly, Mr. Higby, I have often found the smell of a cigar far less objectionable than the company of the smoker. (Col. 11. replaces cigar in pocket.) Hig. (Aside.) She is sharper than her mother was. (Music heard, off stage. Dorus strangely excited. Col. H. walks up and down stage excitedly.) Hig. What can Luke be thinking of? Why don't he send that vagabond street musician about his business? Dor. He is attending to his business in a perfectly legitimate manner. Hig. I beg to differ. Making day and night hideous with cheap music vilely played is not legitimate labor. Dor. I beg to differ. All honest labor is legitimate. Any- thing is better than begging. You said so in one of your speeches when you were nominated for Congress, — but that was before election. That poor man may have a sick mother or a large fam- ily to support. If he comes this way, I shall give him some money. Hig. Excuse me, Miss Hamilton, if I take an abrupt depart- ure. I should enjoy discussing questions of political and social economy with you, but the fact is I have a surfeit of it in Con- gress, where great minds have made it a life long study. (Aside.) I'll take good care that he don't come this way. (Exit Col. H. R.U.E.) Dor. That was the polite, parliamentary way of telling me 26 THE LETTER H. that 1 didn't know anything about political and social economy. {Musk stops.) {Enter Luke and Jimmy l.I.e.) Luke. {To Jimmy.) S-a-a-y good a-a-a-fternoon to the lady, and m-a-a-ke ab-o-o-w? (Luke strikes Jimmy in the back.) Jim. (Jumping up and down.) G-o-o-o-o-d — Dor. Why, what ails him? Luke. He st-a-a-mmers sometimes Miss, and so I wh-i-ip him for it, so-o-o he jumps to get the w-o-o-rds out stra-a-ight. Dor. Poor little boy— come here— (Jimmy goes to Dorus.) I hope your brother Johnny don't stammer, too. Luke. Y-e-e-s he does— but J-i-i-i-mmy is the w-o-o-rst of a-a-all of us. (Cry offstage L.I.E.— "Luke, Luke.") Luke. You'll have to BC-u-se us Miss, for Saida is c-a-a-lling me, and when I he-e-e-ar her voice I kn-o-o-w it means busi- ness. C-o-o-o-me Jimmy. (They exit L.I.E.) (Music heard 'off R. again. Dorus listens intently— rises, goes R. then returns L. and sits, covering her face withherhands. Enter Lenore from house l.) Len. Why, Dorus, what's the matter— crying? Dor. (Looking up.) No, dreaming. Len. Of what? Dor. It wasn't a rhinoceros nor a windmill. Lev. Of whom, then'? Dor. My future husband. Len. Who is he, dear— Herman Iligly? Dor. No, not Herman Higby. The one of whom I was dream- ing I never saw — nor did I ever hear his name, — Len. Then how are you to know him were you to meet? Dor. No fear of that. I should know him among ten thou- sand. (Dorus covers her face again with her hands.) Len. (r.) How those words come hack to me — " I should know him among ten thousand." Hermother spoke them eight- een years ago. (Looking at Dorus.) May she never meet the poor unfortunate being whom her frantic mother was so long- ing to behold, aye, longing to destroy. (Music stops.) Dor. (Rising, coming to her Aunt Lenore.) Aunty, I'm in a confidential mood, to-day. I'll tell you all I know about him, if you will listen and won't laugh at me. Len. Does a true mother ever laugh at her daughter's confi- dences? Dor. (Embracing Lenore.) Do you know, Aunty. I think I must have met him in some of the past ages of the world. We may have stood together when the Queen of Sheba arrived at King Solomon's gates, and while my hero was, it may be, ad- miring her beauty and grandeur — I had eyes for none but him — or he may have been Pompeii's king, andJhis slave, (muses.) Len. (Aside.) The curse will work its course. I'll try her. (To Dorus.) And when you think of this unknown hero, as you call him, is it with feelings of hatred — or — Dor. (Passionately.) Hatred? Can a woman hate her own THE LETTE II H . 27 soul? He has grown into my life, he is a part of myself. Awake or sleeping that fact; comes to me. The lips are motionless, but i he eyes seem to say, we shall meet — and, when we do, be he king or beggar, I shall love him, and — (with a loud, hysterical laugh) hut, what nonsense it all is, isn't it, Aunty — don't mind me, will you? (Puts her head on her aunt's shoulder.) Lex. (Tenderly.) Young girls are apt to talk nonsense— but they out-grow it and you must. Dismiss such strange fancies — they can do you no good — and may do you much harm by lead- ing you to refuse an honest, tangible love such as Herman Higby can give you. (Dorus sits and covers her face again. Le- nore with a deprecating look exits l. into house. A pause. Music heard, then slowly dies awn/. Dorus agitated. Enter Herman, R.U K.) Her. (In a whisper.) Doras V Don. Who art thou, unhidden guest, that with so mute a s J e:) and bated breath dosl steal upon me unawares? Her. (Coming foriv-.trd— -natur.il tone of voice.) 1 am he, to I real h whose name. is. I trust, a pleasure. Don. That voice recalls a dream of other days — one I thought forgotten. I" er. Dosl know me lady? Dor. 'Tis he who his been exile 1 an 1 proscribed so long — Herman, the Count de Hi«.rl y. Her. (Coining before Dorus.) Look upon my altered mien and s;iy if I am he — Dor. (Looking vp, for first time since his entrance.) Avaunt! thou bearded youth — hou art not Herman — Her. (Looking at Dorus admiringly.) But thou art Dorus — only more beautiful than ever — {.They shake hands. Herman sits beside Dorus.) Dor. "What improvement there has been in my personal ap- pearance, I can assure you my disposition and temper have not profited by. Her. I hope we shall not quarrel as we did when we were children. I know we shall he the hest of friends. Dor. Don't be too sure of that, Mr. Higby, I have not for- gotten how you once pinched my poor kitten's ears until it was black in the face, and also how you, with the most heartless cruelty seemed to delight in sticking pins in my doll's eyes. Her. Pray excuse my being so bold as to remind you that the kitten in question was a black one, and its face was not sus- ceptible of the marked change you mention; as for the doll's eyes I considered them useless appendages, and moreover a vulgar burlesque on the genuine article, being made of black thread. Dor. Your long postponed explanation and defence do not change the fact that your acts were meant to afflict me. It was I, sir, and not the kitten or doll that drew forth your vindic- / 28 THELETTEEH. tiveness, and I warn you, sir, the injury was not forgotten and never will be forgiven. Her. (Taking Dorus'' hand.) The loving heart takes pleasure in forgiving the injury that a loving hand may have inflicted. Dorus, my child love has become a man's passion. For years I have loved an ideal only to find the real more beautiful than my imperfect fancies had painted. Dor. Well, I like that. I was afraid I might find you a sensi- ble youth in which case my little schemes might have gone a- begging. Her. If I were sensible I would become a fool for your sake, Dorus, and let my good sense and } r our schemes go a-begging together. Dor. As much as to say that good sense could not be under- stood by me. (Sternly.) Young man, have you seen your father since your return? Her. I have not. My heart led me to you. Dor. Well, now let your filial respect lead you to your father, who is as anxious to see you as — Her. You are to have me go? Dor. Hardly, — but — I told you my disposition had a sharp edge — I am tired — I shall see you again — (Herman takes her hand) this evening. (Herm m exits r.u.e. — gazing at Dorus who sits R. aud muses.) How can I mingle with that gay throng to-night, with my heart so out of tune with the world? I have but one thought, one desire — to find him! (Rises, goes l. Music heard again — Dorus agitated. She rushes R. as Carmelita enters L.l.E. They regard each other, Carmelita finally advancing to Dorus, who retreats, then stops.) Car. Pretty lady, can I tell your fortune — Dor. How much will it cost ? Car. (With a shrug.) As little or as much as you wish— twenty-five cents — a dollar — Dor. And for that trifle you will tell me what I know a life of misery and suffering only can reveal? No, I will have none of your fortunes— but, (listening) I will pay you well if you can tell me one thing— what is that melody we hear, and who is the musician? Car. One of our national airs — one that I always loved — Dor. And the musician — do you know him? Car. He is my son. Dor. Your son? How fortunate! There, take that. It will pay you better than fortune telling. (Gives Carmelita money.) J wish to see your son. Send him to me, at once. Car. Here, lady? Dor. Yes, here. Why do you question me? I am the mis- tress here, and can receive whom I please. (Carmelita bows, exits r.I.e.) A blind fate leads me on. That music seems to pull at my heartstrings. I must have heard it before, and yet 1 THE LETTER H. 29 cannot remember when. What folly lo send for this street mu- sician — no, it is not foolish — it cannot be the one I hope it is — and, if it is not, then my mind will be at ease. Oh, why doesn't he come? (Bushes L. turns and faces r. as Dieppo enters K.l.E. Dorus regards him with, a look of pleased recognition.) Dikp. Lady, I am here. (Dorus does not speak but regards him with admiration.) Don. (Aside.) It is he! Diep. Lady, how can I serveyou? (Dorus advances, then re- treats — covers her face, and looks l. Dieppo steps forward, then turns and goes slowly R. as if to exit. Dorus turns, rushes P.) Dob. Sir! Sir! (Dieppo stops — lurvs.) I sent — I desire — I wish to know if you are in need of money. Diep. I am in need of all that I can honestly earn, lady. Don. I wish (o help you — hire is money (offers it) take it- phase. Diep. I cannot lake money from you as a gift, lady. I am able to work. Don. Have you any one but yourself to support? Diep. My mother, lady. . Don. (Aside.) Ah! yes! his mother. She is his mother. (To Dieppo.) Yes, I saw your mother — and she too is obliged to — work. Take this, then (offers money) as a present for her, with my good wishes. Diep. (Bows — tikes money.) Thank you — she will bless you, and pray for you, kind lady. ( Turns to go.) Dor. Will you not tell me your name? Diep. My mother calls me Dieppo. Dor. (Extending her hand. ) Will you not say good-bye? Diep. Pardon me, kin 1 lady, but my h nd must not touch yours. Yours is like the lily— mine are hard and rough, aud blackened by the dust of the street. Dor. (Impulsively.) But the risk is mine. (Seizes his hand in both of hers.) Diep. (Drawing b<( -k.) Be careful lady, my clothes will soil your pure, white dres-s. Dor. (Placing her hand upon Dieppe's coat.) Oh, I wish my dress was ragged and soiled like this— that my face was browned with the sun, that my hands were hard and black like yours — Then, I could go with you — and you could play and I would sing — If I were a peasant girl with a coarse dress and heavy shoes, then, I could speak — then I would dire to tell you how much — (rushes L — Dieppo advances a step.) Oh, Dieppo — go, leave me — leave me! (Dieppo looks, then exits.) Stay! come back! (Going r. looking off.) He has gone! I drove him away with my rash words.— (sin ks on rustic, seat.) O, I would that this were but a dream— that I might wake and find it so— but (looking around) no, it is a miserable reality. (Coming c.) I, Dorus Hamilton, the educated daughter of a rich and noble 30 THE LETTER H. father, called him here, forced his unwilling hands into mine, and said words that brought a blush even to his sun-browned cheeks — ignorant and coarse and low as he is. What is this horrid infatuation? Am I the victim of a curse? Did that for- tune teller put me under a spell — did she lie to me when she said he was her son? No, for he has a mother— and she sent him to me. He reproached me, but so gently, and kindly- Heaven bless him. Does he pity me — or look upon me with contempt? And, I shall never see him again — I must! He is my fate, my destiny. {Turning to house.) Oh! father— aunty, pray for your child — your unhappy Dorus. (Looks L. as if to see if she is watched — then exits quickly R.l.E.) Scexe II. — A Path in the W< ols. (Enter Dorus R. looking, as if in search of some one. She goc* L. — looking off l, when Dieppo enters R. with a handkerchief in his hand.) Diep. I found this, lady, in the path. (Dorus turns, recog nizes Dieppo and advances it. towards him) It is yours, I think. Dor. (Taking it.) Yes, it is mine. I must have dropped if. Thank you. (Dieppo starts to go L. They cross.) Stay, please. 1 wish to speak with you Dieppo. (Bursts into tears.) What can you think of me? DlEP. You are weeping. Dor. Yes, I am weeping — bitter tears of shame and remorse. Tell me, Dieppo, do you think me mad — or base? Diep. I think you neither, lady. You are in grief. D jr. You have a man's intelligence — a man's thoughts There is a look of keen perception in your eyes. I have gone too far to recall my words, or explain my actions — but, tell me plainly now, what did you think of what I said and did after you left me, a short time ago? Speak, I entreat you. Diep. (Hesitating.) You were, peihaps, amusing yourself. Dor. (Astonished.) At your expense? Diep. I do not know, but, if you were, it don't matter. T don't pretend to understand, or find fault with a lady's moods. Dor. (Aside.) He is right. I do not understand them my- self. (Dieppo starts to go L.) Stay, Dieppo, I have a favor to ask of you; if you will grant it, it will enable me to prove thai I have never intended to make fun of you — will you grant it? Diep. I dare not promise, lady. It might not be in my power to do as you wish. Dor. Dieppo, I am as you no doubt think a lady of strange moods and fancies. You must not be surprised at what I am going to ask you to do this evening. There is to be a party at my father's house — the one where you first met me. It is a welcome home for me, his only daughter, for I have just re- THE LETTER H. 31 turned from Europe. I want you to be present this evening — will you come? Diep. I must not lady. It is for the rich and high-born people, not for such as me. (Regards himself.) They would not let me in. Dor. They would never refuse admittance to any gentleman whom J invited — Diep. A gentleman, no— but who would call Dieppo the mu- sician a gentleman-^ when they saw the clothes — they would set the dogs on me. (Laughs satirically.) Don. I thought you were a brave man, Dieppo. Diep. (Proudly.) I am brave enough to meet the dogs, lady, and kill them, but I have not the courage to meet the laughs and sneers of the rich people — for I cannot kill them! (Turns away.) Dor. (Musing.) Dieppo, I have set my heart upon your being there to-night. I have a plan, which, if you will follow implic- itly, will save you from all danger from dogs, or those whom you fear more, ladies and gentlemen. You are an Italian? Diep. No, lady, my father — I mean — my mother and myself are Mexicans. Don. I have travelled much, an 1 I thought you an Italian. Others will think so, if you say 3 our name is Signor Brindelli — now, remember, Signor Art uro Brindelli. — Now what is your name? Diep. Dieppo. Dor. (Laughing.) Yes, of course it is — but to-night, what is it to be — can you remember? Diep. To please the lady's fancy — it will be Signor Arturo Brindelli. Dor. Capital, you s iy it just as he did. Diep. He? Who? Dor. Why, the real Signor Brindelli whom I met in Italy. Now, you will come, will you not, as my guest, my equal — nay, my superior? Thinkyourself, for this one night, an Italian gen- tleman. Imagine me a poor peasant girl. Diep. Ah! lady, it will be impossible to imagine you any- thing but what you are — rich and beautiful. Dor. Rich — and you are poor. I had forgotten. Take this — (offers purse.) if you are to be an Italian gentleman, you must dress like one. You must take it. (Puts pur se in Dieppo'' s hand.) This opportunity will never come again to you or me. To night we must forget everything but the enjoyment of our new-found — but alas! short-lived happiness. But, you will not fail me — Diep. I will come. (Dieppo bows and exits L.) Dor. (Passionately.) Cruel, relentless destiny! you are un- just, unmerciful. What have I done that my life should be brightened but for one blissful hour and then cursed and blighted forever. (Weeps convulsively.) (Enter Lenore R. She rushes to Dorus.) 32 THE LETTER II. Lex. Dorus! Dorus! (Puts arms about her.) Weeping, my darling, what is it? Are you ill— or only frightened? What has happened? You were not alone. I saw some one leaving you as I came along the path. (Looking r.) Did he insult you? Who was he and what did he say to you? Dorus, why don't you answer me? (A pause.) Thoughtless girl, we have been looking everywhere for you. Why did you come alone to this lonely place? What did that rude person say to you, my child? Dor. Person? Lex. Yes, that man — I caught a glimpse of him. I am quite certain he was rude to you — else why do I find you in tears? Dor. No one has been rude to me, Aunty. Leu. But why did you come here alone? Dor. I came for a walk. Lex. Not with him? Who was lhat man I saw? Dor. Might it not have been Herman — looking for me? Lex. Herman has be« n looking for you— riding upand down the road on horseback — but /don't think it was Herman. If so, why did he leave you — and in tears? Have you quarrelled? Was it Herman, Dorus? Dor. No! Lex. Who was it? Dor. Oh, Aunty, do not question me now. Let us go home. Lex. Dorus, I am pained beyond expression. Is it possible that you can have secrets from me? You, whom I have so loved and trusted? What am I to think? I command you to tell me who that person was. Dor. You command me? Let me tell you then that you have no right to command me. I will not tell you! I am no longer a child. If I choose to have seerats, you, at least, cannot prevent it. Lex. Then, I shall go to your father. Do you imagine he would allow you to meet secretly any person whom he did not know? Dor. I dare you to go to him with such a story as that? Lex. What story? Dor. That I am meeting any one clandestinely the first day of my return home. You dare not tell him such a preposterous thing, for you know he would not believe you. Neither has he appointed you to be a spy upon my actions. I will do what 1 like, unless papa forbids it! (Defiantly.) Lex. (Weeping.) Oh! Dorus, you have never spoken like this to me before. Ever since you lay in my anns a poor, moth- erless baby, I have loved and cared for you. I had thought that you loved me and would confide in me the same as if I were your mother — but you do not need me any longer. (Lenore walks slowly R. weeping. Dorus springs after her and throws her arms about her.) Dor. I do need you, Aunty. I could not live without you. THE LETTEK H. 33 You know I love you — as a mother. {They embrace.) Forgive me for my cruel, heartless words — I did not mean to wound you. Trust me a little while — Aunty — I am still worthy of it. Sometime, I will tell you all — but not to-night. Say you forgive me, Aunty. Len. (Kisses her.) I forgive you, darling — and — I will wait until you are ready to contide in me. (Places scarf around Dorus.) You are shivering — the dew is falling — and you are so thinly clad — let us hurry in — (Dorus and Lenore exit R.l.E.) (Enter Herman and Dieppo, L.l.E.) Her. (Brushing himself.) That was a narrow escape. I came near breaking my own neck as well as the horse's. I thought he could jump that wall. Diep. Are you hurt, sir? Her. No, only lame. The horse fell across my right leg and I should have had a hard time getting free but for your oppor- tune arrival. You are sure the horse is dead. J It would be cruel t ) leave him in misery. Diep. He is dead — his neck is broken. Her. How can I repay your* Will this answer? (Offers him money.) Diep. No money. Your good words are enough. Her. Well, then, as you say. I thank you heartily for your assistance. (Offers his hand— Dieppo takes it — they shake hands.) You are a foreigner — I judge. Italian? Diep. No, Mexican. Her. (Passing card.) There is m} 7 card. Herman Higby, son of Col. Henry Higby, now member of Congress for the 20th New York District. He was in Mexico when he was about my age, and has told me many stories about your country. I shall tell my father of your kindness, and if at any time you wish assis- tance call upon either of us— we are at Mr. Hamilton's for a few days — but we live at Lake George.— (Goes K.) Diep. You are lame. Shall I go with you to Mr. Hamilton's? Her. Oh, no. I can walk this lameness off — thank you — good-bye — until we meet again. (Exits r.I.e.) Diep. Good-bye — until we meet again. He will know me un- less I am much changed. (Strokes his beard.) I must cut off the beard. Brindelli! He thought I was Italian. She was right. (Laughs.) (Enter Carmelita L.l.E.) Car. Dieppo, where have you been? Have you been playing? Any luck? I have only told one fortune — no, I didn't tell that — but got paid just the same. The girl — what did she want of you? Diep. She wished me to come and amuse the company this evening. Car. Are you going? Diep. Of course I am. She paid me in advance. I have been fortunate enough to pull a young man from under his horse 34 THE LETTEE H. that had fallen dead upon him — he gave me his card — he lives at Mr. Hamilton's. Car. Hamilton? Diep. His name is Higby — son of Col. Henry Higby — Car. Higby? Did you say Hamilton and Higby — Here? Diep. Yes, there it is. (Shows card to Carmelita.) Do you know them? The son said his father was in Mexico when he was young. Car. Dieppo, I am going with you to Mr. Hamilton's to meet Mr. Higby — the father — and the son. 1 can amuse the, company. Diep. No, mother, you cannot go. Car. I shall go! Diep. Mother. T have not told you all the truth. I will not try to explain the young lady's reasons, tor I do not know them, but she wishes me to come as a »uest to a party to-night — and has given me this money. (Slavs purse.) with which to dress as well as the other gentlemen. Car. 1 will go with you. I can dress as a lady — as your mother. I iep. But, to please iht h dy. 1 am 1<> 1 e introduced as Signor Arturo Brindelli— an Italian — a friend whom she nut in Italy. Car. Then, topliQSt myself, I will be introduced as the Sig- nora Lucia Brindelli. your mother. Diep. But mother, she may 1 e angry— and denounce us both. She is fickle, or she would not engage in this tolly. Car. Let her denounce. I . too, can denounce. I ieppo, would you like to see your father? Diep. He descried you — both of us. 1 could never love him. Car. Love him! Do you suj pose 1 ;mi trying to find him be- cause I love him? No.it is letausc I hate him. Come here, Dieppo. (Dieppo ( t o(s to far; sh( j ushes back the hair from his forehead — and kisses it.) (Aside.) The Letter II! Hamilton, Higby, HATBED! (To Dieppo.) Dieppo, we must go. We have no time to lose. Signor Brindelli atUnd your mother. Diep. But mother — you must not go with me. Car. Have you not sworn to aid me in ev< ry way to find your father — who desert* d vs? Diep. I have, and I will keep nr\ word. Car. (Bushing l.I.e.) Then come, Signor Brindelli— (Laughs.) Ccnfe with your mother to Mr. H; mili< n's to-night, for your fathir will 1 e there! (Laughs loudly, exits L.l.ic.) Diep. What thought is this? Can it he that Mr. Hamilton— the letter H — is my father — then, she is my sister — or, might have been. Does she know it? Does that explain her tender- ness— her love? But she is afraid to own me— she knows her father's sin, and pities me. I will not go. But my mother will. She is determined to denounce him before them all. Twill break my sister's heart. She shall not go— but if she does, i" will go with her. 1 must— to protect my sister.' (Exits l.I.e.) THE LETTER H. 35 Scene III. — Mr. Hamilton's House illuminated ; dance music being played within.. Lanterns in the trees. (Luke, dressed in black, stands near steps of house L.) Luke. I gu-u-u-ess they've mo-o-st all arrived. The m-a-a-n- sion is pr-e-e-tty f-u-u-11. (Enter k.u.e. Dieppo, [in evening di'ess, beard shaved, leaving black moustache. Gwmelita with him, richly dressed. They come c.) DlEP. We are late. Car. For the beginning, yes, but early enough for the end. Diep. Mother, remember we are guests, and do not — Car. My son, remember that we are guests, and give your name to the servant — that he may announce us. Luke. (Advancing, pointing to door l.) Th-i-i-s w-a-a-y, sir. (Carmelita gives Luke a searching glance from head to foot. Luke recoils.) Diep. Mother, I cannot. Car. (Bitingly.) Not even to find a father? I'm ashamed of you! Diep. You are right. (To Luke.) Announce Signor Brindelli and his mother. Car. The Signora Brindelli. (Luke bow?, ascends steps, enters house.) Be strong. I am. If a feeling ot weakness comes over you, remember the Letter II. (They enter house L.) (Enter Saida, L.l.fi.) Sai. Luke! where are you, Luke? That man of mine used to work fast and tried to ta n k fast — but now he talks so slow, and he works slower than he talks. There's one consolation, both the children take after me — all except (Enter Luke from house.) that h-o-Q-rrid sfa-a-a-mmer. Luke. Pr-a-a-ctising Sa-a-a-idi? (Comes down steps.) Sai. Yes, and I'd practise more if it would only make you perfect. I'm glad my tongue is all right. Luke. Ca-a-a-nt say as I'm as h-a-a-ppy as you are about th-a-a-t, but I've got g-o-o-o-d eyes, I has. Sai. (With interest.) What have you seen, Luke? Tell me. I'm your wife, you know. Luke. A-a-re you? I'd almost fo-o-o-rgot it. Sai. Don't be a fool, Luke. What have you seen? Luke. (Drawing her c.) Ke-e-e-p it qu-u-u-iet now* Sai. Yes, yes. Goon. Luke. Do-o-o-nt hu-u-r-ry me so. Sai. Yes, no, no! Go on — go 071! Luke. We-e-11 I'm go-o-o-in' on, ain't I? Do-o-o you re-me- e-e-mber the jMe-e-e-xican wo-o-oman, down in Lo-o-ouisian, when Missus went m-a-a-d? Sai. I shall never forget her — and Heaven will never forgive her. 36 THE LETTER H. Luke. (Pointing L.) She-e-e-'s in there. Sai. Don't be a fool, Luke. Luke. Th-a-a-t's the reason I kn-e-e-w her, 'cause I'se no f-o-o-o-1. Sai. What shall we do? (Enter Mr. Hamilton and Dr Burs- lemfrom house L. arm in arm. They come c. Luke and Saida re- tiring towards L.l.E.) Mr. H. I'm delighted to meet you again, Burslem, and have such a long chat over old times. Would that I could have said the good old times. Dr. B. Mr. Hamilton — (Looks towards Luke and Saida.) Mr. H. (Understanding Dr. B."s glance, turns to Luke and Saida, waves his hand, — they exit L.l.E.) Something private, Burslem? Dr. B. Rather, it may be. Who were the last two visitors — just came? Mr. H. A Signor Brindelli and his molher — two Italian friends of Dorus — she says she visited them at Florence — met them in a picture gallery — you know they get acquainted easier in Europe than we do here. There is one question, Burslem, that I've started several times to ask you — have you any idea what became of that Mexican girl and her child? I've never heard a word about them nor seen a trace since that terrible day. Dr. B. (Aside.) He does not suspect, (To Mr. H.) I think I have met them, once. Mr. II. (Agitated.) When? Where? Dr. B. At a social gathering — not long ago. Mr. II. A social gathering? What name do they go by? Dr. B. (Hesitating.) I am afraid the name will sound too familiar. Mr. H. Then she has not forgotten that name — the fatal H — and calls herself II; miltonV Dr. B. I can't say whether she has forgotten the name of Hamilton, but she was not known by it when we met. Mr. H. What then? Dr. B. Mr. Hamilton, no man lives with whose life I have been more intimate than yours, and 1 knoiv we are friends. Mr. H. (Clasping Dr. B.'s hands.) We are, true friends. Speak out. Dr. B. You are the last man to whom I would breathe my suspicions did not my whole being — all my senses sharpened by years of active use — Mr. II. Yes, yes, speak out. I trust you. Dk. B. Mr. Hamilton, I honestly think that the Mexican wo- man and her son are in your house at this very moment. (Mr. H. stares at Dr. B. and then totters to the rustic seat, assisted by Dr. B.) Mr. II. What do they want? She killed my wife — does she THE LETTER H. 37 come to kill my child — oh, this is horrible! Come,(?i\ses, rushes l.) I will denounce her — they shall leave the house. (Dr. B. grasps him, draws him C.) Dr. B. A very unwise proceeding to make a scene, especially as I may be mistaken. You are excited; come, let us take a walk in the garden and talk this matter over. Come, fresh air is an invaluable prescription when the brain is heated. (Takes Mr. H.'s arm and they exit l.u.e.) (Enter from house 1,. Dorus followed by Herman. Dorus crosses stage, sits on rustic seat R. Herman stands c.) Her. Dorus, I asked the favor of a private interview with you. Dor. Well, we are alone, are we not? All that is necessary now to make the private interview is for you to speak. Her. "YVhj' are you so cold to me, Dorus? All your pleasant words, all your smiles have been given to that foreigner. Dor. Is Signor Brindelli to blame for being born in Italy? Her. He is to blame for not staying where he was born. Dor. (With a contemptuous laugh.) A very foolish speech — the offspring of envy — a noble feeling — Her. No, Dorus, it sprang from a truly noble feeling — love. Dor. Then,— ah, yes— you are jealous. Her. I am not ashamed to own it — to the woman I love. Dor. When the woman says she loves you — your jealousy may be excusable — but at present it is bordering on presump- tion. (JRising.) Is the private interview at an end? Her. It is. Shall I conduct you to the house? Dor. I have no objection to you (Herman steps forward) re- turning alone. Her. (Turning away, indignantly; turns to Dorus again.) Dorus, Dorus, you will one day regret this conduct. Dor. When the day for penitence arrives, Mr. Higby, I will beg a private interview. (Herman turns, gives Dorus a look of indignation, and exits hastily r.u.e.) He must love me, in his way, or he would not be so persistent , and foolish. (Enter Dieppo from house L. Dorus rushes to meet him.) Diep. Lady, I trust that neither by appearance nor speech have we disgraced your hospitality. Dor. (Surveying him.) You look like a gentleman — and you are one. I hope you have enjoyed yourself — if you have, I am fully repaid for my — Diep. Your — what did you say, lady? Dor. My — I cannot explain myself , here. Give me your arm, and we will walk in the garden. Diep. Shall I not deprive friends of your company who have claims upon you — while I have none. Dor. As my guest, you have a strong claim on my hospitality, and, besides — an explanation is due you of my — conduct. Diep. (Herman enters r.u.e.) For that purpose I will go, 38 THE LETTER II . and I hope it will enable me to throw off the mask and assume my own name and humble station. I am not at home in this dress. (Herman exits R.U.E.) Dor. You wear it as though 3011 were born to it. (They turn. Dorus takes his arm and they start to go out l.u.e. Herman en- ters excitedly r.tj.e.) Her. Sir! Sir!! (Dieppo and Dorus turn and fare him.) I over- heard your words, sir, for which I see no reason to offer an apology. Now is the time to throw off your mask and tell who and what you are, — and why you are here. Diep. I am — Dor. Stop, — (To Herman.) He is my ejuest — here at my invi- tation. Have you any right to interfere? Her. Yes, after what I have heard. (Enter Col. H. from house) As a friend of your father, as your suitor, I have a right to ask who this man is— for he confesses he bears a false name and is unused to the dress of a gentleman. (Col. Higby comes down steps. Mr. Hamilton and Br. Burslem ente% from L.u.K. and Lenore, with Utter in hand, from house L.) Mb. II. What is the matter? Henry, what has happened? COL. II. My son , or perhaps your daughter can best explain the situation. Dor. By all means, let Mr. Herman Higby explain. Mi;. II. What have you to saw Herman? Her. From my own suspicions, and from words I overheard this man utter 1 am convinced he is not what he claims to be — an Italian gentleman named Brindelli. Mr. H. That point can be easily settled. Dorus, who are your guests? DlEP. (To Dorus, aside.) I will tell them who I am. Dor. (Aside, to Dieppo,) No! (To the company.) Mr. Higby's ears deceived him. He is jealous — and so he brought about this scene. My guests are Signor Arturo Brindelli and his mother. Len. Oh! Dorus! how can you? this is terrible! Mr. II. Lenore, what do you mean? Speak! Do you know Signor Brindelli? Len. Horace, I cannot speak. Read that letter. Forgive me, Dorus! Mr. II. (Reads.) "Florence — my dearest Aunty" — why, this is Dorus' writing — Dor. Yes, father, my private correspondence — to be read for the amusement of our guests. Mr. H. No, I cannot, will not read it. (Throws it down.) Col. II. (Picking it up.) Then I will — with Miss Clifton's consent whose rightful property it is, as the law has decided. (Looks to Lenore, who nods consent.) Mr. II. Give me the letter, Henry. Not one word of it shall be read by any one without my daughter's full and free con- sent. THE LETTER H. 39 Dor. I am at a loss to understand what connection this letter can have with Signor Brindelli, for Aunt Lenore never met him. I am as curious as you can be Col. Higby, and you have my full and free consent to read it. (Proudly.) Col. H. (Reads.) "I am stopping here with Mrs. Harlow, and we are having a delightful time visiting the galleries. Mrs. II. introduced me to a young artist, Signor Arturo Brindelli, and yesterday we called on his father, who is a widower — " Her. Then the mother is dead! (Dieppo steps L. leaving Dor- us R. Dorus tarns pale, but looks rigidly at the company.) Len. When they were announced this evening, I remem- bered this letter, and went and found it. Dorus, what does all this mean? Heij. (To Dieppo.) Sir, if you are not Signor Brindelli who are you? Diep. I will answer you. (Passes card.) That card may ex- plain. 1 Her. (Looks at cord, starts back.) How came you b}' this, my card? Diep. You gave it to me this evening — your horse stumbled you remember — and broke his neck, and fell upon you. I — Her. (To lus father.) This is the man I told you about. He did me a service for which I offered to pay him — but he refused, to my astonishment. (To Dieppo.) Two hours ago you were a ragged tramp. By what means have you been so suddenly changed into the semblance of an Italian gentleman? Dor. Money did it! It has done much for all of us. Col. II. But where did he get the money? Are you sure he did not rob you, Herm.in? Dor. Col. Higby, you are a cow trd to insult the man who, perhaps, saved your son's life. 1 ismiss your cruel suspicions. / gave him the money! (The company cry, "Yet*?" Dorus tot ters, and falls on rustic seat. Herman and Lenore approach her, but she waves them away. Mr. Hamilton and Dr. B. then ap- proach her. Col. Higby goes l.I.e. Carmelita enters from lwuse L.) Diep. Mother, we will go, now. Col. H. (Galls l.) Luke! Luke!! (Gomes c.) No, you shall not go until this business is explained. (Enter Luke and Saida l.I.e.) As a guest of my old friend, Gen. Hamilton, and a life long friend of his family I have a right to denounce this man as an impostor and an intruder. If he and the woman whom he calls his mother will not tell who they are, and why they are here, they shall be arrested, and Henry Higby will make them face the law. (Carmelita rushes forward. Die-ppo grasps her.) Diep. Come, mother, come — let us go. Dr. B. (Aside.) I was right. It is the Mexican. Car. (Facing Col. Higby.) So, Col. Henry Higby will make this poor boy and his mother face the law, but Carmelita will 40 THE LETTER H , i.. you fa e roar own conscience! (Dorus revives and looks r eUl ook upon the woman you ieceived and be- upoi mi hild— Dieppo— look at him— after long years then 5 Pointing io Col H.) Dieppo, Col, Henry Higby i i 1 1 1 ■ CURTAIN". END OF 4.CT J ACT 11 -(•.!•. •-;,•' > i ij, ii Lake George. Co ttaje front ■ 2&3 ' trg( pi ictii bli rock l.2. Rustic seat fron r'it < •' ' • I i >' ■ " ' • ■ i >( gby i E they come down f- >■ d th orrect one, Henry? ■ ,. H Horace, 3 know \ in r ght I p yoi iai ■■.'>< i i io! ret thoroughly con- r i ■ something m teri i th iffair OL. H. " I No i il 'I race, only a comnion- p!ac i — th iccu ■ day Horace, you must be*- □tie. ! i, Hem I s a poor t i ow. Now - ' > ,' < '■ m I i s vi' you hear it told con- ■ little quarrel vkh «> rus about a street mu- sician ! music— Dorus, with h ual feminine per- i ■ - : iike it — she meets the young fellow, thinks it >•< » : joke to spite 5( she invites him to the e dng party. ila H. But Car — the woman? That's not so easy — a ier yet,— she saw me with my dead friend in Mexic . arse, having declared the- pi sture— my picture- was that of her betrayer — when she saw me — what more natural than that she should repeat the accusation? Mb, H. But the son — Col. H. He evidently didn't take much stock in his mother's declaration— for you remember that he tore his mother — if she is mother — from the spot, and we have not seen them nor them since — a month ago MR. H. They may follow as THE LETTER H. 41 Col. H. If they attempt to blackmail me — for that is all it is anyway, I shall turn them over to the authorities. By making an open light I shall get public opinion on my side and save many an honest person from similar persecutions. By the way, Horace, has Herman had a confidential talk with you yet? Mk. H. Confidential talk? Why, what about? No. Col. H. Why, you haven't forgotten our old compact have you — about Dorus and my boy — made before your daughter was- horn? Mr. II. If the children are agreed I shall be happy to ratify the compact, but no undue parental influence. In such a matter a young heart is likely to be nearer right than an old head. Col. H. Yes, but suppose I)orus were to fancy some one be- neathher — i1 may be, unworthy? Such thingarenot uncommon. Mr. II. Don't worry. Dorus is a girl of strong good sense, and has the pride of a Vere de Vere. Col. II. And very fond of having her own way. Mr. II. I own that — she's likelier father — but you know very well that her own way is generally the right way. Col. H. That is an indulgent lather's view of the case, cer- tainly. If she refuses Herman, her wa} r , for once, will be the wrong way. Mr. H. That's an indulgent father's view of the case, cer- tainly. (Laughs.) Col. H. (Looking off it. I.e.) Here come the suspected parties. (Hushes v. grasps Mr. H.\t arm.) Horace, let us fly! MR. H. Fly? Why? Col. 11. Because if we are discovered here in earnest con- versation our suspicious children will imagine that we are de- vising schemes to exert an undue parental influence — and they may run away and get married — just to have their own way — eh, Horace? (Col. H. takes Mr. HSs arm and they exit into cottage K.3.E. both laughing.) (Enter Herman and Dorus B.l.E. They walk across stage. Doras throws herself upon rustic seat L.) Her. We have had a long walk. You must be fatigued. Dor. I'm a little tired— not at all fatigued. Her. Will you sit here, or will you go down- by the lake anrl recline in the hammock? Dor. I think it would require a grand convulsion of nature to thiow me into a reclining mood— a terrible earthquake for instance. Her. There is where you make a mistake, Dorus. You are too self-reliant. It isunfeminine. You should cultivate a desire, a feeling — you should acknowledge the want of somebody, 1 mean something stronger than yourself to lean upon. Dor. This rustic seat seems to be well made and I have per- fect confidence in its ability to sustain me. Her. Do not jest, Dorus. Nature never does. From the tree and the vine, man and woman can learn the lesson of life. Did you ever observe the sturdy oak — 42 THE LETTE K II . Dor. (Jumping tip.) Yes. I have heard of it a great many times. Her. (Astonished.) What? Dor. I mean the story ahout the sturdy oak and Ihe clinging vine. Please don't tell it again— but if you must, phase make the tree a sugar maple — I should much prefer clinging to a sugar maple than an oak. Her. My romance is all thrown away upon you. I soar up into the regions of poetry, and— Dor. I comedown to maple sugar. Well, the fact is, Her- man, (Sits on rustic seat again.) I am so decidedly practical that I prefer a griddle cake to a sonnet and think maple syrup sweeter far than Anacreon or Tennyson. It's a mere matter of taste, you know, Herman. Her. Well, Dorus, if you are so practical, let us talk about a practical matter which to me is sweeter than poetry and which I hope will have more charms for you than maple sugar. Dor. It must be a sweet subject. Her. It is— yourself — and the plans our loving fathers are laying for you and me. Can't you imagine? Dor. No! what plans? Are we all going to Niagara, and the Yosemite? Her. Anywhere you wish. Torus. Bridal tours are usually of an erratic nature. Dor. Why, who is going to 1 e married? Not my father, surely — it must be yours. (Sericrusly.) lleiman. I hope your father has made a good choice — that he has found a woman who will be a mother to you — bring you up well -and make a good man of you. (Laughs.) Her. Dorus, you are incorrigible. For eighteen years our fathers have had a pleasant dream, in common. That dream was and is to see us — you and I, Dorus— man and wife. Dor. If they have had such a nice lime for eighteen years dreaming about it — don't let us wake tin in up, lleiman. Let , them dream on, forever. Her. Willingly, Dorus, — but to ensure that happy future — we must marry. I can truly say, Dorus. that if 1 can leave a ring upon this dear hand as a token of our engagement — this would be the moment of greatest happiness that Hie can give me, until a year hence, when, with another iing,I make you mine. Dor. (Taking the ring.) Where, did you buy this? Her. In Boston. My chum at Harvard is a good judge of diamonds and he went with me. Dor. It is too large. Her. That is easily fixed — cut a piece from the back, and — Dor. Would they take it back if 1 didn't like it? Her. Certainly. The salesman said they had to take back a great many engagement rings — the ladies are very particular. THE LETTER H . 43 Dor. Will they give you back your money? Her. Xo, another ring — why, what do you mean, Dorus? Are you trifling witli me? Can you be so cruel and heartless? Dob. (After a pause.) I thinkyou are the cruel and heartless one. T came here at your father's urgent invitation to have a good time during your vacation. We might have gone on en- joying ourselves and having lots of fun, but now you have gone and spoiled it all. I wish I had never come here. I wish you were hack at college. (Herman tries to take her hand. She draws buck.) There will be no peace for us now. I shall get nervous, have the headache, be cross and make everybody and myself miserable. I never did in my life settle down to liking a young man but he always got conceited and spoiled everything as you have done — and nothing in the world gained by it but to get himself thoroughly disliked — I can't understand it. Her. Had I known Miss Hamilton — Dor. Stop! Now, slop, you disagreeable creature — Miss Hamilton — aren't you ashamed of yourself, Mr. Highy? Her- man, don't let us have any such nonsense. Her. Fonts, I won't. One question only. May I hope? Dot;. She must be merciless indeed who would deprive a lover of so inexpensive a solace. HEKi When may T dare to ask again if — Dor. Never. Await my answer. If I send for you, come. If not — Her. Thank you. T understand. (Goes towards door to cot- tage, then com '.s L. to Dorus.) Are you going in, Dorus? Doit. Not now. Herman. This is my third offer and I am somewhat hardened, but really, if you have no objection, I will sit here a lit i le while ; n 1 think — of yoii. Her. (Bowing-.) I could have no pleasanter thought, than, that you are thinking — of mc. (Exits into cottage R.3.E.) (Dorus throws herself upon seat andsobs. Enter Luke l.u.e. comes down c. letter in hand.) Luke. M-i-i-i-ss-i-i-ss D-o-o-o-rus. (Repeals severed times.) Dor. (Looking up.) Who's that? Oh! Luke. What is it? Did father send for me? Luke. (Coining nearer, air of secrecy.) N-o-o-o— 1-e-tt-t-t-ter for y-o-o-u. Dor. (Jumping up.) Letter? Who from? (Tears it open.) Luke. Mu-u-u-sic f-e-e-llow. Gu-e-e-ss somebody g-a-a-ve it to him to b-r-r-ing. Dor. (Reads.) " 1 am going away — to leave you forever." No, he shall not go, until I see him once more— (Sternly.) It must — it shall be the last time — (Tenderly.) But I must see him once more. (To Luke.) Where is Dieppo? Luke. W-w-w-w-hat is d-d-d-d-epot? Dor. The man — I mean the man who gave you this letter. Where is he? 44 THE LETTER H. Luke. I th-h-h-h-ink he's g-g-g-g-one. Doe. Go, go at once Luke, and find him. Bring him to me, Luke, bring him here. (Dorus goes L. reading letter. Luke exits l.u.e.) (Dorus reads.) "Lady, I am going away— and shall take my mother with me. If, as she says, Mr. Higby is my father, then a cast of shame is thrown upon Mr. Herman Higby— your lover. He has my name and fortune, why should he not have all in peace? He is not to blame. I shall never claim a father who has forgotten me. I am going away, forever, and my mother shall never trouble you or yours any more. Pity and forget, Dieppe" (Enter Dieppo l.u.e. canes c. half down stage.) Dieppo, pity you. I do with all my heart. Forget you I never can. How noble! He loves me, and gives up all to prove his love. Diep. I have come, lady. (Dorus turns, with a glad cry, rushes C. takes Diejpo's arm and draws him l. I.e. front of rock.) Dor. Dieppo, I have gone too far to turn back. You shall no longer be kept in doubt with regard to my strange acts and words; you shall have no reason to think worse of me than I deserve. What must you have thought? Diep. Lady, I have seen and heard, I have not cared to think. Dor. It must have seemed strange to you as it has to me. Dieppo, from my earliest remembrance I have had one lace and form constantly before me, — -sometimes near — sometimes so far away — sometimes not present to the eye, Lut never ab- sent from the heart. Diep. Yes, lady. Doe. When a child how often have I leaned my head against the window pane an 1 waited for his approach until I would fall asleep with my head resting upon the s'll — my reddened, tear- stained eyes a sign of sorrow that I could not explain and no one could imagine. In later years I have longed to meet him with an intensity that has been almost unendurable. To meet him face to face, to talk with him, to hear him say he loved me. Diep. He would be ungrateful, lady, did he not say so. Dor. I have always felt that our destinies were inseparable, and that one day we should meet and recognize each other in- stinctively. Sleeping or waking the same dark eyes are always looking into mine. How often, in imagination, have I lifted the curls from his white forehead and twined the jetty silken rings about my fingers— and tried to speak his name but could not. It would seem to be upon my lips ready for utterance, and then it would be gone before my memory could grasp it, — and so this creature of my brain, this phantom something has lured me on — has taken possession of my heart and soul. It enthrals my whole being. It is part of myself. I love it better than I do my own life. (Grasping Dieppo's arm.) Dieppo, do you think if I were ever to meet this mysterious being — and find him a mortal T TT E LETTER H . 45 . •■ • :i ;' r :-. i :-.i n t »* man like yourself — that it would be wrong to tell him of my love, of my life-long devotion to him? |; '" ' "' '■ .JioU Diep. No; lady. •"' ■ ■• -i -v-d I n » * "' '>' '•" l « Dor. Listen. Dieppo. Only a month aigo, J was sitting in inV' father's garden. My mysterious* ''-vision had befell with 'trie' to' Europe and had that day, returned with me.' I sat thinking off him when I became' conscious that 'a person was standing' 1 near'' me. L looked up. Can you iniagiue whom I saw? ' ' ' ' *' Diep.' No; ladyi : ■ i ', " ' " '■ •': ' " " ' " " ,i! ' ' Dor. I saw the realization of all my dreams standing' before '. me, in human form. 1 'looking' into* my"eyfes as : he' had fooketb thousands of times before. ' .'• ".■.■■ • • \ ] '■ Diep. Did he recognize you, lady? ■ ' ■ v. ■'.-., i^! Dor. No, to my great disappointment. No!' He hiust'' have '"' seen my heart speaking through thy eyes,' but the're was no* answering look in his. He must have seen the struggle thai was raging in my breast but there was no response from 1 him. He wascalni, and cold, but respectful; I called pride' to my aid, — I tried to forget him — I 'tried, oh! how hard to"ti ar his dear image from my heart, but it is no use to struggle any lbuger— I cannot, I cannot-! "■ '< ■'•' ' ■' '-■ "■ H. i« ') Diep. lie would, .perhaps, love yon, 'if he 'knew.'" 1|! ' •'' Dor. Oh! Dieppo if I hid found him what the World calls a gentleman, high born and poor. or low born and 1 riclV. I could have loved no more but I could have loved him hopefully. I" still love him, blindly, madly, hopelessly, the' world would sa ( \', for he is a poor, ignorant street niusiciaii— but he is my fate". Ah! Dieppo can I, need I say more? Speak, Dieppo, speak and comfort me. (Weepsi) ■ .; • (. .',\.\.\ Diep. Unhappy lady, what can 1 say that can comfort Vbu? f ' ' Dor.' Say that you pity me-Msay! th tt you' Will try tolfove me. Diep. I dare not say that, lady. I am a poor, ignorant 'street musician, but I have never been guilty of a base action. Dor. Base? Is it base to love 1 me? >'< ""'■' . ■ ' : Diep. For one like me to presume so 'far 'would be both base and dishonorable. I should' deserve all't'he scorn and contempt which your father and friends would heap upon me. Dor. I see, you do hot love me. ' '' '■ ' ' : -Diep. Lady, I have nothing to offer you but' poverty, and what your friends would call disgrace, m exchange for* 'youth , beauty, wealth. The world would call you' foolish' and me a villain. Dor. I have a fortune in my own right and yet it will not se- cure me that little bit of happiness that like a 'butterfly lias eluded my grasp for so many years. It will not give' hie the one I love and yet it would make 'a thousand say they'loved me.'' if you could but love me, Dieppo, I should' care nothing for the world. ' " ' Diep. But your father, lady? ' '" ' 46 THE LETTER H. Dor. My mother was an heiress. She married for love alone — a brave man but a poor one. I have the same right. Dieppo. when a thing is right, all arguments against it must be wrong. For your own sake, Dieppo, stay with me. Diep. No, for 3'our own sake, lady, I must leave you. 1 would rather die than bring such misery upon you. Farewell. Dor. (Grasping Dieppo.) You shall not, — you must not leave me. I cannot go on my lonely way — alone. Oh! Dieppo, have you no pity? Can you leave me never to meet again when J have waited so long for you? I cannot endure it, you must love me or I shall die! (Dieppo turns to break away from Dorus, but she screams and dings to him. Dieppo pushes her from him — and she falls c. Dieppo gives a frightened look and starts to go up c. when Mr. Hamilton, Col. Higby, Herman, and Ltnovt enter from cottage R.3.E.) Mr. H. My daughter — who has done this? Len. Dorus, my darling. (Mr. It. and Lenore. lift Dorus frwn the ground, and try to revive her. Col. H . yi-asps Dieppo and drags him k; Dieppo does not resist.) Col. H. (To Dieppo.) You villain to attack a lady in open day in sight of her own home. Are you drunk 01; cimzv '( What woman's safe with such a brute as you at liberty? (Shah * Dieppo.) What have you got to say for yourself: Did you nu an to rob her? DlEr. I did not attack her, sir, nor molesl her in any way. Col. H. You lie! (Strikes Diej po.) (Goes to Dorns, L.) DlEP. I have borne much for her sake. I wili bear that. Her. You will have to bear more when the ladies have gone. The. law fails to reach such cowards as you. (Dorus revires.) Diep. Mr. Herman Higby,* do not touch me If you value your life. There are reasons why I would not submit to a blow from you. Col. H. Horace, you and Lenore take Dorus into ihe house. Merman and I will see that this fellow gets his deserts. Dor. (Bushing c.) You will not harm him. for he is not to blame. It was I, Dorus Hamilton, who urged him io m< et in- here. I threw my arms about his neck and begged him to love me as I loved him. He repulsed me and said h would be dis- honorable for him to love me. I clung to him— he pushed me from him, and I fell; you know the rest. Len. Misguided girl, your conduct was unrnaid* nh and wicked. Dor. I know it. He told me so. Her. And you could refuse my love for such as he? Dor. I did not make my heart, Herman. God made it. Mr. H. My poor child, this is more terrible than your death would have been. How did this strange, this horrible hue ever come to you? Col. H. Horace, the girl is mad; why do you stand here and T II E L E T T E R H . 47 listen to her ravings? Take herinto the house and call a doctor. Send for Burslem. lie is at the hotel. Ll;n. Come, Dorus, you need quiet and rest. Dan. I will not leave him here with those men — they will kill him. Lex. Come with me— you must, child. It is our duty to take you by force ii* you resist. Diik. I will not go. They shall not kill my Dieppo. Mb. II. Henry, what can we do? Col. H. {Crossing to Dorus — taking her arm.) Horace, take her arm. She must go into the house. (Doras resists, struggles, screams. ) DiF.r. Gentlemen, do not injure the lady. She will go in if you will h t me speak to her. Col. H. What do you mean, you vagabond? DlEP. True, I am a vagabond, and you are a gentleman; yovt are all gentlemen (Looking at Mr. H. and Herman.) but my voice will have more power with that poor young lady there than your strong arms. If you do not believe me, it will do no harm to let me try. Col. II. There is some witchcraft here. Speak to her, then, but remember every word you say will be used against you in a court of law. Diep. (Crossing to Dorus.) Lady! Dorus! Dor. My Dieppo. You are safe, then. (Embraces hirn.) Diep. Dorus, you must go in the house with your friends. Dor. Why do you bid me to leave you? Diep. Because I love you, Dorus. (Col. H. and Herman rush forward.) Dor. Thank God! (Throws herself into Dieppo' s arms.) Mr. H. My poor child! Lex. There is a curse upon her. Diep. Now, Dorus, go in with your father. I will see you again. Dor. You said you loved me and I will not leave you. They will lock me up, Dieppo, — they will kill you and I shall never see you again. (To the others.) Do you think when it has taken me a life time to win him that I will lose him as soon as he is won? Go, all of you and leave me alone with him, with Dieppo, my husband! (Proudly.) Her. This is too much. Mr. Hamilton, I love your daughter better than life — and while I live she shall never marry such as he. (Advances toward Dieppo.) Diep. Stand back, Herman Higby. Ask your father why I do not wish to quarrel with you. Dor. Go, leave us alone, I say. I am safe. Dieppo would not harm me. He loves me. He said so. I can defend myself. See, here is my mother's dagger. (Draws it from bosom.) I can kill Dieppo with it, or, if you try to drag me from him — I can and 48 THE LETTER H. will kill myself! (Tableau. Mr. H. Lenore, Col. H.and Ha man retreat up stage, and exit into cottage R.3.E.) Dor. Dieppo, you can never know how happy I was to hear you say, so bravely, so proudly, before them all— that you loved me. Do you fear that you will ever be sorry that you said it? Diep. Only for your sake, lady. You can never be happy with me. Dob. Stop, Dieppo, you shall not think and talk so meanly of yourself. I could be happy with no one else. Kiss me, Dieppo. (Dieppo draws back.) You will not? I : m sorry. (Dieppo kisses her.) Now, you must not call me '-lady "any more. Call me Dorus, will you? 1 iep. Yes, lady— (Dorus shakes her head.) Dorus, yes, Dorus. Doit. That's better. Now. you must never forget what my name is. (Lookinj at Dieppo.) But while my heart is full of happiness, you are sad. I see no joy in your face and there is none in your heart, I fear. Diep. If I were only worthy of you — this must be a dream of happiness from which we shall 1 oili soon wake. Dor. It was a dream — 1 ieppo — a dream of a liie— but now it is a reality — and a life of happiness is be- ore us. Diep. I am poor an 1 ignorant and coarsi Don. I deny it. Even if you are, J i m rich. Money will buy everything but a loving heart, and that, poverty or ignorance could not harm. You give me that — which money could not buy and I will give you all that wealth <•; n purchase. 1 have only one fear. Diep. What is that, Dorus? That even then, I— Dor. No — hut I may be jealous of my hero — Diep. Dorus, we have ho h forgotten our duly you to your father, I to my mother. Remember what she is — a woman with two passions — her love for me — her hatred of him who betrayed her. Remember what I am — a homeless, nameless outcast. Don. You are my Dieppo. Liep. Dorus, a heart of steel could not resist such trusting love as yours — but I have sworn before Ileawn and my mot In r that I would never falter in the search, never forsake her until my father, if living, made her his lawful wife and me his law- ful son. Dor. Dieppo, you must keep your promise to your mothe: — and I will aid you — my money is yours. We will tin. I him. I never saw my mother. She died when I was a little chili — but I have her picture and many things that I love because she loved them. See this knife, 1 ieppo. (Takes knife /rem bosim.) This was mother's. Aunty Lenore says it is a family heirloom. Seethe angel's head carved upon the handle— Dieppo, this is my talisman against evil. Diep. (Looking at the knife.) It is very beautiful. Is h shaip? THE LETTER H. 49 Don. As a dagger. 1 will show you. Oh, yes, Dieppo, I tell you what I will do — cut off one of your curls — then I shall have two talismans — and then surely I shall never do anything wrong us long as I live. May I, Dieppo? Diep. Yes, Dorus. (Dorus, knife in hand, brushes the hair from Dieppe's forehead. She sees the letter H upon his forehead. Her look changes from one of passionate love to that of bitter hatred. Her eyes glare wildly — her fingers clutch the knife. She plunges the knife several times into Dieppo'' s breast — he falls to the ground. Dorus gives him an agonized look, drops the knife, gives a piercing scream , staggers and falls. Enter hastily from house R.3.K. Col. H., Lenore, Mr. Hamilton, Herman, and from up stage l.tj.e. Luke and Saida. Col. H. rushes v. and lifts Dorus from the ground.) Col. H. Blind folly to leave them thus together. He has killed her. (Lenore, Herman and Mr. H. support Dorus; Col. H. sees knife, picks it up- — and stands over Dieppo.) His infernal work is done at last. {Bending over him.) He is dead. (Enter C irmettt i L .I.E. She kneels beside Dieppo and lifts his head.) Car. My poor, poor boy. Thayhave killed you. (To Col. H.) II is Mood is on your ban Is, Horace Hamilton, or Henry Higby as you call yourself now. He stood in your way — the girl loved him — and you murdered your own son. Do not deny it. Look upon tbis brand — the letter "-H" — I have never forgotten— you never shall! Don. The letter H? Yes. I saw it— on his white forehead be- neath his curly hair — poor Dieppo — they shall not take you from me — l hey will kill you. (Falls back.) Car. I am avenged. (To Col. H.) The poor girl will be true to Dieppo — she will love me for I am his mother — but she will never call him husband, (Points to Herman.) she will never call you father! (Carmetita bends over body of Dieppo. Ceil. II . averts his face from Herman who looks at him inquiringly. Luke and Saidxt stand astonished. Dorus is supported by Lenore and her father.) — TABLEAU.— CURTAIN. SECOND TABLKAU. [Luke and Saida on steps of house leading in Mr. Hamilton. Lenore and Herm in stand R.C. looking at Dorus, who with her arms thrown around CarmeUta's neck looks defiantly back at Col. H. Dr. Burslem enters and stands near Col. H. hat in hand.] SECOND CURTAIN. END OF A CT II. 50 THELETTERH ACT III. Scene.— Interior of Col Higby's Cottage at Lake George. A richly furnished apartment. Six weeks later. (Mr. H. discovered in easy chair.) Mr, H. How much has been written of the horrors of war — how little of the horrors of the sick chamber. For three weeks Dieppo's life hung by a thread, and for five weeks my daugh- ter's hold upon life was as frail as his. (Rises.) Thank Heaven, she has escaped the life long misery of being an unintentional murderer — for both their lives are mercifully spared. But I would rather have fought a battle in the field than this long contest with my own heart in the solitude of what we all thought would be the chaml er of death. (Enter Lenore C.) Ah, Lenore, what news? Len. The best. Dr. Burslem has just come from I ieppo's room and says he is doing splendidly. Dieppo made the doctor promise that he could leave here to-day. Mr. II. Leave here to-day? He must not go until that mys- tery which has baffled us for six weeks is in some way ex- plained. Len. Six weeks, Horace? Since that day, eighteen years ago when my sister died in my arms and I took her motherless child to my heart, a mystery, a curse, call it what you will has hung over her and us. Mr. II. You are right, Lenore, and I lack words to express my gratitude for the devotion you have shown to Dorus. Can I ever repay you? No mother could have been kinder — you could not have been if Dorus had been your own. Len. She was my own. I never told you how I came North, but I will now. A friend said he would get me a government pass — but I must not feel offended at the way it was worded. Mr. II. Did he call you a nurse? Len. (Laughing.) No, the pass read— "The wife and infant child of Gen. Horace Hamilton, U.S.A.'' — so you see the gov- ernment acknowledged my claim to Dorus. Mr. II. (Laughs.) More than that, Lenore, it gave you a claim to me also. (Seriously.) Lenore, I have something to tell you. Ever since Dorus and yourself returned from Europe my previously placid life has been one of unrest. Len. I am sorry we have troubled you so much. Mr. II. Not that — but you will remember you told me that day that you were going back to Louisiana to live— that has caused my unrest— lor, Lenore, believe me it is not the thought THE LETTER H. 51 of the moment; I cannot — we cannot, lose you — we cannot, I cannot, live without you. Still be a mother to Dorus, be my wife, L en ore. Len. Horace, you have had a sad life — a bitter sorrow came upon an innocent man — I know you were innocent — you bore up bravely, truly, nobly — Mr. H. And you will be mine, Lenore? Len. There is no place in the world where my heart will ever be, except with Dorus — and — and you, Horace. (Mr. H. takes Lenore* s-hond and draws her towards him. At the instant enter Dr. Burskm C. Lenore rushes L. Mr. H. R.c.) Dr. B. Of course you want to know how my patients are getting along — finely — finely. Dieppe is anxious to leave here and I have said he can go. Your .daughter is weak bodily, but mentally I could ask nothing more favorable. The cloud of delirium has passed. She recalls but little of the past and noth- ing of ihat dreadful clay. But she has not forgotten him,. She a ked just now if Dieppo had gone away — and said she wished to bid him good-bye. Mr. H. She must not see him again. Dr. B. She certainly must see him again if we wish to learn the whole truth about her hallucination — and I'm going to have a good square talk with Dieppe's mother if I can find her. This is the strangest case I ever had, but I'm making every s;e p sure, and I know I'm on the right track. Mr. II. Speak plainly, Burslem— this lady is to be my wife. I)i;. 13. General, I'm glad to hear it — for both your sakes — and for the sake of that dear girl up stairs. Under the circum- stances then nothing that I shall say will hurt your feelings. Well, General, to speak plainly, your wife was made insane by an unjust susj icion of you; she hated that child and would have killed it if it had been in her power to do so. Your daughter was born, but your wife died in a delirium, cursing that child, unconscious of her own, but yet believing you untrue to her. It was sad— nothing could be worse — unless it be the fact that your daughter since her birth has been the victim of an inher- ited mania. Len. But Dorus apparently loved the man that, as a child, my sister hated so bitterly. Dr. B. That is the phenomenal part of the case, and yet that was not so strange as the sudden change in your daughter when she saw the mark of the branding iron — that letter "H" which your poor wife thought conclusive proof of your guilt, General. Mr. H. How do you explain that change, doctor? Dr. B. I can't, and I'm honest enough not to invent an ex- planation. I only see the fact, and acknowledge it. To a pro- fessional man, there is a charm in treating a case of insanity. In measles or scarlet fever we know what to expect. In cases 52 THE LETTER H. of mania we don't, we only wait and watch. Len. Yes, men are apt to do that — and, physicians are but men. Dr. B. There are some lady physicians. Len. Yes, doctor, and in making a diagnosis a woman's intuition will help her — as it always has in love, and — Dr. B. Would in politics, perhaps, you were going to say. Now, if you were a physician I suppose your intuition would enable you to give the reason why Dorus tried to kill (he man she loved. Len. I would hazard an explanation even now. I think Dorus has been under a ban, or spell, or curse, whatever you may call it, from her birth— invisibly led towards that child, and yet not knowing why. Poor child, how she must have suf- fered. Dr. B. Allowed — but the explanation ? Len. It may be that unseen influence was an evil one and meant to have Eorus kill Diepjo — Lul you u number it was not until the daughter gazed upon the letter "H" as her motln r did eighteen years ago thit the s\>ell came over her — then, Dorus with the same dagger that her mother used to stal the pillow — thinking it was that child — then, I say, I orus stabbed Dieppo, — for the instant, she was not Dorus the daughter, but Dorus the mother! Dr. B. Very ingenious. I never heard about the pillow be- fore. Perhaps you are right. lam a firm believer in psycho- logical influences; perhaps, who knows, but such influences might extend over eighteen years, or a life time even. Thank you, Miss Clifton. I am a "regular" physician, but I must confess, disease — especially Insanity — is very irregular. (Eider Luke c.) Luke. S-s-s-s-aida t-t-t-old me to t-t-1-ell you that M-m-m-iss Dorus is d-d-d-d-ead. (Mr. H. and Lenore start back astonished.) Dr. B. What do you mean, you rascal? Dead? Nonsense! Luke. M-m-m-iss D-d-d-d-orus is d-d-d-dead— Dr. B. No she isn't either. She's more alive than you are. Luke. M-m-m-iss Dorus is d-d-d ead set to c-c-c-ome d-d-own stairs — Saida s-s-s-s-aid s-o-o-o! Len. Luke, tell Saida I will come at once. {Luke exits c.) Dr. Burslem if you wish to find the Mexican woman, find Col. Higby first. Intuition, doctor. Eh? (Lenore exits c.) Dr. B. General, women like tigers never follow a false trail; Herman is at the hotel. Perhaps he can tell us where his father is. Mr. II. Do you suspect Higby? Dr. B. I am confident that Henry Higby is Dieppo' s father — and he should be the husband of Carmelita. Mr. H. How long have you thought so? Dr. B. About eighteen years. T HE L E T T E II TT . 53 Mr. II. And have I been Mind all that time? Dr. 15. You looked at Higby through your heart and not through your eyes. Mi!. II. What you say may be true — but I have no right to believe it, yet. We will bud him. We will treat him honorably. Dk. B. (Aside.) Rogues and lawyers always have a good man at a disadvantage. Mr. II. What did you say, Burslem? Dr. B. I said we would find him and ask Lim a few pointed questions — (Aside.) and I'll make a few pointed remarks. Mr. H. Come, doctor. (Mr.H.and Dr. B'.tvcitii.) (Enter Le- no-re and S tida suppt rting D rus — 'he;/ lead her towards chair.) Ton. Let me stand up a moment. {They allow her to stand alone.) I will show you bow strong I am. (Takes a step, totters, hut is caught by Saida and Lenore who place her in chair.) I am not very strong, am IV Like a little child. I shall have to learn to walk again. Lkn. (io Saida. (Said < exits R.) Do you feel better, Dorus? Dor. All but my heart , Aunty. That is almost broken— no one can understan I me. (Sobs.) Lex. Dorus, confido in me. Your father has asked me — (Dorus looks at her inquiringly.) lam to be your mother, Lorus. ( With a glad cry Dorus throws her arms around Lenore's neek and kisses her. Then drops her head upon Lenore's shoulder.) (Enter Saida u.) Sai. If you please Ma-am. (Extends card.) Len. (Looking up.) Who is it . J Sai. A young man — Dor. DieppoV (Saida passes card to Lenore.) Lkn. Herman Higby, — and written in pencil — "farewell." Dor. Farewell? Why? Where is be going? Oh, I remember, to college — and be is coming back in a year for my answer. I siid he could hope. He loves me. Yes, I will see Herman. (Saida exits R.) Lex. My poor girl, I pity you. If Herman loves you, open your heart to him, Dorus — perhaps he will understand you. (Lenore kisses Dorus and exits v.) (Enter Herman R. He stands R.c. and looks at Dorus who smiles.) Dor. I am glad to see you Herman. I have been ill a long time. Her. It seems an age since I saw you, Dorus. Dor. (Affecting her old gayety.) An enters C. Herman, without looking at Dieppo, exits r.) Diep. (After a pause.) Lady. Dor. (Turning quickly.) Dieppo? How glad I am to see you. (Bises. totters, — Dieppo rushes forward — Dorus takes his hand, then falls upon her knees before him.) Forgive me, Dieppo, c; n you forgive me?' You were right. My love was a dream. Diep. It was, lady— it is not now. I saw him kiss you. I saw you look into his face, and he in yours. Such love is not a dream — it is real. DOR. When I think of the pain and misery I have caused you, Dieppo, I am willing to put my cup of joy aside— in reparation. THE LETTER H . 55 7 >i i:p. Rise, lady. Why should you kneel to me — or make reparation? You have not willingly injured me. Don. Before Heaven, no! I was mad, and knew not what 1 did— what have I done? (Thinks.) I told Herman I loved him and always had — that I would be his wife. That cannot be — I had forgotten my word to you. (Dieppo lifts Iter to her feet.) Diet. Lady. I always knew that you loved him. Dok. What, even when you said that you loved me? Uiep. Yes, even when I said that. I admired, respected, even revered you — lady, but I never loved you as a husband should love a wife. Don. (Hesitatingly.) I do not understand you, Dieppo. Diep. I said I loved you, thinking you would then listen to me and go into the cottage with your friends. Don. Would that I had. Diep. Xo, lady, it is better as it is. Your eyes are opened — so are mine. Farewell, lady, — Dorus — I am going home to Mexico, — and my mother will go with me. D >R. Xo, no, you must not go — until you tin 1 your father. Dikj . My father? (With a cynical laughj (Enter C<1. II. r. folloued by Mr. H. Dr. B. and Herman; Denote aid Saida en.e ' Con. IT. My sen, my son — Dieppo — (Extends Ids arms to Dieppo, who recoils. Tableau.) Will you not give your hand to your repentant father V Diep. Not until I know that you have given back to my mother — her good name. Col. H. She will soon be here. I deceived Carmelita — but , as Heaven hears me, not willingly. I m 'ant to marry her on my return to Mexico. I was but twenty. I told my father and he refused to let me go back. Instead, he took me to Europe — and insisted upon my marrying Tda Delmaine in Paris, — your mother, Herman. Mr. H. But you took my name. Your wife was dead and yet you tied from Carmelita. Col. H. Horace, my pride was the cause of all — and my love for Herman. I lied at first to you, Horace, and then the down- ward track was easy. I am almost overwhelmed with my mis- ery, when I think what my folly has cost you. Xow the whole terrible story comes back to me — your wife overheard us, Horace— she thought you false. She cursed the woman and the child. Len. And the curse fell upon both daughter— and son. Col. H. It is all plain — the infatuation — the terrible revul- sion — my God! — will our hearts ever outgrow the wounds my wickedness has made? (Col. H. overcome. Herman supports his father.) Dr. B. (Aside.) My theory was correct. I will write a full account for the Medical Review. 56 T H E L E T T E II II . Col. II. I have made what reparation I can. I have made Carmelita Lucello my wife. (Dieppo astonished. Enter Luke C.) Luke. M-rn-m-issis H-h-h-h-h-enry — (Enter Carmelita.) Car. My son — (Embraces Dieppe.) I told yon I would find your father. (Dieppo looks at Col. II. for an instant, then at his mother — then rushes into Col. II.' s arms. Tableau.) Col. II. My fortune I will divide — half to Dieppo — half to Herman. Don. No, give Dieppo all. I am rich, and Herman will not need it. (Col. II. smiles, looks at Mr. H. knowingly, who looks bark smiling.) Her. Yes, father, give Dieppo all. (To Dieppo.) I have long owed you a debt of gratitude — you saved my life. Until to-day, I thought that Dorus loved you — I came to say farewell to her forever. Diep. And I have said it. I am going back to Mexico. Her. No, Dieppo — you will stay with us— we are brothers. (The;/ clasp hands.) D()R. (Coming between thou, and taking a hand of each in h