I ^ Ullinit'ii pj;cfitiJHf^ BUASIA in THREE ACTS, B Y URS. PAUL. BREIflOlVD. I Copyright secured by the AUTTTO. rJJ LILIANS PROMISE. A DRAn4 \N THREE ACTS. BY- M^RS. 'PAUL (B(REMOJ^(D. The Scene is laid in England at Rockmount Castle. 1880 r^// ^^r r v/fi»c ^ IP? I) Lord Alcott, (a widower), - - - - ,-Jged (>() years. Hon. Gaston Aleoft, (Jiis son), - - ** £6 Sir Arthur TharfibuU, young man risiting the Castle. Lard Ernest Belgrade, young man risifing Ihe Castle. Ft orence Aleott , nieee to Ijrrd A/cott. aged :!r2 ycair. Uliari Aleott, '' " *' " " / Lottie, ladies' a'aiting ma i(t, - - - " :Vy Mrs. Marsleii, a fisJierman's frido/r. " '.V Ton y Marsten , Mrs. Marsten, 's son , : ! Tenants, Farmers, etc I.!LIAi\'S PROMISf^ ACT. 1st. St:ene I st.--A handsomely furnished parlor. Windows opening i. pon a ter- racf-. Steps descending to a garden. The doors throwri open. When the cl-i- t.-iin ises Belton and Lottie are en the stage. Lottie, duit biufh in hand, dtit- ing the pictures on the walls and arranging the furniture, whiie Bdton pon^p- ousl/ superintends the work, and pretends to put the pictures straight, after Lot- tie has arranged them. li )T'r[E — {coming to the front and looking scorn- /tUl;'/ at Belto7i), I think, Mr. Belton, yon may Itavc this room to me. lam quite capable, I sliould Judge, of airang'iiig it properly without your aid. 'Jlieie must be plenty to do in the butlers pantry, and my lord attaches a good deal more importanc<^ to the ser\ ice of the tal>le than to the arrangeiiiriit of the furniture. 1m:l'J'ON. — Never you fear, my [)!i*tty Lottie, no \)iu{ of uiy service shall be neglected. I would iMt, ,< r a sovereign, see a frown on my master's lace io. day, the happiest day we've known for many yeais- I'uit you were here, Miss Lottie, and you aie aware of the attraction . Directly, I shall go to the cellar to st^lect the choicest wines, in which to drink the health of the ycmng gentleman. The bottles are fa- uu)usly covered with cobwebs, I assure you, but wlso thinks of trouble on such an occasion as this/ Lottie. — {flraicing near to Beltor), do tell me ;.-I about it, Mr. Belton. Why is Lc rd Alcott so u- jouvd at theretmn of his son';* i> ELTON. — Have you not heard the sioiy ! Wcii' \N hit will you give me if I repeat it to you ? I slniil ct'uamly expect to be paid for the troidJe. Lottie. — Oh! goon Mr. Helton, nud do your talk- ing, and we vnW see ab(mt the paA afterwaids. 4 L.II.IA]^'S PR01II8E. l>i:L'r()N. — Well, here is thv' story then ! It is now jilinost eij>ht years since Master Gaston left t lie Cuis- tie. tie was then, {counting on his finger fi,) let me see, yes! about ei^^hteen years of age. He went away to foreign i)arts, his i>arents knew not where. He was their only child, and his fond mother sickened, and j)ined away, until she fell into a decline and died. loT'J'iE. — This nnist have been a sad blow, indeed, to ()ur hn'd. 1>ELT0N. — Ah, yes! He nearly lost his leason. Miss Florence, who was brought to the ('astle, a mere infant, and was tenderly I'eared by her annt, did all she could to cheer him. But it was not nntil the arrival of Miss Lilian, about three years ago, that he ai)i)eared once more to feel an interest in what was going on around him. LivrviK. — No wonder. Miss Lilian is such a sweet, lovable creature! IjELTon. — 1 accomj)ani(Ml my master when he brought hour' his beautiful bride, such a hap])y, joy- ous lady she was — ;just Hkc Miss Lilian. The old Oasth^ was never gloomy in those days. Miss Tjilian resembles her aunt in more ways than one, and 1 think that is tlie reason master loves her so dearly; he (nm scarcely bear her out of his sight. Lottie. — ( )ii, yes! 'tis jdain that she is his favor- ite, and that accounts for the Jealousy of Miss Flor- in ice. Belton. — lust so! During the first few years of Master (xaston's absence, he wrote letters home, but far apart; sometimes there wouhl be months between them. But since niihnly's death, no tidings of him had reached ns, and we had all given him nj) foi' dead. And now, when least expected, conies the glori(ms news that he is returning to the Castle, and will be here almost as soon as his letter. Lottie. — He had d Belton. — Yes, indeed ! it was by 1113' lady's wish that they shoukl be united as soon as Mi-. Gaston came of age. Lottie. — (jumping and striMng her hands together), Oh, I am so glad Then there will be a wedding in the family, and we shall have some fun, after all these gloomy days. Belton. — I should not be surprised. )5ut now I have told you all ; so pay me my fee, and let me go about my business, [he tries to kiss her, hut she puUs away from him.) Lottie.— Yonr fee! Mr. Belton; indeed I don't un- derstand you. Belton. --Yeii you do. You knew very well that 1 should exact it after satisfying your curiosity in the way I have. So come now, don't be prudish; give me a kiss, that's a good girl, and let's awaj' to work ; there's lots to be done to-day, and master, you know, has no patience for idleness or gossip. Well ! the kiss ! {he tries again to catch her in his arms; she dodges him.) Lottie. -Thsiiik goodness; idleness and gossip are no failings of mine, oh no! But why don't you go? Don't let me detain you, pray! Belton. -1 go; but not until you pay the fee. {in a sentimental tone) It is so seldom that I get a chance to speak to you, noAvadays, that I cannot tear myself away, and Avhen I see you not, the sun has ceased to shine. Lottie.— {laughing heartily) Ha! ha! ha! why you are becoming sentimental, Mr. Belton; ha! ha! ha! oh, fie! you have been listening at the door again. Whenever you launch one of those fine phrases, I know you have been behind the portiere listening to the pretty speeches made to om^ young ladies by their beaux, and I don't Mke anything at second hanxl, unless it is in the shape of a Paris bonnet or a nice silk dress, {during this phrase, Pierre appears at the center parlor door ana advances on tiptoe, with <( gliding step, and sto2)s to listen, a lool- of annoyance de- picted on his countenance.. He shal'cs his fists toicards Belton, his finger at Lottie.) () I.II.IA]V'S PROMISE. Beltoih-fsonu'ichat (IhconcertedJ Well! ngaiii I say, don't be so prudish, and perhaps I may some day be able to give you Paris bonnets and a pretty silk dress to suit your neat, trim tigure, Avhen you will eonsent to be ealled Mrs. Belton. (he tries again to Mm her; Pierre suddenly rushes fornxird^ steps in between them, straightens himself up to his fidlh eighty and loolts fiereeiy first at the one then at the other. Lottie and Belton both jump aside startled; Lottie gives a screayn.) Helton.— (rapidly, aside) That cursed rrenchman again! will he never leave me in peace! to be inter-' ruptejd at suc^h a, moment too ! Pierre.— [sareastieally] Mrs. Belton! enverite! you think that young, pretty mamselle go marry you! She Avants 3 oung man like me: she Avants handsome man like nie; she no wants ole man like^o?(. You no dance, you no sing, y(m no like/»», you walk this way, [imitating Belton\s heavy tread] I walk this way, [tripping and daneing aboutthe stage.] You big, heavy Hinglishman.' me light, lively Frenchman. You no know how make love to pretty nmmselle; 7ne talk sweet and pretty to them; n'est ce pas, mamselle Lottie? [Lottie is looldng at him laughing immoderate- ly; he shakes his finger at her] Ah .^ you median te Co- quette.' [he paces the stage with angry gestures, aside] Madam Belton, en verite.' the ole fool/ I teach him talk that way to mamselle. [during this phrase, Bel- ton has looTxed at Vierre contemptuously, his hands in his2JocJi'ets; he now shrugs his shoulders, and goes over towards Jjottie ivho is still laughing. Be/fon.— Miss Lottie, we will resume this conversa- tion on some other occasion, when ilnxt fellow will be out of the way, if such a chance be possible, for he is like your very shadow; impossible to be alone with you one moment, without his thrusting his unwel- come i)resence between us, and it is all your own fault, for you ever encourage his silly attentions. I'ierre.— [listening all the while] Mamselle Lottie will no see you alone, monsieur; will no like you, monsieur.' she like me.' she marry me! i^^e take her to Paris; me buy her pretty things myself. You no LIL.IAIV'8 PROI?IIJS»E. 7 s})sak love to her no more, or me fight you; me Frenchman; me kill you! [he 2)^(ts himself hi tvjight- oig posture.] Lottie.— [frightened J springs between them] Oh, ])eace! he quiet, pray. I hear master's voice; he is coming" this wa^ , and what would he say if he caught you both quarreling here in the parlor? Mon- sieur Pierre, I will never speak to you again, if you are so unruly and quarrelsome. Pierre.— [with an tntreating gesture to laottie] Oh! mamselle, you no mean that; you no be so cruel! T be quiet as one miee. Pierre shakes liis fist behind Lottie's back at Bel- ton, irlio a£ain shrugs his syoulders contemptiwus- Jy. Lottie laughingly gives her hand to Pieii^e, Tvho kisses it gallantly, tlien lookstiiumphantly at Belt on who makes a inovement forward angrily. Lottie witlidraws her hand, and goes toword Belton roquettishly. Lottie.— Mr. Belton, I will see you again ; I will meantime, take your proposition into consideration' ,At which PieiTC bHstles up again and is ready to exclaim. Lofrie.— Silence! here comes Lord Alcott and Miss Florence. She goes aiuay , left side, Belton and Pieii-e both followiag her; Belton jcith his usual heavy step; Pierre skipping and sliding. Belton.— [as he goes) That fellow must surely have been a dancing master to judge by the elasticity of liis limbs. Exeunt — LofMe. Pierre and Belton. Lnter Lord Alcott and Florence. Lord Al- Yes, dear Florence, this great, this unexpected news quite unmans me. While count- ing the weary, sleepless hours of the night, I have read and reread these precious lines, scarcely daring to grasp this long lost hope, lest it should be again wrested from me forever. Florence.— Oh, dear uncle, do not allow a doubt to chill our happiness to-day. Such words can not 8 LIL.IAjV'S promise. deceive. Gaston is returning to us, his heart filled with remorse for his past neglect, with sweet prom- ises of affection and devotion for the future, [p'tint- ing towards the letter] See how nobly he expresses his regrets, how he assures us he has never betrayed the trusts we placed in him. LoiyZ A/.--You are right, my child, I should be all in joy, in smiles, and not allow my thoughts to dwell on the sad memories of the past, which can only serve to cloud the brightness of this day. But Avhile life endures, I can never forget how his dear mother^ my soul's loved companion, drooi)ed and died of a broken heart for the loss of her only son, in whom all our hopes were centered, leaving me alone in my misery. Florence.— [reproachfully] ''Alone," dear uncle; was your little Florry nothing i Lord Al.—{taling her hand) Forgive me, dear child, your affection has ever been to me a sweet solace, but this letter has so forcibly recalled all those bit- ter reminiscences of bygone days, that all else, for the moment, was drowned in the terrible vortex- But I must indeed try to shake off these harrowing- recollections; for all in the Castle must wear a festive aspect, to-day, to hail the return of my Avay ward boy. Florence.— Thmik you, dear uncle; I expected nothing less of your kind, forgi\dng nature. I knew you could not retain an angry thought against that beloved son, who returns to you of his own free will. We must combine to make Gaston feel that ho)ne is the dearest, sweetest spot on earth. Jjord A/.— This task devoh es chietly on you, my child. Does not Gaston also declare, in his letter, that he comes to claim the promised bride of his youth, the charndng girl of fourteen summers Avhom he left behind, his darling Florry, who has ever clung to him with a fidelity beyond her years. Sirre- ly the love of a life-time can alone requite such en- tire self abnegation. Florence, --My patient waiting was the result of my inalienable faith. I never, for a moment, doubted L.ILIAiV'8 PROMISE. 9 my Gaston's truth; 1113' heart assured me that he woukl return. hord A?. --But you look pale this morning, Flor- ence, and methinks j^our features wear a cast of sad- ness unusual to them. How is that? You, w1k> chide my gloomy looks, should surely dress your own in gladness; the happiness of the heart mthhi should reflect itself upon your countenance. Does an;\i:hing trouble you ! J^/o.— Indeed, I know not. I am happy, supreme- ly happy, Avhen I think of the great joy wliich is in reserve for us ; but an anxiety I can not analyze gnaws at my heart, and sad forebodings mingle, in spite of all my efforts to discard them, with my most pleasurable emotions. I dread — I know not what. But fear not, uncle ; the sight of Gaston, the joy of our reunion, will dispel all gloom. A lively song is heard from the gctrdeiv ; Florence and Lord Alcott listen. ISong — Lilian — in the f/arden. They name me airy, fairy Lilian ; The birds, they answer to my call ; The flowers give forth their sweetest perfume, To greet their queen, queen over all. i Yes! my name is lairy Lilian, ) Queen of nature, queen of all — [Ms] L. Al. — (tvith enthusiasm) there she is, my darling, with her sweet, merry song, the bright, happy creat- ure! I Avas wondering where she was this beautiful morning, Flo. — (aside) Lilian! always Lilian! his dar!ing! L. Al. — Hark! listen! she sings again. 2nd verse — song — lAlian — still in the garden. They name me airy, flitting Lilian, The sunbeams dance around my feet ; All nature's robed in joy, in gladness, My ev'ry fondest wish to meet. ( Yes ! my name is flitting Lilian, ( All natin*e comes my wish to meet ! [his) L. A/.— Come, Florry, be joyous and free from care like your cousin; strive to cultivate her buoyant 10 L.IL.IAX'8 PR03II8E. spirit, not only I'or the sake of those Avho love and suri'onnd yon/lnit for your OAvn. Leave carking- care to wrinkled age ; it ill becomes the youthful broAv. _^/(>....Yon Avould wish nie, in all respects, to re- semble Lilian-, she is quite yowv paragon. L. .4.?.— No more of this foolish jealous j', Florence; it is unworthy of your really generims, noble nature. It is the only fauit that mars the lovehness of your (character ; you should strive to overcome it. Ho.— If such be the ca^^e, you should not find.it strange, uncle, foi' Lilian has ever stood in the Avay of my happiness shice her arrival in our midst. She at once, Avithout any effort on her part, ingratiated her- self in your aft^ctions, assigning to me a place of secondary importance — to me, avIio until then had permitted no one to Aie AA'ith me in those little atten- tions, by which I sought to lure you back to the do- mestic circle. (L. Al. mcikes a sicpi of denial.) You need not deny it, uncle, my heart assures me it is so, and the loving- heart never deceives. And you are not the only one aa ho feels the influence, the glamour of her child-like loveliness. See how our Aisitors croAvd around her, laughing at her silly jests, folloAv- ing her from to floAver to floAver, as she trips lightly through the garden paths, as if she really Avere, as she sings, some "fairy queen" surrounded by her courtiers. L. A/.— That is all true, darling child ! The glad- ness and sweetness of her loving nature diffuse themselves on every object Avith which she comes in contact. She is like a bright sunbeam, bringing hope and gladness to all it shines upon. No more befitting title than that of "fairy queen" could be giA'en her, as she says, in her own sweet song; I C(ndd find none more appropriate. J^lo.— You liaA^e taught me, uncle, to place intellect aboA^e all other adA-antages; the cultiA-ation of the mind, you haA e said, formed one of our greatest at- tractions. In this respect, I AAiio have studied under your own skillful guidance, feel myself vastly supe- rior to this untutored child; yet, on every occasion, LlLIAiV'S PR03II!^E. 11 slie becomes the cyuosure of all eyes, and her i)la>'- ful prattle attracts the attention of even the great and learned. Tell me, I pray you, wherein lies the charm ? L. AI. — [talcing her hand in his with tendernessl J will tell you, my chihl; it lies in those very qualities I have ever advised you to cultivate; that entire forgetfnlness of self, Avherever the happiness of oth- ers is concerned; that joyousness which springs from a pure, loving heart; she knows no artitice, fears no guile, and in her conhding innocence is evrr seeking to impart liai)piness to all around her. Jealousy could take no root in such a generous na- ture. But no more of this ; here comes my little sun- beam, {he draws Florence towards him, and I'isses her brow.) Be true to your own noble self, my chihl, and I shall then entertain no fears for your future happiness. Flo.— I will strive, dear uncle, to obey you in this as in all things, {she walks to the rearoftJie stage, Jefthand, and gazes from the window; Lilian enters singing gaily with flowers in a hoslety ichich she places on the table, then runs to her uncle and clasps her arms round Ins necl'; he embraces her tenderly.) Lilian. — Good morning, dear, dear uncle; yon look so very happy to-day that I can scarcely con- tain myself for joy. Oh ! I am so glad our dear Cous- in Gaston is so soon to be here, it affords you so much delight, and I so long to see him! Flo. — {with displeasure, aside) She so longs to see him! her dear Cousin Gastonl Lil. — But then you will no longer have so much room in your heart for your poor Lilian, who loves you so dearly, and if you love him more than you do me, I know J shall not like him. L. Al. — Fear not, my darhng, the old heart is still capacious enough to enshrine you both. Xone shall usurp the throne of my Fairy Queen, as all style you. But Avhere has my pet hidden herself tliis morning? I missed her sweet welcome, without Avhicli, the sun's bright rays, the songs of the biids, all that is lovely in nature, seems incomplete. 12 L.IL.IA]¥'S PROMISE. Flo. — (aside) How lie dotes on lier! Lil — See, dear uncle, I liave culled the clioicest Howers to decorate the house as if Ave were awaithig the arrival of a prince. But he is more than a prince to us; is he not? and although I have never seen him, I feel that I shall love him dearly for your dear sake, my uncle. Flo. — [aside] A still, prophetic voice already whis- pers to me that she will love him. And Gaston! . Lil, — ftaMiig tip the bouquet from the table J Ijook, dear uncle, at this bouquet; is it not loA^ely? I have ransacked the whole garden in search of these flow- ers, the 2)rettiest 1 could find, to deck my Cousin Gas- ton's room ^ith, for he surely loves flowers; who does not ! Flo. — f springing for tear d tvth flashing eyes, as if to seize the houqiiet) Lilian! (she meets her uncle''s eye and reproving gesture, and sudden y stops J Lil. — [turni g to Florence] Why, Flony, are you here? Pardon me; I had not noticed you, or I should have wished yoii good morning also, [she ap- proaclies her] But what is the matter, dear? Have I again unwittingly offended you! I am such a silly, thoughtless girl, always doing something I ought not. 1 Jut Florry, on a day like this, you may well overlook my short-comings and blunders. What ! tears in your eyes! Tell me, 1 entreat yon, what dis- tresses you; have I caused you pain! Uncle, pray tell me, what have I done ? L. Al — Nothing, my child; you are, what you al- ways are, my little innocent, joyous pet [he passes over to Florence, saying in a lotv voice] Control your- self, Florence, have you already forgotten my ad- vice! Your foolish jealousy renders you most un- reasonable, [aloud] Come, my children, I will leave you to your fanciful arrangements ; for myself, I am too restless to remain mthin doors ; I will Avalk down the avenue to meet my son, for it is right I should be the first to welcome him, as he places his foot on the land of his forefathers, {he retires, maMng an imperi- ous gesture to Florence and a loving one to Lilian. Exit L.II.IAX'{§ PROMIJ^E. 13 Lord Alcott. Florence seats herself near tJie table, leaning her head upon her hand in a sorroicful attitude, luihan observes her for ti moment, then tal-es a low stool and seats herself at her hnee, ialces her hand and caresses it) Lilian.— {caressingly) Come, Florry, our uncle has gone, we a^^e quite alone; look at me, darling, and tell me what it is that grieves you thus ? [aftev a2)ause\ Still silent? You know not, Florry, how you pain me. Oh! tell me at once, are you vexed mth vour silly niian? Flo.—[looMng around sadly at Lilian] Xo, dear, not vexed; anger has no part in mj^ emotions. Li7.— What is it, thenf Be frank, and tell me all. Do not think because I am such a giddy, thoughtless girl, that I am incapable of comprehending you. 1 can be very serious and sensible, at times, I assure 5 ou; just giA e me a trial and see if I am not worthy of yoiu^ confidence. ¥ijO.—[ivith sudden imjmlse] Well, if you will know the cause of my uneasiness, I will tell you : Lilian, I am jealous of you! LTL.—[lmighing heartily] Jealous of 7ne, of mel Why, Florry, how perfectly ridiculous ! Is this all that troubles you! Flo.— I thought you could be so ''very serious and sensible at times," and it is thus you receive my first expressions of confidence, with your usual levity and ill timed hilarity; however, it is no more than I an- ticipated. LiL. -You are right. Pardon me, Florence, and I will be as serious as you coidd desire. But the idea struck me as so jireposterous ; that you, beautiful, talented, accomplished as you are, could for an in- stant be jealous of such an insignificant little body as myself. Flo.— Insignificant, Lilian, as you are pleased to style yourself, are you not aware that there is a subtle charm about yoti which I possess not; you, the ''Fairy Queen,^'' as they all call you, and which ren- ders you so irresistible to those you seek to j)lease, as indeed, to all others f 14 lillilAN'S PROMISE. Ltl.— This is mere folly and exaggeration, a plian- tom of your imagination. Florence, I seek to please no one besides our dear uncle, for I do love him so dearly! Surely you are not jealous of his affection, you, wlio are so soon to be united to the man you iove.^ Flo.— I have been, but let it rest; that weakness is j)ast. I am only too glad, now, that he will have your love and devotion to cheer his path through life when I am gone. You will then supply my place, and I shall not be missed. But if you desire to see me truly happy and cheerful, you must make me a l)romise, Lilian. LiL. — A promise, dear? Why, certainly, anything that can make you cheerful and happy, Florry. You could ask me no promise that I could not grant; so, unheard, I pledge my word to comply with whatever 3'ou may demand of me. Flo. — The promise, then, that I exi^ect of you, is, that, fairy -like, you Avi!l not spread your wiles around our Cousin Gaston to lure him to your feet, as you have, unconsciously, I know, charmed and subdued so many others. I can endure no rivahy in his case, for I have loved him, it seems to me, all my life -time. He is my very own-, I want him, at last, all to myself. You are welcome to all other homage; but my Gas- ton's homage can^not be shared LiL. — What a strange promise, Florence, and how unnecessary, it appears to me, that you should exact it of me ! But be it as you wish. I have already pledged my word to do all that you desire of me. Would you have me avoid my Cousin Gaston, be cold and distant to him, and make myself as stupid and un- interesting to him as possible? Say, is this the part yon would have me perform! Flo. — Yes, my darling Lilian, (caressing her) and while I acknowledge the generosity of your guileless nature, T blush at the exacting weakness that de- mands such a sacrifice. LiL. — It is no sacrifice, although it will i)erhaps seem strange to me to curb my hitherto unfettered Ii!L.IA]V'S PROMI*?»E. 15 will, to dissemble my most natural affection towards one who is so near to us. But say no more. I am glad your confidence and affection are restored to me. I will strive never to forfeit tliem ; I have been so pained by your displeasure. Flo. — your i^robation shall not be long ; for our uncle desires the wedding to take i)lace as soon as possible, in a month's time, I believe he said, so that his son may at once have some fixed purpose to at- tach him to the land of his inheritance, and thus wean him from those ro\ang propensities Avhich have caused his parents so much uneasiness. LiL. — Again you have my promise, Florence ; let your mind be at ease. And to begin the part I am to play, take this bouquet, Florry ; you \^ill be better pleased to decorate oiu^ Cousin Gaston's room with your own loving hands. But first, let me i:>lace one or two of the sweetest flowers in your beautiful hair, for you must look your best to-daj , to charm and welcome your betrothed. (sJie places s^me flowers in Florence'^s hair). Flo.— {pointing to the clock) See ! the hour advances. My beloved mil soon be here. Let us hie to our rooms, dear, and j)repare ourselves to meet him. [playfully] Come, let's away ! [she encircles Lil- ianh icaist; Lilian returns the caress; they icalk to- wards the right side door; as they are ahoiU to disap- pear , Pierre enters with two cards on a silver salver; Florence returnirg^ takes the car as.] Flo.— Bit Aithur Thornbull and Sir Ernest Bel- Pierre. — Yes, mamselle; they say they ^vish see the ladies on very special business this morning. Flo. — Ah! show them up. [Fxit Pierre.] lAl. — {also returning to the front] How tu^esome ! I feel in no mood to rattle oft' nonsense and talk hor- sey with Lord Ernest Belgrade. I know I shall be as stupid as an owl. But we will hiuTy them oft'. I wonder what brmgs them here so early ? . Flo. — Hush ! here they are. Enter Sir AHhiir ThombvM and Lord Ernest, 16 lilLIAN'S FK1>MI8E. (center), they how, and wish the ladies good morn- ing; Sir ^'Tthur goes towairl Florence, Lord Ernest toivards Lilian.) glr Ar. — We have to apologize for this early call, but the excitement of the chase led us in the direc- tion of your domain, and, Uke the knights-errant of old, we could not resist the temptation of pausing a moment to pay our homage to the divinities within. L. Er. — (m a draivUng tone) Yes! you know, is not this the enchanted Castle of which we read so much in our childhood, inhabited by beautiful fairies," who, with their wiles and fascinations, entice the unwary traveler to their festive halls, then turn them into stone if the luckless wight have the mis- fortune to offend, [in a loiv voice] I declare, Miss Lil- ian, I sometimes feel as if that fate were reserved to myself, when so irresistibly attracted by the magic of your charms, then chilled and almost petrified by your coldness and indifference. j/il, — ilcmghing) Oh! then beware, my lord, how you displease me, lest I be tempted to transmute you into a beautiful statue to adorn our parterre, you X. Er. — Oh, you fairy! 'tis ever thus you jeer and llout me, though you know so well that I have laid both heart and hand at your dear little feet. ^Iy At. — But apart from the enjoyment we ever derive from a visit to Rockmount Castle, we had an- other motive for this morning's call. There is to be a meet at Elwood Park to-morrow, and Lord and Lady Elwood requested us to solicit your attendance with Lord Alcott. X. Er. — {ivitli enthusiasm) You must not fail to be present 5 there will be ''high jinks," I assure you. There will be a magnificent collation for the guests, you know, and a hunting breakfast for the tenantry. The hounds are in splendid condition, and the whole thing Tvill go off' in fine style, you know. ]^Iq, — You forget that I am an unskillful rider, and far too timid for a huntress — quite unlike Lilian, who is never more at home than when in the saddle. But we can neither of us accept the invitation — L.ILIA]\''8 PROMISE. 17 L. Er. — {i)iterrupti)ig) Dou't refuse, I entreat you; the limit ^\in lose half its charm if Miss Lilian is not there. A loA^ely girl, with such a seat in the saddle, and such a light hand for a horse's mouth, is, to me, little less than a divinity ; 'twas thus she enslaved my heart. Miss Lilian and her horse, with the eager hounds clustering around her, form the finest group, I ever beheld, in painting oi in statuary. hil. — More than halt the beauty of the picture be- longs to my beautiful Lightfoot; was he not a mag- nificent Christmas present? L. Ur. — Yes, indeed ! I believe there is nothing that your fond uncle can deny you; [m a low voice] I don't see how he could. Miss Lifian! [aloud] But you have no idea what fun it is to see Miss Elwood at the hunt; she is the most desperate plunger I ever met. Since she has tui^ned the corner of 30, she has given up waltzing, and goes in, heart and soul, for hunt- ing; 'tis the finest thing you can imagine, to see her take a five barred gate as if it were the merest trifle. Li/.— You need not speak of my skill after such daring exj^loits as those. L. ±Jr.- -L had a splendid race with her last week. We went for it neck and neck, and dashed right through chesnut hollows, and rode up the steep ap- proach to the house of the M. F. H., where the meet was to be held. There were several beautiful women present, who had come to see the hounds throAv off. We had not long to wait, you know. The mellow horn rang out loud and clear, the cheery halloas caused every heart to leap, and every nerve to tingle with excitement. The whole field burst away in the direction the fox was leading us. Li/.— How Aery eicitin^sii ftius^ha^te h%ei^ ho^]^ wish ISiaC^neisthei^ (V /^ .^.^^U^" L. Er.-\ was again at me~sid:eofMiss Elwood ; on we went together. There was a stiff thicket ahead; 1 saw at once that 'twas an awkward leap, so I lost sight of my companion, and gave all my attention to working up my hunter, and cleared the hedge finely. When I found myself safely over, I looked back to 18 lilLIAWS PROMISE. see what had become of the graceful amazoii. Bj- Jove! there she came, tearing along, and lifting her beautiful sorrel high in the air, went over like a bird. 1 joined her, and we were again neck and neck, and got in just in time for the death. She received, of course, you know, the brush as a troi^hy of her dai - ing exi^loit, and was highly complimented on her j>lucky feat. By Jove! I could adore that woman, if she were ten years younger, and I had never met {in a low voice) you know who, Miss Lilian. Lil.—fwith animation J I should have enjoyed it be- yond measure. S.r Ar.— The weather i)romises to be favorable jl think we shall have a cloudy day and south wind. The scent will lie; you must not refuse to join the hunt. ^Zo.- -It is impossible! We are hourly expecting the arrival of our long abseut cousin, Lord i\ Icott's only sou. My uncle has gone to meet him; they will doubtless soou be here. Sir Ar.— Your uncle's son! Why it is generally un- derstood that he died abroad some years ago. ^Zo. --Sir Arthur, I pray you give me your atten- tion for a few moments ; there is an explantion due to you, and must not be deferred. (8ir Arthur and Florence are seated on one sofa, Lilian and Lord Er- nest on the other; the two latter, rise and icalk toward tlie terrace.) Ltl. — {as she goes) I am so sorrj- that I can not go to the hunt to-morrow ; in a few days, we, too, will have ''high jinks," I promise you, to celebrate the re- turn of our cousin, and we shall expect you aud Sir Arthur to be present on that occasion, {they chat gai- ly and examine the flotvers.) Flo. — Sir Arthui', I have never spoken to you of my Cousin Gaston, nor of my early childhood, nor of our solemn betrothal to each other when I was only 14 years of age, for I knew not whether he was still li\ing, nor whether we should ever see him again. But he has written, his letter only precedes him a few hours, he will be home to-day, to ratify his prom- ise, he savs, and to claim me as his bride. L.1L.IAN'^ PROMISE. 19 Sir Ar. — And you, Florence, what aieyour inten- tions with regard to liini whom yon have not seen for so many years? Flo. — There can he no hesitancy in my mind. I have loved him and waited for him during all these long years of absence and trial, and the joy of his re- turn renews and strengthens my affection. Sir Ar. — (springing up excitedly) Oh! Florence, you can not mean this! Why have you never spo- ken to me on this subject before ? You knew how passionately I loved you, how I have laid my life and fortune at yoiu'feet, and although I have never received from your lips the assurance that my hom- age was accepted, yet your whole demeanor was such as to warrant the hope that at some futiu-e day, I might call you mine. Take back your cruel words, Florence, they can not be true ! Flo. — {also rising) It distresses me to give you pain. Sir Arthur, but my lips have spoken only the trath. Sir Ar. — A^Tiat, Florence! You the noble, the proud one, entrust your life, your happiness to such a man, a i)rofligate who broke his mother's heart ! Flo. — [icith a deprecating movement and raising her head proudly] Stoj), Sir Artliiu'! I can not allow you to speak thus of the man whose name I am to bear. No one has the right to call him profligate^ for none are acquainted with his actions since he left us. Sir Ar. — Pardon me, but you must listen to me for this once, though my words do cause you pain. I wish you to reflect well before taking this serious step 5 I ^^ish you to weigh well in the balance the two conditions of life that are now open to your choice. I offer you a respected home, an affection that has known no change since first I learned to know and appreciate your worth. On the other side* a romantic infatuation of childhood to if cousin who attached so little importance to it, that, if I remem- ber well, he abandoned his home, his parents, his standing in society, to gratify a selfish whim, a rov- ing x^ropensity. You know nothing of his pursuits 20 MIRIAM'S PRI^MISE. since he left you, nor of liis disi)Ositiou nor of Ms morals ; lie is un entire stranger to yon; lie may have changed completely from the youth you parted with. And it is for this man, P'lorence, that you are ready to sacrifice the sincere, loyal aflection I offer you! Flo. — Enough! Sir Arthur, I will no longer listen to such accusations against my cousin, the compan- ion and lover of my youth. Were you to read the noble sentiments contained in his letter, you would not judge him so harshly ; you would be convinced that my confidence is not misplaced. ; m An. — Time Avill prove, Florence, the value of my words. Under all circumstances, I shall ever be your steadfast friend, even as I am now your devo- ted lover. I will not resign you thus. [Florence looks at Mm angrily) I see I pain and anger you; I will say no more at present. But ere I take my leave, I will make this compact with you : I will give you one month, Florence, to know your own heart, to decide your choice between us. During that time, if you will permit me, I shall continue occasionally to visit the family circle, which has become so dear to me ; I will not seek to see you alone, nor offer you a single expression of afiection or of reproof. But at the end of the month, I will crave an inter\dew with you, alone, as now. I will then renew my suit and solicit your hand. If I am again repulsed, I shall leave the land of my birth and seek in foreign climes the hap- l)iness I could neither find nor confer in England. Will you agree with this compact? Flo. — Yes! I will! In one month from to-day. Sir Ah. — I thank you, Florence. Allow me to i:>ress your hand in token of forgiveness and friend- ship. [Florence places her hand in his; he presses it to his lips, then turns toivard the terrace froin which Lil- *ian and Lord Ernest are just returning. To Lord Er- nest) 'Tis time we should rejoin the hunt ; we will have the honor of visiting the ladies this evening, with their permission. Flo. — We will be most happy if you will do so. [Theyhotv. Exeunt ^Sir Arthur and Lord Ernest. LiL. — Oomej Florry, we have no time to si)are; our uncle and cousin will soon be ]iere. Come ! Exeunt Florence and Lilian, r Enter L^rd Alcott and his son Gaston Alcott. L. Al. — Thrice welcome, my son, to Eockmount Castle, the home of 3'our ancestors, the cradle of your infancy, [pointing to the i)lctareH on the walls] Could these veterans of the past, whose glorious deeds have shed their lustre around our name, de- scend from their shadowy abodes, they would unite with me in welcoming to his home the last scion of a l>roud and spotless race. Gas. — [dasping his father^s hand with affection] Your kindness and generosity, my honored fathei", owerwhelmme; it is more than I deserve! I, who for so many years have remained a voluntary exile from the paternal mansion ! But wliere is my cousin, where is Florence? I am all impatience to embrace her. L. Al. — I presume, woman-like, they are giving the last beautifying touches to their toilets, {he rings the bell; enter Pierre.) Tell Miss Florence and Miss Lilian that their presence is requested in the parlor. {Exit Pierre.) Gas. — Miss Lilian, father! Pray who may she be ? 'Tis the first time I have heard her name ; or have I forgotten f L. Al. — Xo, my son, you have never known this other cousin; she is the child of your Uncle Theo- 4 i.^i;iA:V'S FUIK^III^E. to show your joy in tliis way. [a.<:iilc\ V\\ ciigag-e that Flon'iH'C is at tlie bottom of this; I will watch Ikt doscly. (tAS.— I Jim iini)aticnt to renew acuiuaiiitance \wth the dear old grounds and venerable trees so closely identified with fond memories of my chilusins accompany nu^ in my rand)le through the woods ? Fio.—[a2)pro<(('l(es Qa^ion to tale his prof ered arm] I shall be delighted to accompany you. (r^f-s.-And yclvctncing, as usual, stealthily on tiptoe, listening, and watch- ing Belt on and Lottie Bel. -You shall dance to your heart's content, this night, Miss Lottie. Pierre, -[asi^e] Oui! she dance beaucoup, but Aith me! \ith me! ^'EaL. -[continuing] I exiject to be joxxx partner for at least half a dozen of the round dances. I leave the waltzes to your favored admirer. Monsieur Pierre; dancing comes naturally to him, as to all French- men, like si^elbng and reading, as Dogberry says. V\e;kr^.--( still tinseen^ aside) Monsieur Dogberry he say true, he know. Me waltz with mamselle! oh, me like that. Monsieur Belton, he good man to- idght. Lot. — (laugJiing) Are you really going to dance, Mr. Belton f Well, rather than sit idle, I may grant you a dance or two, but I assure you mj^ expecta- tions rise far beyond either you or Mr. Pierre, this evening. Pierre. — {ivith a start, aside) Hem? vot she say? Lot. — [continuing) As this thing has been gotten up so suddenly, there will i)robably not be many la- dies i)resent, so I shall stand a good chance of get- ting some of the gentlemen for partners. Pierre. — [aside, with rage, shaking his finger at her) Oh ! the mechante coquette ! when she Madame Pierre me teach her want to dance with the grand gentlemen! Bel. — You silly girl! You had better take my advice, and keep in your own sphere. You remem- LIOAIV'S PROMIi our masters. 1 — Belton makes a sign ; they again shout ' 'Hear him.! hear him! hurrah! hurrah!" Another sign from Belton to stop. Gas. — I feel deeply touched by these evidences of your attachment, by your cordial welcome, and shall not forget it. He hows to thcjn, and they again shout: "Hur- rah! hurrah!" Gaston heckons to Belton, who hastens to his side Gas. — Belton, let a cask of al^ and another of wine be dealt out to these good fellows whose throats nuist be dry with shouting. They will want to drink our health. The crowd: "Yes! yes! hurrah! hurrah! Gas. — And now, let the dancing go on. We would not dampen the mirth of these joyous people by our i)resence. On a new sign from Belton, dance music strikes up; the men engage their partners and Hand as if waiting hafoTs. foTr^^irlg the quadrille. While this is going on, enter Lord Ernest and Sir Arthur ivho go forward and how to Lord Alcott and the ladies ; Lordu Ernest remaining by Lilian's side. Gas. — {turning round) AVliat are tiit' daucers Avait- ing- for? ^^ hy do tliey not comiiKiiice ! Tony comes forward, somewhat aiakwai'dly, pushed by tTi3 croivd; Belton seems annoyed by this unexpected episode, and stands watching him; To- ny stands twirling his hat and' bowing to the com- pany. Tony. — [embarrassed and stammering to Lord Al- cott] Please your lioiior and the ladies present and the Honorable Mi\ Gaston — I do not know — if — if I dare express — that is, if I dare take the liberty to express — to yonr lordship — Gas. — [kindly] Speak, my good fellow ; what ean I do to give yon i>leasure 1 The crowd: ''Yes, speah! goon! go on!" Tony. — [continuing] 1 wish to say to your lord- ship and these ladies here present — The crowd: '*0h! oh!" Belton v. lalces an impa- tient gesture to Tony to go on. Tony.— {still embarrassed, and stnmmering) Hi wish to say— that we would be so particularly hapi)y— so extensively gratified— so mightily honored— if— The crowd, luith impatience, "Oh! go on ! go on !'' B¥uL.—{kmghing aside) I fear I shall have to run for a corkscrew to draw the words out of that fellow's mouth. A fine spokesmai; they have chosen, truly ! Gas. -Well, young man? Tony.— If— if— (.s'iro- tecting walls. Flo. — (clinging to him ivith tears in htr voice) Oh! Gaston, do not speak thus. Would you leave me your affianced bride, so soon to be called your o mil In three short weeks, when we shall be united, we miglit seek together the excitement of that other life you still seem to cling to. Have you forgotten, Gas- ton, that 3'our father, with your approval, has fixed our marriage day for the 14th, just three weeks fr >m the present day 1 GAii-(adfie) Our marriage just three weeks from to- day! {aloud) Florence, listen 2 When we parted years ago, we were mere children, not knowing our own hearts; all was hope and sunshine; life was clouded with no doubts, no fears; but now, Florence, that our hearts and minds are more matured, we can not assume such engagements lightly. The marriage tie, with its sacred obligatiwis, presents itself in a different aspect ; its solemnity demands more time for reflection. Separation has somewhat estranged us. Our dispositions may have undergone great changes. We need time to become acquainted again, to learn to love and appreciate each other. One month is too short when the happiness of a life time is at stake. Am I not right, dear Florence '? Does not your own noble nature and good sense approve mei Flo.— Oh! Gaston, what cruel words are these! My heart has ever been the same towards you, pa- tiently waiting, faithfully hoping. It needs no month's delay to teach me if I love you, if I am wil- ling to accept you as the i)artner, the companion of my life. You love me not, Gaston, or you could nor reason thus ; your heart is estranged from me — j er- liaps vou love another. \)rith a cry of despair] Liii<;n! Lihan! Gas. — (turning qu cl'li/and sdzing her hand J Hu^h.' Florence, not that name ! f aside J Poor child ! Conid I bring sorrow to that sweet, innocent life! It nuust not, shall not be! Sooner will 1 bid farewell to my home forever! [turniiiij to Florence] Forgive uie, Florence! Let us say no more at i^resent. Some other time, wlien our emotions have subsided, which we can not now sufliciently control, we will speak of it again. I will go for a ramble in the forest, with my gun upon my shoulder. The cool, refreshhig air, the harmonious warblings of the birds, will calm and soothe my x)erturbed spirit. Alone with nature, its ^'oice may counsel and console me. We part not in anger, Florence f He holds out his hand to he?% in which she places hers; he contemplrites her thus sadly and silently for a moment then drops her hand gently, and goes sloiuly out. Florence presses her hand' to her hroio, asif in despair, and sinhs on a chair, exclaiming in an agonizing voice: EL. — That's so, Lottie. Their style wouldn't suit you. They are not like you and Pierre, running af- ter each other from morning till night, billing and cooing like two turtle-doves. Lot. — Fie, Mr. Belton ! That is sheer invention. Suppose I was to talk of all you drink in the cellar, when bottling the Master's choice wines? If you •have sharp eyes, so have I, you perceive. Bel. — Hush! hush! Some one might hear you. [he ivaJka around the room peeping through the doors and windoirs] IjOT. — What are you looking for ? Bel. — I am looking to see if that confounded Frenchman is not lurking in some corner with those long ears of his, as he often does when I am talking to you. JjOT. —{ynischievonsly) you were not so afraid of being overheard a few minutes ago! But I will be silent, if you will. Secret for secret. Bel. — Never fear; I'll not betray you. I'll be as blind and mute as a dormouse. But I must go about my business. {JEJxit Belton) Lilian appears at the door and advances with a languid step; Lottie approaches her with an air of sympathy. L.IL.IAT^''S PROMISE. 49 l^oT.— {aside) Poor young lady, how sick and pale she looks ! I wish I could do something for her. LiL,— Thank you, Lottie, I require nothing at present. JjOT.— (aside) One would almost believe she can read to the very bottom of one's heart, she is so sweet and good, (aloud) Miss Lilian, these packages have just arrived for Miss Florence, her wedding presents, I should judge, (she raises a round box) This one, from its shape and size, must be the bridal wreath. Oh! Miss Lilian, a bridal wreath is such a beautiful, delicate thing, (icUh a sigh J and only to be worn once in a life-time. How lovely it would look on your fair brow ! Will you not try it on ! LiL. — {an exj)ression of pain crosses Lilian's features; she speaJis almost angrily to Lottie) Eeplace the box, Lottie! You may leaye me ; I would be alone. Lot.— h hall I tell Miss Florence the boxes have arrived, and that you would like to see their con- tents ? And may I return, please Miss ! \jTL.— {smiling) Yes, Lottie, you may return. You^ curiosity is on the alert, I perceive, and will not be satisfied until you have examined the contents of all these boxes. Lot. — {delighted) Thank you. Miss Lilian^ T ^^\^^ run for Miss Florence. [Exit Lottie] IjIL. — [alone] Florence's bridal wreath! I wonder what it looks like? (laying her hand on the box) I do not think I have ever seen one. I m^ty indulge my curiosity for this time without reproach, for I shall never behold one again on this fair earth, [she taJces the tvreath from the box, holds it in her hand, and con- templates it with deep sadness] How lovelj' it is! So white, so delicate, so pure; no orange blossoms shall ever adorn my brow. I, too, had hopes and strange yearnings for love and happiness awakening within me, but they must be crushed forever in the silence of my own. soul, ^o e3^e, save one, [she raises h-r eyeu and hand to heaven] must know the love that fills my heart. I have struggled against it; I have re- pulsed, with disdain, the looks of ardent affection tliat luive soiiglit mine; I have met with cold reserve the impassioued avoids to which m3' own heart woukl have responded with tenderness and (h'votion : bnt the struggle is beyond my strength; I can no longer endure it. lean no longer conceal from myself thnt Gaston loves me. 'Tis no mere passing fancy', but a deep, imi>assion,ed love — a love that lills my heart ^^ith joy unutterable, yet dri^T's me to despair. Straiige paradox of the human heart, where all the emotions are at variance. To-morrow is the day aj)- pointed for their nuptials, but not a word has been spoken by either of them on the sul)ject; both shrink from every allusion to it. Florence looks as if her heart was bi caking. I will no longer stand in the way of her happiness — I nuist go. But what i>retext can I find for leading the castle I My uncle seems to divine what is passing in my mind. He watches my every movement, he will scarcely allow me out of 1 is sight. Poor, dear nuclei what wdl become of him, deprived of his Lilian ! This thought rends my heart, and makes a coward of me. But I can delay no longer. To-morrow's sun must find me far beyond the wa^ls of Eockmonnt Castle —but whither shall I go! Heaven guide and i)rotect me! [she takes up the wreath, and gaze: on it sadly] Beautiful orange blossoms, to your white purity, emblem of tiuth and innocence, I will entrust my last farewell to my be- loved Florence; may you i^rove to her a tidisman of happiness and faithful love ; may your chaste lov- hness, you^^ sweet freshness, be only tarnished by kisses, never by tears ! Whisper to her when I am gone, that her i)oor lilian died in the first bloom of her youth, to fulfill her promise, to secuT^eher hap- pi'^ess. Audnow, sweet fiowers, farewell I farewell! Lilian presses the u 'ecilh to her lips; she then re- places it in the car ton. Enter Florenc, Lottie fol- loitlng; Florence has an air of listless indiffer- vncc ; sh • wallcs towards the sofa opposite Liliaji; Florence remains c>tanding, ivitli downcast eyes, as if lost in tlwiLght. Lot. — [e.vt iledly (joiyio towards the boxes and tovcMng them] Here tbey iVio^ Miss Floreiiee, shall I open tlieiii and show them to yon? Flo. — hcith a tone of indiffirciwc] Not now; I will. see them oye and bye. Yon may g'O. Lottie. [Loille J'ujf.rs) Did yon not hear me, Lottie? T said ycm might go. Lot. — Yes, Miss, but please, Miss Lilian said I I might staj^ and see the opening of the boxes. I do so hn^e to look at preiiy things. Flo. — Oh! that is diii^'erent if'?.Iiss Lilian said so. SaiJsiy yonv cniiosii^/, then leave the room. Lot. — [opening the boxes] Oh! Miss Fhn-enee, Miss Lilian, clo look! 1 never saw anything so sjdendid ininylife! diamonds; are they not? How tliey do gbiter! How lovel}' they will look on yonr white neck! You v, ill wear them to-moirow ^^lth this be:\util*ul bridal wreath, will you not, ]\Tiss Florence? Flo. — [starting vp a'^ irith a sudden pang] To-mor- row! My bridal wreath ! ! [turning t > Lottie] Leave those things; I w ill not see them now. Lot. — [iu a tone of vexation, aside] Did any one ever see such indifference f Wouldn't I love to show them around, if they were mine! Well, I declare I can not see bito it! This is more vexatious than ever ; but, you may dei)end upon it, I'll fei'ret it out. {Exit Loitie) Eater Lord JJcott u ItJi Gastoji; Lord ,/lleott seats liim'ielfnpar Lilian and takes her hand, iriili an expression of deep anxiety, as lie scans her loohs; Gadon pauses opposite Lilian, gazes at her for a moment, then breathes a sigh, and approa,elies Florence. Ld. a. — {^imth forced cheerfulness) My children, do you know that to-morrow is the 14th of Octol^er? Flo. — {with bitterness) I have not forgotten it, uncle. Ld. a. — This day lias CATr been a memorable one in the annals of our house. On this day, many cen- turies ago, one of our ancestors was knighted l)y our r>2 LII.IAM'8 PROMISE. sovereign's own hand, on the battle field. Another on the anniversary of this da^^ won glories that have shed a halo on onr escutcheon. The day has never since passed unnoticed by our family; and for ages past, some great and glorious event has always added new lustre to our name. In later years, we have maintained the go jd old custom by celebrating our marriages on this day, [turning to Gaston) and it has been my prayer, my son, to see you, like your fore- fathers, lead a lovely bride to the altar, on this glo- rious anniversary. And — a strange coincidence — it w as on the 14th of October that my darling child, my little Lilian was delivered to my care, and never sweeter ))lessing rested on the old mansion than when I accepted the i)recious charge. LiL. — (aside) Alas, dear uncle ! could he but know ! Ld. a. — (passing over to Florence and Gaston) For this reason, my dear son and my dear niece, I have indulged the hope that your union would take place on the eventful day. Am I to be disappointed? Tliere is no barrier between you: you have loved each other for years; why, then, posti)one the happi- ness that awaits you? Florence, have you anything to say.^ Flo. — (with much emotion) No, my uncle, I am ready to obey your wishes. Ld. a. — ^nd you, my son? Lilian leans forward, and seems to await anx- iously Gaston's reply. {h*,. — Father, do not question me. But I can not now unite my life to that of Florence. She is very dear to me, but it is too hurried for an event that is to shape all our future lives. We must first know our own hearts, and study each other's disposition. We have been separated so long. 1^1.0.— (aside) The same sad, chilling words he spoke to me a month ago ! hiL.— (falling hack in her seat as if in despair; aside) Oh, tliere is no help! I must go! Poor dear uncle! Ld. a.— Well, my children, you know best, I sup- pose. Far be it from me to influence you, where the LILIAN'S PROMISE. 53 happiness of your whole existence is at stake. It is a serious disapi)ointment to me, but I leave it to your own good sense to decide. (Lord Alcott returns to Lilian and draws her totvards him; they advance to- icards the front. Ld. a.— Well, my cherished one, a\ hat shall we do to celebrate the day! Shall we have a big hunt? a ball? anything you wish, only say the word, any amusement that will make you happy and once more dress your face in smiles. LiL.--Dear uncle, you are ever kind and thought- ful, (aside) Each word he utters cuts deep into my heart. What can I do ! [aloud] ]S"o hunt, no dan- cing. I am not well enough to make merry to-mor- row. We will enjoy ourselves in some more quiet way. Ld. a.— Whatever you will, my pet. [he gazes at her tvith great sadness] Pierre appeal's at the door. Pierre.— Tony Marsten, sir, is below, and would wish to see Miss Lilian for a moment, if agreeable. LiL.— I will see him immediately, [aside] This may prove the deliverance I was waiting for, and furnish the pretext for absenting myselt. Ld. a.— Tell the young man to come up. Miss Lilian will see him here. Pierre.— Yes, sir. [hoivs; exit] Ld. A.— Tony Marsten! I have a recollection of having heard that name before; have I not? Let me see. Is not this the fisherman's son, who lives about one mile from the castle at the extremity of our estate? LiL.— Yes, his mother. Mrs. Marsten is in very dehcate health. She sent me word some days ago that her little girl was very ill ; I hoi3e that Tony is not the bearer of worse tidings. Tony a]jpears at the door, bowing awkwardly and tivirling his hat. Ld. a.— Walk in, young man, and deliver your messaee. 54 lilLIAN'S PROMISE. Tony.— Please, Miss, my little sister is very bad ; my mother thinks she wont get through the night. In her fever, she raves about you, Miss, and begs for you to come to her. Mother thought, if you would be so excessive kind, the sight of you might ease the child's suffering, and iDerhaiJS save her life. JjiL.— {with alacrity) Certainly 1 will go. She rings the hell, and Pierre appears. LiL.— (to Pierre) Tell Lottie to bring my hat and cloak. I shall not return to-night. (IJxit Pierre) Ld. a.— My child, I can not bear to have you ex- 130se yourself this cold, blustering night. You are not well, and I fear the fatigue of watching will be too much for you. (Lilian makes a movement of expos- tulation) Well, if you feel that you must go, I will accompany you. Tony, tell the coachman to put the horses to the carriage immediately. You can go with us. Toi^Y.— [bowing] Thank you, sir. [Exit Tony] Enter Lottie with cloak and hood; she assists Lil- ian to put them on. 'LiL.—[exultinglyj aside] Ha! My liberty at last! [goes toward Florence and Gaston, talces the hand of both and unites them, saying with tenderness] Florence! Gaston! be united — ^be hajipy! Lilian hurries off, and joining her uncle places her amn in his and draivs him quichly out of the room. Goston spHngs forward to the door with a louyd cry ' 'Lilian. " Florence sinks on a chair, bury- ing her face in her hands. Cuii^ain falls. LILIAN'S PROMISE. 55 Scene and.— The river side, where small boats are nnoored; the boatnnan's cottage on one side; a large tree, around which is a rustic saat; the forest lies be- yond; a rustic bridge crosses the river. Wlxerv the curtain rises, Tony is seated in one of the boats drawn up on the shore, mending his nets; he sings cheerfully in a loud voice. Enter from the cottage Mrs. Marsten and Lilian. Mrs. M. — Miss Lilian, when you have breathed a little fresh air, do come in and take a few hours' rest. The sun is just rising, and it will be some time be- fore any one vAW come from the castle to fetch you. LiL. — I will return to you bye and bye. I will rest here awhile, beneath this old tree. I love dear- ly the fresh, dewy^, morning air. It will revive me, and give me new strength. The sun-rise and I are old friends. Mrs. M. — ^But how can I thank you as I ought, dear Miss, for your care and watchfulness all through the night of my little girl, who now seems quite out of danger. If ever a blessing will descend on your sweet, young head, Miss, it will be a mother's grati- tude for the life of the child you have saved! LiL. — Oh ! dear Mrs. Marsten, do not attribute to me any such power 5 our lives are in higher hands. Mrs. M. — Yes, surely, but if ever angel did come in human form to comfort us, you are one of them. LiL. — Say no more. I have really done nothing except to soothe the child, and tranquilize her nerv- ous irritability. Mrs. M. — Oh! yes, Miss, the moment you touched her hand and caressed her, the nervous twitchings ceased, and as you sang that soft lullaby, she fell asleep, and the fever left herj she is sleeping still. LiL. — Sleep was all she required. Do not disturb her. She will awake refreshed, and with careful tendance, she will in a few days be quite restored to health. Mrs. M.— May heaven bless yon for all your kind- ness! I will return to the bedside of my child, and 56 lillilAN'S PROMISE. prepare the breakfast for my son. I hope you will take some refreslimeiit also, Miss, when it is ready. LiL-Tliaiik you, I may take a cup ofcoftee, later; I am not so inclined, at present. Mrs. M.--{Mrs. Marsten enters the cottage^ saying:) Well, Miss, I am just lieie inside; if you want any- thing, you must give me a call. [Exit Mrs. M.\ Lilian looks around on all sides; she does not perceive Tony, ivlio is now sleeping in the bottom of the boat. She throws her cloak on the bench under the tree, and seats herself. LiL.— Alone, at last ! How grateful to me is this solitude, this calm which j^ermits me to reflect upon the portentous step I contemj)late. For the first time in a long month, 1 am really alone. I need no lon- ger i)lace a mask upon my features, smile, and affect joy, while my sad heart is breaking. I need no lon- ger repress the burning tears that well uj) to my eyes in spite of all my efforts to restrain them. Nor need I tremble to give utterance to the thoughts, the feel- ings that inundate my soul with a sweet bitterness I can not define. Dear Gaston, how I love you ! De- spite my cold rejection of your tenderness, each word your dear lips liaA e uttered, has sunk deeply in my heart, and in that soil has taken root forever. Ah ! never again shall I hear those tones of love; never will he call mehis darling, Ms own) never shall his eyes seek mine with looks of unutterable affection. But I must not dwell upon these sad, sweet memories, this ardent longing for a bliss that might have beenx it would but serve to rend my bosom with regrets, and deprive me of my courage when I need it most. [she pauses] Ah, Gaston! Florence! you will never know how Lilian loved you ! What better i^roof can she give than the sacrifice of her young life, which she is about to offer up on the altar of your lia]3pi- ne?s! (she remains some moments as if lost in thought) All night long as I watched beside the sick child's bed, strange fancies haunted my brain. Phantoms seemed to entice, to lure me to my doom ; in vain I L.IIiIAi\'S PROMISE. 57 tried to shake thein off; they would not be dispelled Tlieu 1 recalled a sad tale that Florence and 1 had read together about a year ago. It was the story of a i)oor girl who had bestowed all the Avealth of her young lieart upon a worthless lover who deserted her and left her with none to comfort her. In the frenzy of her despair, she llung herself into an empty bark, unloosed it from its moorings, and drifted out to sea, beyond the reach of all assistance. And all night loug I have seen this pallid spectre, and she beckoned me to follow her. I pressed my trembling- hand to my eyes to shut out the vision, and Avhen J looked again, it seemed mysel/y my very *• - a early hunter and often couies this way in his m ing walks with his gun on his shoulder. He bees ii proud at all, as most of them great rieh lords be; will sit down here and chat with me as he used lu ,. ' with my father, before he went abroad. He says . father taught him his first lessons in hunting wac"; he was a mere lad. LiL. — {aside., with nervous excitement) Gaston mu. not find me here, nor must he himself remain, {alou Tony, wait; I will g( to your mother. You go u. meet Mr. baston, and accompany him on his hi.: for a while — do anything, but do not let him rema. here, and do not speak of me ! Tony. — I will do anything you wish. Miss Lilia; anything to give you i)leasure. Lilian enters the cottage. Gaston erjsses tli bridge and advances; he meets Tony. Gas. — Good morning, Tony, how :s the child ? Tony. -Thsiuk 3 on, Mr. Gaston, much better, t,.. We feel as if Miss Lilian's care had saved her, Lt . she wont have us say so. Gas. -Bless her kind heart! [a.side] I hoped i catch a glimpse of her this morning, but she axD.u me as usual, [aloud] How did Miss Lilian seem to b this morning; she w^as not well last evening; na>. you seen her yetf Tony.— Ohl yes sir, she look very pale, sir, for sii. tooked no rest all nigiit. Gas.— Hsis she not been out of the house this morh ing? Tony.— Yes, sir, she came out to breathe the fres;. morning air, just at day-break. She said i -it u vived her, yes! that is what she said. She was sil- ting under that tree yonder for nearly an hour. ^a.s'.— Did she si>eak with you? Tony.— Only a few words sir. She looked wearied and sad as if she had some great sorrow which siie 60 I.IL.IA]\['8 PROMISE. wished no one to see. Wlien I thinks ot her as she used to he, this very spring; she was as joyfulsome as the birds, always singin*^ and laugliing. Gai.--Cou\d I not see her for a moment'? Will she not come out, Tony f Tony.—^o, sir, I thinks not. I believe she is gone to lie down; she needs rest. I never saw one more changed 1 have watched her closely since she corned here last evening. J have felt as if something terri- ble was hanging over her. Gas. -{grasping Tony\s ar?)}) I, too, have experi- enced the same unaccountable dread. We will be two to guard her from harm. You will assist me, Tony, to watch over her? To7iy.-- Aye, that 1 will, sir. Lord Alcott will soon be here to take her home, I spose; he said he would be early, when he left Miss Lilian here last evening. But she do not wish your presence here, Mr. (xaston, she told me to make you go away, immediately; she even wished me to go with you on your hunt. I will go and fetch my gun. Gas.—{lool's aronndy espies LiU an' s cloal'; he raise) it tvith \endernessj and presses it to his lips, suying:) Her cloak! which enwraps her chaste and del.cate form ! {he gently lays it down as To7iy enters, his gw]i on his shoulder) Tony.—l am ready, now, sir. They cross the bridge; as they disappear, Lilian comes from the cottage; she looks cautiously around. X//. -They are gone! There's no time to be lost. Imust be quick ; they may return, [she hastens to the old boat, and tries to unloo;en the fastenings.] Ah! how hard these knots are tied! I never shall be ablie to undo them! What shall I do!! Oh, how my poor lingers ache ! [she earches in the boat and finds a large pocket-knife ', exclaims:] Tony's knife! How prov- idential ! Heaven surely approves the act and thus comes to aid me. I can cut these ropes though I could not unfasten them! [i^he works tvith energy, and at last exclaims:] The knots are all unfastened, th.e boat IS free! [she pushes the ooatj and it glides down to the ?ratc}\j then she springs UgJitlt/ into itj s'jizes the oar^ and plushes off; she raises her eyes and one hand to heaven saying :\ Farewell, bright v/orld! Farewell to all 1 love on eartlil FareweH, (xaston! My usicie j Florence I Farewell^ Farewell! Th£> hoat disappears, Tony re-Q liters from the for- est. ToNY.-T left Mr. Gaston in tlie woods and did not care to follow Mm. Something seemed to pnll nie back to tbis spot. I can not understand what make me feel so queer. I never feel so before. How very strange! I feel as if soioetliing dreadful was going to hax>pen! [Tony goes t>o the cottage door and ealls:] Motlier, is Miss Lilian up there witli youf [aside] Mr. Gaston say I must watch her! IMes. M. — [opening a 'window above) No, my son, Miss Lilian went out a short time ago. I feel quite won led about the dear young lady. I could not per- suade her to take any breakfast. She said that all she needed was quiet and fresh air. She must be around here somevv^here; she would not think of walking home, as she expects her uncle. Tojiy loohing around' on every side, suddenly misses ths- hoat; he 7%tshes to th^e water's edge. Tony.— Great God! v^^here is the boat/ The boat has gone.' and she is in it/ [afeehle cry is heard in the distance] That cry / it is her voice / 1 may yet be in time to save her. Mrs, M. — [rushing ou:) What is the matter? where are you going. ^ Tony. — Do not bold me mother, do not stop me. The dear young lady is drown ding, and I will save her or die with her ! Let me go ! let me go ! On your knees, mother, pray for us. Tomj hastily unmoors a toat, and rows away rap- idly. Mrs. M. — [on her hices] 01i!myGod/ Save my son! save them both/ [she sol^s aloud^ burying her face in her hand':) 02 lill^IAM'S FII€>MI8E. Gastoji enters, goes up to Mrs. Marsten, and at- tempts to raise her. Gas. — What lias happened, Mrs. Margery! Why these sobs, why these tears ? Is your child worse? Mrs. M. — [choked irith sohs] Oh ! Miss Lilian I poor dear Miss Lilian ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! Gas. — [fraiitic\ What ahout Miss Lilian? what has happened to her '^ Speak, woman! are you resolved to drive jne mad? Mrs. M.— Oh ! the dear young lady has gone and drownded herself! and Tony has gone to save her, or dieAvithher! We may never see either of them again, [sohbing] Qas. — [ivith icild despair] Oh, my God! my God! If e rushes toward the river asifahout to plunge in, then suddenly stops aghast, pointing to an ob- ject beyond. Mrs. Marsten follows him, clasping her hands Tony approaches, heaHng the lifeless body of Lilian. Mrs. Marsten snatches the cloak from- the bench and covers her. Tony lays Lilian (^f^.ntly d,own on the sand. Gaston kneels beside her, lakes her liand, and kisses it passionately. Mrs. Marsten also kneels and sustains her. Gas. — She can not be dead, I'll not believe it.' Fate rould not deal me such a blow. Go, Tony, fly for f\n^. doctor ; life is not extinct, {lie applies his fingers to tliepuhe) There surely is a ftxint movement, is there not, Mrs. Marsten ? My own hands are so trem- inous that I distrust my judgment, {he places his hand upon her heart) Yes, yes! I can not be mistaken; there is a fluttering here. I knew she could not be dead. Mrs. :J.--Yes, I thiidv there is hope. The beats are stronger, now; life is gradually returning. See, a shudder passes through her frame. Gas.— Thank God/ Oh, thank God/ she is saved ! How was it, Tony, did the boat capsize? ToNY.--Oh/ no, sir ; th.e good old boat could not capsize. It was old and leaky, and so I tell Miss LiUan. It hold out better nor I expected it would. The current was so strong, and carried it a good dis- taiice. It must have been filling \yitli ^vater and sinking, when tlie yonng lady gave that terrible scream tliat called me to her assistance. The water was most a covering liar, and she must have fainted with the fright. In another moment she w^ould have dro winded. Gas.— When the poor child saw that death was in- evitable, her young life rebelled at the sacrilege. Tony.— Never can I forget Avhat I felt when I saw lier, as I thought, without life in the boat, and knewed that the w^ater would soon be over lier. I feared I would not reach in time to save her, and just as I reached her, the old boat gave a swirl, and down she went. Mr. Gaston, she opens her eves. DuHng this time, Gaston Juts raised her head on his knee, still chafing and hissing her hands, and uttering endearing names. Lilian gradually re- turns to consciousness, and gazes around her. LiL.— Help/ lielp/ the boat is sinking/ Oh, I die ! Gaston, save me/ save me/ Gas.— My beloved/ I am here/ Do you not know me ! You are safe in my loving arms/ Only look at me, darling/ Love and joy await ycuj speak to me, Lih«n, my sjveet one/ j\lRt^.. M, — She still fancies herself in the boat; the shock and fright have been too much for her. Poor deary(U])g lady, she is so sensitive and delicate! See, her wihl, strange look is x>^ssing away; she is returniog to consciousness. Speak to her again, ^Ir. Gaston, the sound of your voice will revive her more than all else. Gas. — Lilian, my darling, look at me/ your Gas- ton/ speak to me/ (Lilian looJcs at him, utters a cry of joy ^ and clasps Mm around the necl\) My Lilian, my own/ -A confusion of voices is heard approaching, fil- ter Lord Alcott, Plorence, Belton, Lottie and Pierre. Ld. a. — [rushing frantically toward Lilian) My Lilian/ my child/ where is my darling? Tony. — {making icay for Lord Alcott) She is here, my lord, she is safe. The dangei is past. Gaston and Florence raise Lilian tonderly, while Margery brings a chair from the house; they place her in it-. |7j[^o, — {ivhispering to Lilian) Sly poor daiiing/ I see tlirougli it all 'Twas done ibr love of him, was it not ? LiL. — Forgive- me^ Florence. I could not help it^ and 1 saw no other way to keep the promise I had made to you. Flo. — When I exacted that promise, Lilian, I nev- er dreamed that it would entail ui)on yon snch a fa- tal sacrifice. Why did you not open your heart to me, and frankly own your love for himf IjIL. — Would you have renounced him for my sake, Florence, you who loved liim with such jealous de- votion? Flo. — You should have known my proud nature better tliaji to suppose that I would accept a hand without the heart's accompanying it. I now know Oastoh's heart, and I resign him. Be you his happy bride. I renounce my claim forever. [Gaston seizes the hand of Florence and kisses it] LiL.— Dear, dear Florence.' Ld. A.— What does ail this mystery signify? I can not comprehend a Vv^ord of it, nor hov/ the sad accident occurred, that came so near depriving me of my darling child ? Will some one tell me what it means? Gas.— Not noYv^, dear father, Lilian is too weak to talk much ; at some other moment, she will tell you all. [aside] He must never learn the truth, it would kill kim. Lilian leaning on Mrs. Marsten's ann, enters the cottage. Enter Sir AHhiir and Lord Ernest. Sir. a.— The news of a terrible calamity has just reached our ears, and we have come in all haste to inquire into the truth of the statement. Ld. a. — A terrible accident, indeed, but thanks to the energy and courage of this young man, (pointirig to Tony) our darling is restored to us, and in our joy we had almost forgotten to express our gratitude. lillilAN'S PROMISE. 65 (Tony turns to enter the cottage; hord Alcott stops him, saying:) Come here, young man. (Tony advances modestly; luord Alcott extends his hand to him an I n- tains it J Tony, no words can express my gratiti «^[t , but from this day forward, I shall ever consider yovi as having saved the life of my child. If there i^> <^ny wish of your heart that it is in my jjower to gratify, speak; I can refuse you nothing. Tony.— No, my lord. Miss Lilian she saved my lit tie sister's life; I have saved hern. She has long- been the guardian angel of our home. I could take no thanks for doing my duty. Lilian re-enters, having cluinged her wet dress for a simple one. Gas.- -Lilian has truly said as noble a heart beats under this rough exterior, as can be found m the highest stations of life. So modest withal. (Tony retiring) LiL.— Stay, Tony, where is the letter I gave you ? Tony.— I have it here. Miss, (offering it to her) LiL.— Deliver it, yourself, to my uncle, to whom it is addressed. [Tony hands the letter to hord Alcott, who opens it, and reads it to himself] Ld. a.— It gives me great pleasure to comply with my darling's wishes, and to i)rove my gratitude to this worthy youth. Tony, Miss Lilian desires me to bestow upon you this cottage in which you were born, with the ten acres ot land surrounding it. It is yours, my good fellow, and as long as Lord Alcott lives, you shall never want a friend. Tony.— My lord! Miss Lilian! This is too much ! How can I thank you ! Let me call my mother. Ld. a. — Ko need of thanks, my lad. I hope you and your good mother may long live to enjoy your prosperity. Gas. — I, too, father, have a favor to ask of you, if Lilian will consent. This day has been marked out by you, for another joyous anniversary. A marriage was to have taken place, and the postponement of it was a great disappointment to you. 66 LILIAIV'S PROmSE. Ld. a. — Aye, a verj^ great oue, indeed, my son. Uas. — Well, father, suppose I revoke my decision and say : Let the preparations proceed, the wedding- shall still take place, and once more on the 14th of October the old halls shall ring with sounds of festiv- ity and gladness: Ld. A. — Are you in earnest, Gaston! This is no subject for jesting. My heart would truly rejoice in such an event. Gas. — [takes Lilian by the hand, encircling her icaist frith his arm and leads her toicard his father] And here, father, is my darling bride ! Sir Arthur and Lord Ernest come fomuard from the rear, exclahning: Both — How ! Lilian ! not Florence ! Ld. a. — Lilian! What means this mystification, Gaston, I thought Florence was your destined bride ! Flo. — Be not discomi)osed, dear uncle, all will be satisfactorily explained. Mj hand is pledged to — [she looks toicard /Sir Arthur, ivho springs f or icard, talces her hand and kisses it] Sir a. -I trust. Lord Alcott. you will not withhold your consent to our union. I am x^roud and happy to become a member of your family. Ld. A. -You have my hearty consent, my friend, but I can not understand this substitution, it confuses my brain. It is dazed, bewildered ; decidedly these young ])eople are too much for me. I am getting old: my intelligence is at fault, [to Lilian] Lilian, my little girl, do you love your Cousin Gaston ! [she hides her face on hord Alcotfs bosom] You little trai- toress! I thought you Avere never going to love any one besides your poor old uncle. Well, I suppose I must not be selfish. I must consent to share my treasure with my son. 1 can not give her up en- tirely. LiL. -Dear uncle, I will never leave you! Ld. a. -Humi^h ! Trust again to young i^eople's promises ! 'Til never love any man but you, dear un- cle,^'' {mimicMng Lilian. Lilian and Gaston laugh) lilLIAlV'S PROMISE. 67 Sir. a. — {to Florence) Florence, since vou have at length consented to be mine, will you ngt crown my happiness by allowing the celebration of a second marriage on this joyful anniversary? Flo. — Patience, Sir Arthur, you must allow me time to forget, Ld. E. — Here I am again out in the cold ! Who, in the name of all that is most wonderful, could have imagined such a winding up of the family drama ! I do not really know whether I stand on my head or my heels. Only last evening Sir Arthur and I had laid all our plans for a fishing and hunting ex- cursion in N( rway, you know, and now, whew ! he'll be only fishing for compliments to pay his lady-love, or hunting up the shortest road to the hymeneal temple. What is to become of me? Whom shall I marry! There's Miss Elmwood, she would have me quick enough, you know, but she is four or five years my senior, and all the powder and rouge fail to re- store the Ijloom of youth. She has a splendid figure on horseback, seen in perspective. 1 might manage to ride a few paces in the rear, jou know, and so keep up the illusion. But I should be mistaken for her groom; and then, on rainy days, we could not hunt, {he makes a icry face) No, no, that wont do. I must renounce all thoughts of marriage. My spirits are rather low. I think I'll try chang-e of scene. I'll be oft* for the continent. \iOT.—[sa\wUy, aside] God speed you, sir. (laugh- ing; she falls back to the side of Pierre, ivho places her arm in his) Florence with her aim around Lilian, walks for- ward and faces tJie audience. Flo. — Do you not feel, dear cousin, as if something was still lacking to oiu' entire satisfaction on this oc- casion! Lilian's fidelity to her promise should sure- ly meet with the appprobation of all our friends here present. Will they not give it us ? that this may truly be styled another bright, eventful anniversary, to be indelibly written in the annals of Eockmount 68 lillilAlV'S PROMISE. Castle, and tliat its old walls may once more re- sound with Ideals of satisfactiou and joy! Gaston covxes forward and tahes the hand of Lil- ian, Sir Arthur that of Florence ; all group around andfonn a tableau. LiL. — {gazes first at Gastofi, then at the audience^ and exclaims:) Oil! I am so happy! The curtain falls. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 017 400 476 6 « Printed FIWYTIJV'G OFFICE, 69 MAIN STREET, HQUSTON, Texas. ABOLPH BOCCIIIS, Ma >()