X^^^. ^^i^' 'V' fl-^ ■j'rr. '^r '■*^'\' oP <^ ' "ci- ,0 '' ' , \ ° v \ , "-^ .V ^ ^-f 0^ .5 -;.. ■ .^^ \.^ <. •'0. .-^ A'^ .# <"_ .*^\ ^c'' ^^^ v^ '<^ 'W-^' A -1 o^ ./ ,0-^ % ?y^ ^°^. "> /^ ^ ♦ 9 I \ * \ •J' ^^A v^ •^^ " ■^ n ■ "> v -<;> '\ f^. v^ ,#^ o £^ APR 30 1898 . THE MEDICINE MAN BY H. D. TRAILL AND ROBERT HICHENS THE MEDICINE MAN H. D. TRAILL AND ROBERT HICHENS -',vncnp!FSRECE!VED» G035 Copyright i8g8, in the United States of America, According to Act of Congress. By Henry Irving. [A a rights reserved. ] THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK, U. 8. A. PERSONS IN THE PLAY. Lord Belhurst Colonel Anson Canon Slade-Smith Algernon Warrington Dr. Tregenna Dr. Rainham Sir Clement Hope Captain Stopton Mr. Grayston Bill Burge Sam Cheeseman Joe Green Charley Tagg Carrots Tommy Long Lady Agatha Warrington Mrs. Culling Hon. Miss Drake Lady Mary Mayne Dora Bell Mrs. Burge Hon. Sylvia Wynford ACT I. Scene, — TJie Lecture Hall and Reading Room of " University House " : a settlement for the poor of East London. Time, p p. m. ; a wild night in March ; a snow storm raging without. A t intervals during the scene men enter the hall through door c, which they shut with difficulty after them, kicking the snow from their heavy boots. The lecture platform to R. of stage consists of a low dais but one step above the floor, and is furnished with the usual reading-desk, lamp, and water-carafe with glass. At L. end of the room, facing the platform, a large open fireplace with fire burning. A n East-end audAence of the usual type seated on benches at back of room and at round tables on which are newspapers and empty coffee-cups. A clear space in C. of stage so that door c. is in uninterrupted view. On wall to the R. of it a birdcage containing a canary. Close to the fireplace at back sits BILL BuRGE, a huge ruffi.an, in a drunken stupor, with his elbows on one of the round tables and his head buried in his arms. At the reading-desk. Canon Slade-Smith, On the plat- form at his side, Mr. Algernon and Lady Agatha Warrington, and one or two other fashionable visitors. Canon. \_With unction.'^ And now, my very dear friends, in conclusion of my lecture to-night, one word — one simple, homely, and, I venture to trust, blessed 5 word ! My theme has been ^^The power of the human will for good or evil.'' Let us never forget that the very humblest among us is endowed with this mysterious power, and can exercise it upon others. Let us all beware, then, of using this faculty to the hurt of those around us. \A faint clapping of hands and stamping of heavy boots is heard. A pause of a few seconds, after which Canon Slade-Smith bends towards Mr. Algernon Warrington and whispers in his ear. Mr. W. [Alarmed.'] Oh, come, I say, Canon ! I didn't bargain for that, I assure you ! Ton my honour, never said a word, except at a hunt breakfast, or a comin' of age, or that sort of thing. Lady A. Don't be so absurd, Algernon. You know you can speak beautifully when you like. Mr. W. Oh, well, if I must — h'm ! — ha ! Er — {clears his throat] — Ladies and Gentlemen Canon. [Aside to him, hurriedly i\ One moment, Mr. Warrington ; would you mind addressing them as " My friends " ; it sounds so much more human, don't you think ? Mr. IV. Eh! What? Oh, certainly; with the greatest pleasure. I have been — er — requested, ladies and — I mean, my friends, to say a few words on Canon Slade-Smith's most interesting lecture. I'm sure we have all listened to it with the greatest pleasure and — er — profit. I — er — won't attempt to add anything to what the lecturer has said about the great will-power of the — er — the human will Canon. [Leaning towards him.] For good or evil. Mr. W. I beg your pardon ? Canon. For grood or evil. Mr. IV. Exactly— for good or evil, and how we may all learn to strengthen it by exertin' it continually on — er — on something or other. I'm sure we must all feel that the human will is a very wonderful and powerful thing — er — especially when it is a woman's. [A laugh. Lady A. \_Severely^ Algernon, you are on the verge of becoming vulgar. Mr. W. [Disconcerted.'] But of course our very dear friend the Canon has gone much deeper into these things than I can pretend to have done. I am sure he has given us all a great deal to think about, and I will therefore conclude these few remarks by assurin' you all of the great pleasure it has given Lady Agatha and myself to have been present to-night at this gatherin', with — er — er — its knittin' together of classes and — er — promotin' that common feelin' of friendliness among all classes which — er — we must all feel that we ought to feel towards each other. [Lady Agatha Warrington rises ; the others follow her example. Capt. S. Well done, Warrington ! Had no idea you were so ready. He ought to be in the House, eh. Lady Agatha ? The House needs such men — what ? Lady A. [Coldly. 'j The House already possesses an abundance of such men, I believe. So sorry we are obliged to go, dear Canon Slade-Smith, and miss the discussion of your charming lecture. But such a dreadful night, and one of the horses coughing this morning, I really am afraid to. Good night ! Good night ! I suppose we shall see you at Lord Belhurst's ball? Cation. [Embarrassed.'] Er — h'm — ^^^^ night. [Aside to Lady Agatha WARRINGTON.] I think it better to keep my occasional — my very occasional — gaieties from these humble folk. The painful sense of contrast, you know, dear Lady Agatha. Good night, good night. [^Bowiftg her out. Exeunt party. Canon. And now, my friends, which of you will open the discussion on the subject of my lecture ? \A silence^ Is there anything in what I have said which you would like to have explained to you? [^Continued silence.^ I hope you have all thoroughly grasped my main pro- position, that the will of man is — under Providence [unctuously^ — the paramount power of the world; and that when directed by faith it can, like faith, move mountains. [Silence continues.'] Let me illustrate my meaning by an example. I will take the case of a man well known to most of those who hear me, and I am sure beloved for his untiring labours in your service. [Slight movement ainong the Canon's auditory^ On how many an errand of mercy has Dr. Tregenna visited the courts and alleys of this district ! How many among you — a — a — among us, with faculties besotted and health un- dermined with drink and debauchery, has he rescued either from death itself or from worse than death — from lives haunted by the phantoms which your own — a — a — our own vices and evil habits have raised up ! Yet his treat- ment of mental maladies in that home of his at Hamp- stead, where, as you know, he receives all poor patients free of charge, is itself purely mental. His cures seem like miracles ? Are they not indeed a [A half- suppressed laugh from 07ie of the audience.] What was that expression of opinion ? Did I catch a note of dissent ? [Murmurs in the quarter from which the laugh proceeded. Joe Green. Shut yer 'ed, Sam! Charley Tagg. Let 'im speak, carn't yer ? Carrots. ' E knows more'n you think ! Sam. [A little costermonger, seated at one of the back tables, iiidignantly to the friends %vJio are trying to repress kirn.'] Dr. Tregenna and his merrikles ! Haw ! haw ! [/« a louder voiee.'] Wot are yer givin' us, guv'nor ? Canon. \_Bla7idly.'\ What am I giving you, my friend ? A simple statement of facts. But if you have anything to say against it, step forward Hke an honest, manly fellow, as I am sure you are, and speak out. \_AIass movement at back. Attempts are made to push Sam Cheeseman to the front. Sam. [Angrily.'^ Oo are yer shovin' of? Think I want to get run in for deformin' the bloke's carrickter? [Sam Cheesemais! is thrust forwa7'd into the open space in the middle of the room, and stands there, sheepish but dogged, awaiting questions. Canon. Why, it's Samuel Cheeseman ! Samuel, you surprise me ! You, of all men, to question Dr. Tregenna's powers ! You knew Susan Minch. Come, I have seen you walking out with her on Sundays. Well, didn't Dr. Tregenna cure Susan Minch's fits ? Sam.. \_Sulhily.'] Ah ! he did that. Canon. He did? And yet you Sam. [^Mysteriously.'] Just you wite a bit for Susan Minch. Canon. Wait a bit for Susan Minch ? What on earth do you mean ? Sam. \_Darkly.~\ She ain't a-goin' to make old bones, Susan ain't ; I seen that the fust day after she came back. Caiion. [Scornfully^ Susan Minch ! She is only one of dozens and scores of sufferers from every kind of brain trouble who have passed through the doctor's hands during the last three years and have returned to their friends sane and sound as the best of you. Sam. Wot d'yer say ? For the last three years ? Show us any cove as he cured three years ago. Canon. \After a momenfs refiectioit.'\ Well, Job Nevins, the dock labourer. Dr. Tregenna took him to Hampstead the day after he attempted his life in a fit of melancholy mania, and sent him back in three or four months as right in his head as you are. That must have been fully three years ago, and Job only died the other day. Sam. That's just it, Guv'nor ! Do they, any on 'em, live long arter they come out of that there bloomin' Retreat? And [^still more gloomily'] do they, any on 'em, like to talk about what they went through while they wos there ? I tell yer, it's the same with all of them. A cove 'as a touch of the 'orrors from too much booze, or he gets a fit of the miserables from listening to the Salvation Army, and just then the Doctor turns up on one of his " arrands of mercy," as you call 'em — haw ! haw ! rum sort of arrands on that lay, they are — and he says, " I see wot's the matter with you, my man. You come along o' me an' be cured ! " And somehow — [dropping his voice] — somehow, they 'as to go. Canon. Well, but if they come out sound in their brains Sam. [Contemptuotisly.'] Sound in their brines, says you. Why, they ain't got 'ardly any brines to be sound in. They're like mopin' idjits 'arf their time ; and they just get lower and lower till they go out like a bloomin' lamp when the ile runs dry. Cation. But, good heavens ! what do you suggest happens to them under the Doctor's hands ? What, in the name of common sense, do you think he takes them in for ? Sam. [Retiring sulkily within himself.'] Oh, I d'n' know ! 'Tain't none of my business. I ain't a-goin' to get myself into trouble by Canon. Oh ! if you're too much of a coward, Sam lO Cheeseman, to do more than hint at charges you are afraid to Sam. \_Desperately.'] Who says I'm afraid ? Well then, if you ask me what he 'unts up patients down here for, I says it's to play his doctor's tricks on 'em, to practise his pretty igsperiments on 'em — same as they do on us poor blokes at the 'orspitals. Canoji. \Indignantly^ The same as they do at the hospitals ! Oh, so that's it, is it ? Come, my friends ! you hear what this man's vile suspicions are, and I am sure you will join with me in declaring them with one indignant voice as groundless as they are wicked. \A sombre silence.^ What! not one of you with the grace to say that you believe in your unwearied benefactor ? Mrs. B. \A thin, wiry working woman, with a shrewd, humorous face and a well-marked black eye, stands up at one of the front tables. '\ Yes, Mr. Canon, I does. And I only wish I could send the doctor one patient as I knows on. Canon. And who is that ? Mrs. B. My 'usband. Bill Burge. \_A volley of hoarse guffaws. Joe Green. Oh, lor' ! Bill Burge ! Carrots. Haw ! haw ! that's a good 'un ! Tommy Long. Blimy ! why, if the doctor can cure 'im ! Canon. {Mildly^ Who is this Bill Burge ? I don't seem to recollect his name as a regular attendant at our lectures. \More giffaws. Sam. No, Guv'nor, I should rather think you don't. Lectures, says you. What do yer say, pals ? Do you think Bill Burge is takin' any ? \_Another roar. Mrs. B. {^Excitedly.'] Yes, you may laugh, fellers. It ain't no laughin' matter for me. Look at him a layin' there stoopid drunk. \_Points to BILL BURGE.] II And lucky for me he is, or he'd soon be makin' this — [touching her black eye'\ — into a lovely pair. Tommy Long. \Jn a high piping tone and quick, brisk utterance.'] 'Ow'd you get 'im here, missus ? Carrots. I seen him at the " Bag o' Nails " a 'our ago well on. Airs. B. He thought I was a-takin' him to the " Bargeman's Rest," where he ain't got so big a score. [Another laugh.'] But, oh, Mr. Canon — [excitedly'] — I I wish you and the Doctor could do suthin to 'elp a pore woman. I got to take 'im 'ome again as best I can, after this, and he'll begin bashin' me as soon as ever he wakes to-morrow morning. Bill. [ Who has raised his head during the last speech^ and has been showing sights of returning consciousness.] Wot do yer say ? [Rising to his feet and speaking in a fiercer tone.] To-morrow morning ? It'll be before that, yer sneakin' cat. [Shaking his fist at her.] Ah, I 'eard yer — tellin' tales again. Mrs. B. [Frightened.] Gam ! I warn't tellin' no tales. Bill. [With increasing fury.] It's a lie, you she-devil. I 'eard yer, I tell yer ; and if I don't stop yer blarsted mouth for good and all this time I'm [Catches up poker. Carrots. Easy, Bill. Keep your shirt in ! Tommy Long. 'Ands off the missus ! [A few of the men crowd timidly roujtd him, endeavouring to soothe him. He dashes through them with an oath and makes for Mrs. BuRGE, upsetting tables in his way. Sam. [In a wheedling voice.] Now, I say, lookee 'ere. Bill Bill. Out o' the w'y, you 'aporth of rotten carrots. [Trips up Sam Cheeseman and flings him heavily to the ground, 12 Canon. \Feehly interposing^ Come, come, my good man, this violence won't do here. You must control your [Bill Burge pushes him aside and rushes towards door c, on the R. of which his wife stands cowering. The crowd parts asunder, huddling together to get out of his way. Just as he is about to pass in front of the door it is suddenly thrown open, and a tall figure, wrapped in a fur coat, is seen standing, framed in the doorway against a background of darkness and driving snow. It is Dr. Tregenna. He stands for a moment on the threshold, his eyes fixed intently on Bill Burge, who remains as if petrified, with the poker raised above his head. Tregenna. \_Coolly^ Good evening, Canon. Canon. \Agitated^ My dear Tregenna, you come at the most fortunate moment. Tregenna. So it seems. A patient of mine, to all ap- pearance, and in a highly critical stage of his complaint too. [//S.'] You shall see Miss Wynford. Col. A. I hold you to that ! Tregenna. If — in half-an-hour — she desires to leave this house with you, she shall leave it. Even with her 58 father's consent, I won't keep her against her will. And now Enter Servant. [Dr. liKE.GEi^'iiA.turns hastily, and with a gesture stops him front speaking. [7r. Tregenna.] I 'ear. Tregenna. Now you can go ! \Sudden pause^ Go into the conservatory — pick me some roses — wait outside, and when I strike this bell, like this — \strikes bell'\ — bring them in to me here ! Go ? [Points to French window. Burge. [Going, stops by SYLVIA. To Dr. TREGENNA.] Is — is she a-stoppin' on — is she — a-stoppin' long a' you — like I am ? Tregenna. Go and pick the roses. [Exit Bill Burge, turning again at window to gaze at Sylvia, then from her to Dr. Tregenna. Sylvia. [Coming nearer to Dr. TREGENNA.] That poor man is like some wild beast. Tregenna. [Smiling^ He was a wild beast — the terror of his neighbourhood — a wife-beater, almost a murderer ! Sylvia. Ah ; no ! 9 63 Tregenna. But I shall make of him what I will, and you — you will stay and watch the process ? Enter Colonel Anson. Sylvia. [Astonished.'] Maurice ! Tregenna. Come, Colonel Anson, here is Miss Wyn- ford. Say whatever you wish to her. [Dr. Tregenna moves to writing-table, sits in chair, takes up pen and begins quietly to write. Col. A. {Approaching Sylvia.] Sylvia ! Sylvia. You here ! Why have you come ? Col. A. To take you away. Sylvia. Away ? [SYLVIA looks at Dr. TREGENNA. Col. A. Yes, to your home — to your father ! Sylvia. It was my father who brought me here. Col. A. Why ? You are not ill. Sylvia. Am I not ? I don't know. Col. A. \Asto7iishcd.'\ Sylvia! Sylvia. I must know that — and many things ! [Sylvia gazing at Dr. Tregenna, who con- tinues writing. Col. A. [More determined.'] Sylvia, you are not your- self to-day. Come home with me. You shall not stay here. Your father is hoodwinked — he is blind. He placed you here — I know that. But you must not obey him Sylvia. [Quietly.'] It is not only my father whom I obey. Col. A. Whom, then, is it ? Sylvia. It is he — Dr. Tregenna. Col. A. Dr. Tregenna ! Tregenna. [Looking up from his writing^ Did you speak. Colonel Anson ? 64 Col. A. \_Looking into his eyes.'\ I recognize your power now — fully. Trege7ina. Indeed — what then ? Col. A. \poggedly\ I say you shall use it for good — instead of for evil. Sylvia. [Interposijig.'] Dr. Tregenna is all goodness. Col. A. \_Engrossed with Dr. Tregenna, ignoring Sylvia.] You shall use it for good — you shall tell her to leave you ! Tregenna. [^Smiling.'] Tell a patient to go — uncured ? \_Shakes his head.'\ My medical pride forbids. Sylvia. \^To Dr. Tregenna.] And if you did tell me to go now — I Col. A. What then, Sylvia? Sylvia. I would not go. Col. A. [As if chilled to awe.'\ You would not — even then? Sylvia. Even then. [Dr. Tregenna — gesture of grave satisfaction. Colonel Anson stands for a moment looking from Sylvia to Dr. Tregenna with a des- pairing and puzzled expression, as if striving to comprehend an im.penetrable mystery. Col. A. \To Sylvia, in an almost faltering voice ^ You — you will ? Sylvia. [Firmly. "] I will stay here. [Colonel Anson turns from Sylvia and ap- proaches Dr. Tregenna. The two men stand for an instant looking into each other's eyes. Col. A. [To Dr. Tregenna.] You have won. [Dr. Tregenna bows.'] For the moment. [Dr. TREGENNA smiles. In low stern voice.] But though you may conquer the will of a woman, remember that in me you have a man to deal with. 65 Tregenna. [Sarcastically indicating Sylvia.] Whom a woman rules. Col. A. But who will never be ruled by a man. Tregenna. [Still sarcastically.'] Not even through a woman ? Col. A. Not even through a woman. [Exit Colonel Anson. Sylvia. [Approaches Dr. Tregenna's writing-table in silence and stands by it\ Dr. Tregenna! Tregenna. Miss Wynford ! Sylvia. Make me as you are ! If I am ill, cure me, save me, give me courage, give me life ! I will obey you in all things. Only tell me what to do. Tregenna. [Rising with a sudden smile ^ And you promise to obey in all things ? Sylvia. Yes. [Dr. Tkeg^^'NK strikes his hand on bell. Enter Bill Burge from the garden, carrying some roses. Dr. Tregenna takes the roses from him and gives them to Sylvia. Sylvia sits and begins to strew the rose-petals. BiLL Burge watching her intently. Dr.TREGENNA watching also in sile^ice for a moment. Tregenna. That is pretty work for women — pretty work — pretty work. [To Bill Burge.] Don't you think so, Burge ? You seem fascinated — eh ? [Dr. Tregenna stretches out his hand as if to lay it on Bill Burge's shoulder. Bill Burge cowers down as if in abject fear, like an animal beneath the whip. Dr. TREGENNA half withdraws his hand, glances from BiLL Burge to Sylvia and breaks into a slow laugh. Curtain. ^6 ACT IV. (Six weeks have elapsed since the events of the jrd Act.) Scene. — The garden of " The Retreat T Time, night. Trees, with tiny lights dotted about in their branches, An illuminated fountain playing ; beds of flowers outlined in light. \As the curtain rises, a hidden orchestra of gui- tars and mandolines plays an Italian melody and a hidden singer warbles a brief serenade. In front of the stage BILL BURGE crouches un- der a tree, listening to the serenade with a brutalized wonder. At back of stage, quite in distance, afewofT>v. Tregenna's guests appear ajid disappear slowly among the trees. As the serenade dies away, BILL BURGE slinks off to a bench near the fountain, but rather se- cluded, and sits down, remaining in an at- tetttive attitude, as if lookifig afid waiting for someone. Enter Mrs. CULLiNG and Canon Slade-Smith. Mrs. C. Your magician is determined to bring us all under his spell to-night, Canon. Really, the rumours that have been flying about London seem quite ridicu- lous in this enchanted garden. Canoti. Rumours, dear Mrs Culling ! I have heard no rumours. Mrs. C. And yet, since you are the Doctor's most firm adherent, they should have reached you first. 67 Canon. From your tone I sadly gather that they are slanders. Mrs. C. Possibly. Canon. \Severely^ I grieve to hear it. I had thought, I confess, that only the ignorance — the besotted ignor- ance — of the East End could mistake the beauty of my dear friend Tregenna's character. I thought that the civilization of the West End Mrs. C. \_Qtnckly.'] Oh, then the East Enders don't appreciate Dr. Tregenna's charitable ministrations ? Canon. \_Confoised.'] I did not say so. I certainly never Airs. C. You implied it, Canon. Then your poor don't worship the great man ? Canon. Their fatuous ignorance tends to make them suspicious of everybody. Mrs. C. I don't agree with you. I think what is called their ignorance often makes them remarkably sharp. Poor people always know who are their true friends. Canon. Indeed ! Yet I have seen them try to avoid me! Mrs. C. That certainly does show a certain mental confusion. Canon. I hope so, I am sure. But these rumours to which you allude ? Mrs. C Well, you know, people Canon. People ! Mrs. C. Mayfair folk, Piccadilly trottoir youths, even Berkeley Square fogies — and fogies are fogies in Berke- ley Square — are beginning to murmur, just to murmur, that your doctor is Canon. What, in gracious name ? Mrs. C Oh, Canon, what heterodox language ! Well, a little too purely scientific. You know. Dr. Tregenna is said to be very fond of making experiments. Canon. All great pioneers of medicine are, I conceive. Mrs. C. Yes ; but experiments made on other people's brains may be dangerous to the — er — other people ! Canon. The lack of common charity in London is simply scandalous. Why, they will be saying next that Dr. Tregenna has given this beautiful entertainment in order to Mrs. C. That's exactly what they are saying ! Enter Mr. WARRINGTON. Mrs. C. Ah, Mr. Warrington, you come in a good hour ! The dear Canon and I are quarrelling. Canon. Indeed — indeed ! Mrs. C. Or, rather, I am being properly rebuked for my gossiping propensities. Mr. W. Gossip is very pleasin' to me. I married Lady Agatha for her gossipin'. She's been gossipin' steadily to me for fifteen years, and is goin' strong at this moment. Mrs. C. And yet men call women weak ? Canon. Harmless and amusing gossip I should not condemn. Mrs. C. But unfortunately. Canon, harmless gossip never is amusing. Mr. W. \Emphatically ^ Nevah ! Nevah ! Lady Agatha knows that, thank heaven ! Mrs. C. And accordingly flavours her perennial sauce piquante with perpetual vinegar. Well, shall we go towards the house ? I haven't seen Sylvia Wynford yet. Is she better ? Canon. How can it be otherwise after six weeks of seclusion ? Mrs. C. With your marvellous doctor ? We shall see. 69 Canon. We shall indeed. And then I trust you will do my dear friend Tregenna the justice Mrs. C. Of considering him an angel of mercy ? I'll try, Canon, and you know a woman can do anything if she tries — she can even believe in a man. [Mrs. Culling, Canon Slade-Smith, and Mr. Warrington exeunt talking. The sound of hidden music is again heard softly. Enter Sylvia, zvalks very slowly down stage and pauses near foicntain. She seems to be listen- ing to the music. Presently she puts handker- chief to her eyes. Bill Burge, who has been intently watching her every movement, rises and softly draws near to her, pausing before he reaches her. Burge. 'St! 'st! \^X\.'^\K starts. Louder.'] H'st ! h'st! Sylvia. \_Seeing him.] Why, Burge ! What is it ? What do you want ? Burge. \_Approac hing furtively .~\ Where's 'im ? Sylvia. Him ! Whom do you mean ? Burge. Doctor ; 'e ain't along a yer ? Sylvia. No. \_Sinking down on bench.] Oh, how sad music sounds at night! How sad! [Bill Burge stand- ing by and watching her like a faithful dog.] Do you feel it too ? It is like a voice lamenting. All music is like lamentation to me now. And yet once Burge. What do yer s'y, miss ? Sylvia. \_As if following out her own thoughts^ Once I loved it for its gaiety. That was before I knew him — before I understood. Burge. [Almost with a snarl.] 'Im! Ah! Sylvia. Him who has opened my eyes; who has taught me the meaning of life ; who has shown me the depths that in my folly I never suspected — never dreamed of [Bill Burge touches Sylvia on shoulder. As if waking 70 from a melancholy reverie. ] You want to say something to me ? [Bill Burge nods?[ What is it ? Poor fellow, you too should know the terrors of life. \_Regarding him.'\ That pale and hunted look in your face ! Burge. 'Unted — that's me ! 'e's arter me — 'e's always arter me ! \_Miisic a little lojider, approaching climax. Sylvia. [Gently.'] What do you say, Burge? Burge. \_Gazing furtively on all sides.] 'E took me for the purpose, 'e did ! 'E took me for the purpose ! Sylvia. Took you ! Do you mean the Doctor ? He brought you here to make you different from what you once were. Burge. 'E did so. Sylvia. Yes, that some day you may thank him. Burge. \_Excited.'] Eh ? Sylvia. Thank him for all he has done for you. \_M?isic ceases. Burge. I'll thank 'im ! Yuss ! I'll thank 'im — one d'y. Sylvia. That's right. You and I both owe much to Dr. Tregenna. Burge. F(?z/!, miss ! 'E's arter _;/(?« .' Sylvia. I too. Before I met him I was so different, Bill, so different ! You in your home in the East End, I in mine in the West. We were not as we are now. Can you — can you understand what influence means ? [Burge shakes his head as if puzzled.] If I asked you to do anything for me would you not do it ? Burge. Yuss! {With sinister meaning^ I'll do it. I'll do it for you, miss, for you ! Sylvia. \_With exaltation.] As I would do anything for him, Burge. 'Im ! Anything wot 'e told yer ! Sylvia. Yes. Ah ! Influence — the spell of one soul upon another — that is the most wonderful thing in the lo 71 world. We can't see it, we can't touch it. Yet we can feel it — you and I, in our different ways — coming upon us — his great will power, wrapping us round, stealing through all our natures. [ Touches BURGE on the shoulder^ Hark ? Do you not hear the soft wind in the trees ? [BuRGE looks upward^ How it stirs the leaves ! Burge. \_Nodding.'] Sylvia. So he stirs us. And listen — listen to the music of the fountain in the light. \_Silence.~\ Don't you feel it in your heart. [BuRGE makes awkward movement of ignorant response. SYLVIA, aloud, hysterically. ~\ So we feel his music [touches her heart"] here — here. Enter Dr. Tregenna. Tregenna. \_G lancing sharply from SYLVIA to Bill Burge, who has suddenly assumed an attitude almost threatening.'] Why are you out here, Burge ? Go in at once ! [BiLL BURGE hesitates. Pointing towards back of stage.] Do you hear what I say ? Go ! [Exit Bill Burge very slozvly and reluctantly with more than ojte pause, then moving away as if compelled. Sylvia. [Clinging to Dr. Tregenna's arm.] Poor, poor fellow ! He too feels — bows before your will. Tregenna. And he shall till I have finished with him. Leading SYLVIA to seat by fountain^ You are tired. Sit down here for a moment. My guests are all crowding to see a man who can imitate all our geniuses — a human monkey. They won't miss me — till he becomes a man again. Then he's dull — dull. [They sit. Dr. Tregenna narrowly observing SYLVIA.] What has Burge been saying to you ? Sylvia. I forget. I scarcely heard. These last days I seem to be living so intensely within myself that all outer things and people seem far away. 72 Tregenna. [ With a manner of professional interest. ] Hah ! Realities seem gradually fading away from you. You mean that ? Sylvia. Yes — yes — fading. Tregenna. And as they fade, are their places taken ? Sylvia. I don't understand. Tregenna. Do not the things of the brain — its phantoms as it were — become more real than the people about you, the people who pass — the trees, the waters, the dull truths of earth ? Is it not so ; tell me? Sylvia. No — not yet. I seem to see you — always and only you, Tregenna. [Movement as if of pleasure, bending over Sylvia.] All the others are nothing to you ! Sylvia. \Looking up at him.'] Nothing ? Tregenna. [Movement as if to take her hands, then checking himself^ But Lord Belhurst, your father ! He will be here to-night. He expects to see you for a moment. Do you wish to see him ? Sylvia. \Indijferently ^ As you will. Tregenna. [Always narrowly watching Syinia.'] You love him ? Sylvia. [Indifferently.] Oh, yes, Tregenna. [Suppressed excitement and tenderness^ And your mother. If she had lived — how you would have loved her ! Sylvia. [More interest^ My mother — he never speaks to me of her ! Tregenna. [Bitterness^ He doubts your understanding perhaps, the strength of your nature. He thinks you only care to be happy, Sylvia. It used to be so, Tregenna. It is not so now ? Sylvia. No, no. Now I care only to understand, to know the truth of things, 73 Tregenna. That is the only Hving life — to know the truth of all things. \_Half hesitating, yet as if driven on to the subject despite himself^ The truth of life — the truth of love. Sylvia. [^Looking up in his face. ~\ Of love? Tregenna. [ With suppressed emotion.'] Yes. Do you know it ? Sylvia. \_Bitterly.'\ I ? I forget. Tregemta. The truth of love is strange sometimes. Love may make a man cruel. Sylvia. How ? Tregenna. Cruel in keeping something that is not his — in caging a bird that he should allow to fly away. Sylvia. [^Dreamily. '\ Yes ? Tregenna. [Always watching."] He may see the bird pining in its cage — losing its power to sing, to fly. That may be terrible even to him. Sylvia. Then why does he not let it go ? Tregenna. Because he loves it. Because [almost fiercely] he cannot, will not, part from it, and be alone once more — all, all alone. Oh ! [Relaxing into moody reflection^ Your mother Sylvia. My mother — yes — yes ? Tregenfia. You know the truth of her life — and — and death ? Sylvia. [Growing eagerness.] No, no. Why do I not know ? Tregenna. Perhaps, after all, it's better not. Sylvia. Tell me of her — tell me. Tregenna. [Moved.] She was so like you. Sylvia. Like me ? Did you know her then ? Tregenna. They tell me she was strangely like you. Sylvia. Yes ? — Yes ? Tell me of her — tell me ! Trege7ina. [Reluctance^ And shall I tell you what your own father has hidden from you — truth which he 74 fears, fearing his daughter's courage, — fearing, perhaps, her love ? Sylvia. My father does not know me as you do. He does not know how you have changed me. But \with growing decision^ my mother, Dr.Tregenna, my mother ! Tregenna. He could not understand her, as he cannot understand you. Sylvia. Oh why, why is that ? Tregejtna. Men think that women must never know what life really is, because women are cowards. Sylvia. That isn't true. We are not cowards. Tregenna. No, but what man understands it? And some women fall ill, some women even die because no one is near them who understands them. Sylvia. [As if in korror.~\ Do you mean that — my mother Tregenna. Yes. Sylvia. She died — how ? Tregenna. Her mind faded — her nature withered — her very soul shrivelled, from want of the right sympathy, the right love, the right soul near her. Sylvia. Ah ! How horrible ! Tregenna. The flame of her mind went out long before the flame of her life died down. Sylvia. \Shudder.'\ Ah — no ! And my father ! He Tregenna. Could only watch her die. She starved — he starved her soul to death. Sylvia. \_Bnr sting into tears.'\ My mother ! my poor mother ! Tregenna. You'll welcome your father to-night ? Sylvia. [Starting up as if in horror^ No, no, never! Enter Dr. Rainham. He stands for a moment regard- ing Sylvia, then looks in stern inquiry towards Dr. Tregenna. 75 Tregenna. [To Sylvia.] You are tired. You had better go into the house — to your rooms. Sylvia. [Suddenly listless.'] Yes — I am tired ! — ah ! I am so tired ! Let me go — let me be alone — alone ! [Exit Sylvia. [Dr. Tregenna and Dr. Rainham stand for a moment looking at one another in silence. Tregenna. [Lightly^ One of my guests told me just now that my garden to-night is like a beautiful dream, Rainham. Don't you agree with her ? Rain. [Curtly^ No! [He watches the slowly retreat- ing figure of Sylvia.] A beautiful dream! — a night- mare ! Tregenna, is it true what people in London are saying of you ? My God, can it be true ? Tregenna. People in London ! Twaddlers ! Chatter- boxes ! Truth only frightens them. Rai?i. Truth is sometimes frightful. D' you know what they are saying of you ? Tregenna. That I am the Devil ! That's mere idle rumour. Rain. That you are pitiless. A man without human- ity, without bowels of mercy ; a man whose mind has strangled his soul ; a man whose head has killed his heart. Is that only rumour ? Tregenna. Rumour going naked. The police should run it in. Rain. They are saying in the West End what they have long been saying in the East End. Tregenna. The people always lead the aristocracy by the nose. The aristocracy are so addle-pated, and the people are so bumptious. Rain. Have you no faith in humanity ? Tregenna. None, none. 1^ Enter Bill Burge at back. He moves slowly towards Dr. Tregenna, unnoticed by the latter. I play with men because I care nothing for any man. Rain. Some day you will find you've played with fire, and the fire will burn you to ashes. \Sees Bill Burge.] Hah! Tregenna. [yi/y<7jm«^BlLL Burge.] Burge, did I not tell you to go into the house ? Burge. Well, wot o' that ? Tregemta. \_To BILL BURGE.] Why are you here? You disobey my orders. Burge. \_Doggedly^ What are you a-doin' of to 'er ? Rain. \_Kee7i iftterest.'] Hah ! Tregenna. [^Coolly.'] I'm waiting to see you go — once for all. Burge. What are you a-doin' of I knows yer. [Threateningly ."^ I'll stop it — I'll tell 'em what you're up to with 'er. Tregenna. \_Laughing.'\ A pretty story, Burge ! Rain. [Apart to Dr. TREGENNA.] The man's dan- gerous ! Tregenna. [Contemptuously^ D' you think I don't know it ? Burge. [More threateningly^ You shan't do to 'er what you've been at with me ! I'll let 'em know ! [Guests seen approaching. Tregenna. [Gaily ^ Then here's your opportunity. Enter Mrs. Culling, Lady Agatha Warrington, Mr. Warrington, Dora Bell, Sir Clement Hope, Canon Slade-Smith, Lady Mary Mayne, etc. Mr. Warrington. Marvellous imitator — simply marvel- lous. 77 Lady Agatha. He's just like Napoleon. Dora Bell. And Little Tich Lady M. And Joan of Arc ! Sir C. And Dr. Jameson Mrs. C. And Dan Leno ; In fact everyone living and dead. But here's Dr. Tregenna. Tregenna. \Turning towards them^ Anxious to give you another little entertainment. Now, Burge, tell your story. \To Guests.] This patient of mine wants to relate a little anecdote. [Bill Burge begins to look abject^ Come, come, Burge ; don't be shy ! Let's have your story ! [BILL BURGE slinks slowly away.'\ Dear, dear, he's gone ! What a bar shyness must be to success in life. Eh, Rainham ? [Dr. Rainham turns away.'\ Don't you agree with me, Mrs. Culling ? Mrs. C. \Lookhig after Bill Burge.] If I were one of your — rabbits, Dr. Tregenna, I almost think I might be a little bit — I won't say exactly shy, but nervous. Tregenna. One of my rabbits ? Sir C. [Also looking after Bill Burge.] A remark- ably well-grown one ! Tregenna. \_Still to Mrs. CULLING.] Rabbits, Mrs. Culling ? Mrs. C. \Half gravely, half lightly^ You don't un- derstand me ? Tregenna. I am so stupid. Canon. My dear Tregenna, I have already explained to Mrs. Culling Mrs. C. The dear Canon has, indeed, as always, been persistently explanatory. Still — you know, Doctor, the vivisector has a pecuMdir penchant for rabbits. At least, so I understand. Tregenna. [ With real fee ling."] The vivisectors ! A cowardly crew ! I would sweep them from the earth ! Canon. There, Mrs. Culling ! Are you satisfied now ? 78 Mrs. C. Perfectly satisfied that Dr. Tregenna is always kind to animals, Canon. \_She turns away. Tregenna. \Genicine emotion^ It's a knife in my own heart to see a dumb creature suffer. Mrs. C. [^Turning suddenly. '\ And the talking crea- tures ? Men — women, — Doctor ? Tregenna. \Looking round on his guests, who are all grouped in attitudes of keen attention.'] The talking creatures ! Lady A. Yes, Dr. Tregenna. Don't you pity us — the poor little human beings who can't claim your compassion by barking and mewing. Dora. And twittering, like your birds, Doctor ? Tregenna. \_Change to complete hardness and irony. "] Pity you — yes, as I pity myself when I get the toothache after eating too much jam. Mrs. C. [^i'z^^^ Mr. Warrington.] Unkind gossip is not always merely amusing. Sometimes it is true as well. Mr. W. And that makes it so very pleasin' and invigoratin'. Sir C. [To Dr. Tregenna.] But, I say. Doctor, that patient of yours — he's a lively looking customer. Suppose one met him alone one dark night, eh ! 'Pon my word ! Canon. [ To Dr. TREGENNA.] Your control over him is a perpetual source of amazement to me, more especially as it is purely spiritual, I may say. Tregenna. \Impressively ^ Ah ! That's the secret ! Lady A. A secret! Oh, let me hear it, Doctor! Tregenna. Certainly. I'm no match for that wild man, physically ; he knows it ; I know it. The struggle between us is the great struggle between mind and body ; and so long as I keep to the weapon I have learned to use — perfectly — I'm safe. II 79 Mrs. C. The weapon of mind ? Tregenna. Precisely. But if in a struggle with that man, a moment should ever come when I am tempted to drop the weapon of will, and to take down one \Jiolding up his clenched fist\ from the armoury of the body — well !— Canon. Yes, my dear Tregenna, yes ? Tregenna. That moment will be my last ! [Lady Agatha and guests saying good-bye. Dr. Tregenna moves up stage and eventually disappears with them, among the trees. Mrs. C. \To Dora Bell.] Well, Dora, your em- ployer 's a marvellous man — so kind to animals. Dora. [_Peevishly.'\ I wish he were more kind to me. Mrs. C. To you ? Dora. Yes. Mrs. C. Didn't you like nursing Burge ? Dora. No, because I'm not suited to that sort of per- son. The doctor should have seen that. Mrs. C. Perhaps he did. I sometimes see a twinkle in his eye. Dora. \Dolefully7\ But now it's worse still. Mrs. C. Worse than Burge ? Dora. Yes, indeed ! Mrs. C. Is that possible ? Dora. Quite possible ! He's put me in charge of \Almost weeping. Mrs. C. What ? — a monster ? Dora. A woman ! Mrs. C. Ah ! I always knew that whatever else he might possibly be. Dr. Tregenna was Dora. A brute ? Mrs. C. No, a humourist ! \Gazing quizzically at Dora Bell.] He seems to understand women as 80 thoroughly as — well, as thoroughly as we understand one another. Eh, Dora ? [ The two women look at one another in silence for a moment, and then both burst out laughing. Sir C. \Up stage. '\ I shall catch my death under these damp trees. Mrs. C. [7(7 Dora Bell.] Yourprofession claims you. Dora. {Hurrying to Sir CLEMENT HoPE.] Oh, poor Sir Clement ! Do let me recommend \_Exeunt Sir CLEMENT HOPE afid DoRA Bell. Mrs. C. It's a thankless world ! A nurse's devotion is seldom rewarded, Well, I must be going, too. Dr. Rainham ! {Calling to him. Rain. Yes, Mrs. Culling ! [Colonel Anson appears in distance. Mrs. C. Will you escort me to — [Breaking off sud- denly.'] Why, actually there's Colonel Anson ! I thought Lord Belhurst said he wasn't invited. Colonel Anson ! Colonel Anson ! Col. A. Do you want me, Mrs. Culling ? Mrs. C. My dear man, I thought you were among the millions of lost Londoners to-night ! Col. A . Lost Londoners ? Mrs. C. Excluded from Dr. Tregenna's magnificent hospitality ! Col. A. Indeed ! Mrs. C. So glad I was wrong ! [Colonel Anson bows in silence. Enter Mr. Warrington. Mr. W. [To Mrs. Culling.] Lady Agatha has sent me to ask if we may have the pleasure of drivin' you back to town. Mrs. C. Oh, how charming of her ? A brougham and two agreeable people instead of solitude and a " growler "! I come — I come ! Good-bye, Colonel Anson. [To Dr. Rainham.] Good-bye! Mr. War- rington, you are my good angel ! Mr. W. A most gratifyin' profession for any man to follow. Mrs. C. For the sake of any woman ? I wish all men thought so. Rain. But if all the men were good angels, what would be left for the women to be, Mrs. Culling. Mrs. C. They might be good women. Dr. Rainham, and perhaps not so much further from Heaven than you — even without the wings. [Exeunt Mrs. CULLING and Mr. WARRINGTON. Col. A. Rainham, you know that I'm here uninvited ! Rain. Yes. Col. A. I must see Sylvia. Rain. [ With sympathy.'] I understand. Col. A. [Grasping his hand.] Yes, you're a man, thank God, not a damned scientific machine — or worse. Where is she ? Have you seen her ? Rain. Yes. Col. A. Ah ! Then she is — well ? How was she looking, man — well, happy, herself? Rain. [Embarrassed.] Miss Wynford has gone into her rooms, acting under Dr. Tregenna's orders. Col. A. Tregenna, this friend of yours, and of every- body's, has cast some spell over the world — men, women bow down to him as if — why, as if he were some god — Lord Belhurst — Sylvia — and you ! [Dr. RAINHAM half turns away. Colonel Anson catching his arm.] You admire and beheve in him, too ? Rain. [Coldly.] I admire Tregenna's talents — yes. Col. A. And trust him — trust him ? Tell me, man ! [Dr. Rainham looks on the ground in silence^ You don't ! 82 [Dr. Rainham still looking on the ground^ Why don't you speak ? Ah ! you're another doctor ! Damn the etiquette of the profession ! Enter Lord Belhurst. Col. A. Lord Belhurst — at last! Lord B. [6^r^^//«^ Dr. Rainham.] Where's Dr. Tre- genna ? I was told he was down here by the fountain. Col. A. Do you intend to see Sylvia to-night, Lord Belhurst ? Lord B. I hope so. If Dr. Tregenna thinks it ad- visable. Col. A. [In despair^ If Dr. Tregenna ! — if Dr. Tre- genna ! Is the man a magician, casting dust in the eyes of the whole world ? See Sylvia to-night, Lord Belhurst. Lord B. [Impressed by his manner.'] I hope to do so. Col. A. See her to-night, for God's sake. Rain. \As if involuntarily^ Yes — see her ! Lord B. [Alarmed^ But is she ill ? Is she worse ? Dr. Tregenna would surely have let me know. He writes that she is nearly restored to perfect health and gaiety of spirit, although she still occasionally falls into a sadder mood. Rain. He writes that ? Lord B. Yes. Only yesterday I heard. Col. A. See her, Lord Belhurst ! Judge for yourself! \_At this moment Sylvia appears wandering through the garden dreamily, as if absorbed in sorrowful meditation. Seeing her.'\ Sylvia ! [Starting forward. Rain. [Forcibly restraining him.'] No ! Lord B. [To Dr. Rainham; hushed voice.] Quite right! [Holding out his hand to Colonel Anson.] Good-night, Anson. 83 Col. A. \_Obstinately.'] I shall not go till Lord B. [With quiet dignity^ Have you no faith in her father ? Col. A . Forgive me ? Lord B. Wait for me, Anson, wait — if you must. We'll go back to London together. Col. A. [Eagerly^ Thank you ! [Exit Colonel Anson. Dr. Rainham going. Lord B. \Who has observed Sylvia's demeanour with growing alarm.^ Dr. Rainham ! Rain. [Stopping.'] Yes. Lord B. You are going ? [Dr. RAINHAM, business^ May I ask you to — [Scrutinizing him.] You know — I may want to speak to you presently. Will you stay near, in case I ? Rain. Yes, Lord Belhurst, I will stay. Lord B. Thank you, Rainham ; thank you. [Exit Dr. Rainham. Sylvia has stopped beside the fountain, and is gazing mournfully at the falling water. Lord Belhurst quietly approaches her, stopping at a short distance from her.] Sylvia! My daughter ! [Sylvia continues absorbed. Moviftg to her.] Sylvia, my child ! [ Touches her. SYLVIA turns her head and gazes at him.] Ah! [movement of surprise] the change in her! [To Sylvia.] Sylvia ! [Holding out his arms.] Sylvia. [Coldly.] Father! Lord B. What ! You don't come to me ! You don't welcome me? Sylvia. [Just touching his hand with hers.] Yes. [Holding her cheek to be kissed. Lord Bel- hurst kisses her, she shrinks away. Lord B. [In alarm.] How cold you are ! Sylvia. Yes. [Shivers.] It is cold to-night. [Touches her hearty All cold. 84 Lord B. [ Trying to draw her to bench.'] Come and sit with me. Sylvia. No, father, not to-night. I want to be alone and to think. Lord B. \_Growing horror at her strange demeanour^ Oh, my child ! But I have not seen you — talked with you for so long ! And you wish to leave me ? Sylvia. [Regarding him coldly.] I don't know. \_Breaks off.] To-night I [Abruptly.] How can you under- stand ? For my mother — did you understand her ? Lord B. Your mother ! What is it you say ? Sylvia. No, you did not understand her. You let her pine away, for want of sympathy ! Lord B. [In deep grief ^ Sylvia, you don't know what you are saying — the cruelty of your words. Sylvia. Yes — but you were cruel to her. Lord B. I cruel to your mother ? Sylvia. Yes. He said so. He told me all you had hidden from me. Lord B. He ! Whom do you mean ? Sylvia. Dr. Tregenna. Lord B. [Amazed^ Dr. Tregenna has told you ? Sylvia. [More excited.] He has revealed to me what you — you, father — had concealed in the darkness. Oh, my mother ! how sad she was ! How she sat hour after hour, day after day, longing, desiring, and you — [turning on him almost fiercely] — what could you do ? What could you give her ? Nothing. Her soul — my mother's soul — cried for love, for the food a woman must have, or die. And she died — she died — she died ! [ Weeping. Lord Belhurst stands as if petrified with horror. Pointing on ground^ Can't you see her lying there, dead — dead, with her white face and her staring eyes ? [Catching at his arm.] There ! there ! She's looking at us — she's looking — Oh ! 85 \_Shrieks, and shrinks away to bench, on which she falls, covering her face with her hands. Enter Dr. Tregenna as if in search of someone. On see- ing Lord Belhurst he, not seeing SYLVIA, conies forward, courteously holding out his hand. Tregenna. My dear Lord Belhurst, I have been searching for you. Lord Belhurst passively allows Dr. Tre- genna to take his hand. From what you told me I feared you would be late. Lord B. Feared ! You say you feared that ? Tregenna. Yes. But I hardly thought — \_glancing round"] — I'm afraid everyone has gone. Lord B. All the better. Tregenna. The music is silent. Lord B. Then you and I can speak to each other without fear of interruption. I have come late as you say, but not, I hope, too late to see my daughter ? [^Watching Dr. TREGENNA closely. Tregenna. [ Takes out his watch.] I am sorry — very sorry — to have to say that I fear Lord B. I can't see her, eh ? Tregenna. She was fatigued — I dared not keep her up. She went to her rooms some time ago. Lord B. How long ago ? Tregenna. By this time she should have gone to rest. Lord B. Is she better? Tregenna. Better by far — calmer, brighter. Lord B. Liar ! liar ! [Dr. Tregenna movement of quick surprise^ I have seen my daughter. Tregenna. [^Movement.] Ah ! To-night ? Lord B. To-night. Tregenna. \R.ecovering calm.] Then you can confirm 86 my verdict, that she has greatly changed under my care. Lord B. \Suddenly grasping him by the arm."] Changed ! Changed ! Look ! [He makes Dr. Tregenna turn so that he can see SYLVIA, who is weeping^ Changed — my God ! — yes. {Facing Dr. TREGENNA /«//.] You shall give an account to me for this. Tregenna. Because Miss Wynford varies in mood ? Lord B. Because she shrinks from her own father you shall tell me what you have told her ? Tregenna. I ! What should I tell Miss Wynford ? Lord B. What she should never have known ; her mother's [Stopping short, overcome by passionate emotion. Tregenna. [Harshly^ Her mother's misery with you ! Ah! Lord B. You dare to Tregenna. [With growing passion.^ Her mother's grief and growing melancholy ; the tears that were ever in her eyes ; the clouds that came creeping, creeping down on her soul ; the fierce regret for a base deed — that ate into her heart like a canker — deeper, deeper, till the heart broke — and she died. Lord B. Regret for a base deed ? What deed ? Who are you that dares to say such things to me ? Tregenna. [Bursting into laughter^ Only Dr. Tregenna, Lord Belhurst, only Dr. Tregenna, who worships nothing in the world but knowledge — nothing, nothing in all the world. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Lord B. [Gazing at him as if overwhelmed by his outbreak.'] Rainham — Rainham — he must know — he shall tell me! Tregenna. Rainham — he is not here. And if he were 12 87 Lord B. Aye ! if he were ? Tregenna. \_Indifference.'\ Ask him then — ask him, with all my heart ! Lord B. \^Calling.~\ Dr. Rainham ! \_Gesture, summoning him. Tregenna. \_Movement.'\ What ! Enter Dr. Rainham. So he is here, it seems ! [Ai Dr. Rainham.] My old friend ! Spying upon me ! Lord B. Rainham ! Rain. Yes. Lord B. {Indicating Dr. TREGENNA.] Tell me — why — why is this man my enemy ? [Dr. Rainham is silent, looking from Lord Belhurst to Dr. Tregenna. Tregenna \Taiinting Dr. Rainham.] You don't answer, Rainham ? You were always reticent. Lord B. 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