LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 SlielfL_?_l.i^5S 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
EDG-AR ARNOLD, 
 
 -THE- 
 
 GENIUS OF THE FORGE, 
 
 AN AMERICAN DRAMA. 
 
 BY 
 
 y. f. j4lLLS. 
 
 COPYRIGHTED 18S1. 
 
 Publishers and Stereotypers. 
 
 ATLANTA. GA. 
 
 II 
 
EDQAR ARNOLD, 
 
 THE- 
 
 GENIUS OF THE FORGE, 
 
 AN AMERICAN DRAMA. 
 
 I3Sr FI-V^E -A-CTS. 
 
 / 
 
 L. P. HILLS. 
 
 COPYRIGHTED 1881. 
 
 . ... ,- .^^. 
 
 . 6 188^ 
 
 FULLER & HOLCOMB, .,r^'^>- 
 
 Publishers and Stereotypers,""^ ;,|ll>>^ 
 
 ATLANTA, GA. ""'" 
 
 IbSI 
 

 Entered accord inn 1<^> Act of Congress in the y^nr 1881, by 
 
 L. P. HILLS, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C, 
 
 4 
 
 TMP92-009193 
 
THE &ENIUS OF THE FORGE. 
 
 dramatis Personae. 
 
 EDCrAR ARNOLD, The Genius of the Forge. 
 HARRY LOGAN, An Adventurer assuming the title 
 
 of Count LeGrande. 
 JEREMIAH STEBBINS, known as Spoutin Jerry. 
 WILLIAM GRAY, a Retired Millionaire. 
 UNCLE JOHN, Brother of William Gray. 
 RICHARD THORNTON, alias Slippery Dick. 
 OLD NATHAN, The Village Jailor. 
 LILLIAN GRAY, A Beautiful Heiress. 
 KITTY, Lillian's Irish Maid. 
 A MINISTER. 
 A CONSTABLE. 
 TWO OFFICERS. 
 
 ACT 1. 
 
 Si'.ane 7. — A room in Mr, Gray* 9 house among 
 the Cat»hill mouniain». Candle burning on table, 
 L. C. Kitty discovered dusting ond arranging (he 
 fur7iiture. 
 
 Kitty. {Yawning.) Heigh ho! did ever anyone 
 see the likes of this living in the country? no din- 
 ners or dance? as there were in town; no excite- 
 ment of any kind, except crawling out of bed at 
 three o'clock in the morning, by the glimmer of a 
 tally candle. Not a single visitor has been to the 
 house since we came here, except that villainous- 
 looking Frinchman who keeps tagging the family 
 around in hopes of becoming a member of it. 
 
 Well, there's one consolation, poor Miss Lillian 
 has recovered her health and spirits entirely, and 
 I'm sure I would live anvwhere for her sake. 
 
4 EDGAR ARNOLD. [aCT I. 
 
 Enter Mr. G, C. 
 
 Mr. G. Good morning, Kitty. 
 
 Kitty. Good morning, sir. 
 
 Mr. G. Is Lillian stirring yet'^ 
 
 Kitty. Is she stirring yet! Sure, sir, she's been 
 ujj this hour, and as hard at work as though she 
 was preparing to discharge me and take my place 
 herself. She's dressing now, sir, for her morning 
 ride. 
 
 Mr. G. Ah! poor girl! the affliction which left 
 her motherless almost left me childless also. 
 But she is becoming her ow^n bright, happy self 
 again under the magic influence of this mountain 
 atmosphere, and her busy habits will, no doubt, 
 prevent her brooding over the great sorrow which 
 has darkened her young life. 
 
 As for you, Kitty, have no fears; I will see that 
 you are kept in employment, — and by the way, you 
 may go and prepare me a cup of coffee, and we will 
 await breakfast until Lillian's return. 
 
 Kitty. Thank you. sir; I'll have the cotfee ready 
 directly. (Crosses, L) 
 
 Mr. G. Kitty, (Kitty turns) has the Count 
 called this morning? 
 
 Kitty. Not yet, sir; but never fear Mm; he'll be 
 here before Miss Lillian starts, begging the privi- 
 lege of riding with her; and by the same token, sir, 
 I think she'll give him leave to stay at home, (aside) 
 I wonder what Mr. Gray finds to admire in that 
 Frinchman anyhow; I know Miss Lillian don't care 
 a smithareen for him, and as for me, 1 hate furri- 
 ners. (Exi^, L.) 
 
 Mr. G. (sitting at table) I wonder why it is that 
 Lillian so constantly avoids the Count's society. 
 
 She seemed little pleased when she found he had 
 followed us to the mountains and taken quarters at 
 the village tavern. Can it be that I was wrong to 
 
ACT I.J IJDGAK AKNOLD. 5 
 
 urge her acceptance of liis oiler, while she was so 
 w^eak and overcome witli grief at her poor mother's 
 death? I must observe her more closely, and see if 
 her young heart has wandered elsewhere. {Lillian 
 heard without singing) Ah ! here she comes. 
 
 Enter Lillian, C. 
 
 LiLL. Good morning, father. Am I not an early 
 riser? Look, I am ail ready for a gallop to the cliff to 
 isee the sunrise. 
 
 Mk. G-. (Rising.) Ah! my child, how it gladdens 
 my heart to see the brightness coming back into 
 your eyes, and the roses returning to your cheeks, 
 but — - 
 
 LiLL. But what, father? 
 
 Mk. G. Would it not be more pleasant to have 
 an escort on these morning rides? Why not allow 
 the Count to accompany you? 
 
 Ltll. No, father, I prefer to commune alone witli 
 nature; to listen, undisturbed, to the warbling of 
 the birds, and watch the ever changing glory of the 
 heavens as the sun rises above the distant mountains. 
 Jt is for this I take these morning rides, and I do 
 not v^ish to be troubled with the Count's constant 
 importunities for the a23pointment of a wedding day. 
 
 Mk. G. But, Lillian, you have promised to mar- 
 ry Count Le Grande, ^YllJ not appoint the day and 
 so have everything settled? 
 
 Lill. Simply, father, because I do not love him. 
 
 Mk. G. (reproachfully) Lillian ! 
 
 LiLL. Nay, father, do not chide me for ]3roniising 
 my hand where I had not yet given my heart. I 
 did it to please you when I was so weak that I 
 scarce expected 1 should live to fulfill the promise. 
 But now that I have grow^n well and strong again, 
 I would fain have heart and hand go together. 
 
 Mk. G. Well, my child, you know how anxious 
 
6 EDGAR ARNOLD. [aCT I. 
 
 I am to. have yoii happily settled in life, and liow 
 mucli it would gratify my ambition to see my daugh-^.. 
 enjoying that distinction which so few American 
 girls attain, an alliance with a foreign nobleman. 
 However, I will not urge you to undue haste ; only 
 promise that you will try and give to Count Le- 
 Grande the affection which is due to the man whom 
 you have promised to wed. 
 
 LiLL. Ah! father, such an effort would be worse 
 than useless. Love is no servant of the mind, going 
 and coming as the will directs. It enters -the heart 
 most frequently an unbidden guest, but when once 
 in possession, however unwelcome it may be, it re- 
 fuses to depart. Fear not, however; my heart is 
 still in my own keeping, and if the Count will only 
 be as patient as he is persistent, he has a fair chance 
 of winning it. 
 
 Mr. G-. Yery well, you shall take your own time. 
 I am sufficiently blest in seeing you well and happy 
 again, and I am sure you are a prize for which even 
 a Count can afford to wait. 
 
 LiLL. Thank you, my own kind, indulgent father. 
 {kissing him.) But I must be off now, or I shall 
 miss seeing the sunrise after all. {as they turn.) 
 
 Enter Count, C. 
 
 Count. Good morning, friends. I must ask 
 pardon for my unceremonious entrance at this early 
 hour. I really fear that my sojourn in this wil- 
 derness is ruining my manners. 
 
 Mr. G. Tut, tut. Count! No apologies. You 
 know you are always w^elcome here, no matter what 
 the hour may be. 
 
 Count. Yes, Mr. Gray, I know I am always 
 sure of a welcome from you., but I am not so cer- 
 tain in regard to the fidr queen of this rural king- 
 dom. {Turning to Lillian.) 
 
ACT I.] EDGAK ARNOLD. 7 
 
 LiLL. Tlien allow me to reassure you,' I shall 
 be most liappy to have you sj^end the morning here 
 with lather, especially as 1 (shall he absent myself. 
 So, adieu, Monsieur, and a very pleasant visit to 
 you. {Exit L., laughing.) 
 
 Count. (Aside.) Curse her impudence. {To Mr. 
 G.) Ah! Mr. Gray, Mademoiselle is very cruel to 
 her lover. She seems to take little pleasure in his 
 society. 
 
 Mk. G. Patience, my young friend, patience. 
 Lillian is a spoiled child, and probably avoids you 
 more as a test of ^^our forbearance than from any 
 aversion to your society. Meanwhile, console your- 
 self with the reflection that the less lovers have of 
 each other's society before marriage, the more they 
 are likely to appreciate it afterwards. 
 
 Enter Kitty, L. 
 
 Kitty. {Aside.) There, I knew that Frinchman 
 would be here. If he stays to lunch I hope the 
 toast will strangle him. {Alcu^.) Coffee's ready, 
 sir. 
 
 Mr. Gr. Very well, I will be there presently. 
 [ Exit Kitfy L.] Count will you do me the honor of 
 lunching with me this morning? 
 
 Count. No, thank you, I have no appetite. 1 
 will ride a little way into the woods, and perhaps 
 I shall meet Mademoiselle as she is returning. 
 
 Mr. Gr. Well, then, 1 will bid you good day, 
 and success to your wooing. You have at least the 
 consolation of knowing that so long as w^e linger 
 among these mountains you are not likely to be 
 troubled with a rival in Lillian's affections. 
 
 [Exit L. 
 
 Count. Lideed! I am not so sure of that as this 
 innocent old Croesus seems to be. There is in the 
 village, one^ Edgar Arnold, a handsome young fel- 
 
8 EDGAR ARNOLD. [aCT I. 
 
 low whom the villagers have dubbed the Genius of 
 the Forge^ and although he follows the prosaic call- 
 ing of blacksmith, he possesses all those qualities 
 which a romantic jonng girl would be most likely 
 to admire. If this willful little heiress should 
 chance to make his acquaintance, he might make 
 a dangerous rival for liarrj Logan, even in his 
 present character of Count. Let me see; I must 
 endeavor to work myself into Kitty's good graces 
 in some way, as she might be of service to me in 
 such an emergency. As soon as an opportunity of- 
 fers I will try a little love-making in that direction. 
 I never yet knew a maid who didn't enjoy being- 
 courted by her mistress' lover. And by Jove! 1 am 
 not so sure but I shall rather like the proceeding 
 myself. 
 
 Enter Kitty, L. 
 
 {To Kitly.) Kitty, I was just lingering in the hope 
 of getting a look at your bright eyes before taking 
 my departur/j. 
 
 Kitty. ,0, go along Mr. Count, and doirt bo 
 giving me any of your l:)larney. 
 
 Count. Indeed.Kitty, it's the truth. Don't you 
 know you've got tne brightest eyes, and the rosiest 
 cheeks I ever saw; and if I wasn't promised to your 
 mistress, I really believe I should be falling in love 
 with you. At any rate we must be friends. Now 
 what say you? {putting his arm arouyid //er) let's swear 
 eternal friendship, and seal the compact with a kiss. 
 
 Kitty. Sure, sir, you don't mean it? 
 
 Count. Lideed I do, Kitty. 
 
 Kitty. And do you really want a kiss: 
 
 Count. Certainly. 
 
 Kitty. Then why don't you take it? 
 
 Count. A very sensible snggebtion, and here goes. 
 {Attempts to kiss her; she breaks away, slaps his face. 
 
ACT I.] EDGAR AKNOLD. ' > f) 
 
 and crosses, L.) ■>■'• 
 
 Kitty. Sure lYl gi\'e you one, sir, if I knew it 
 would smother you. \_Exit, L, 
 
 Count. Damn the little vixen! Well, I played 
 the wrong card that time and lost a trick. But no 
 matter; a little opposition only lends excitement to 
 the game ; but 1 must be more cautious in the future. 
 The next time I take a hand with an Irish servant 
 girl, I'll be careful not to lead the ace of hearts. 
 
 Meanwhile I must endeaver to })revent a meeting 
 between Lillian Gray and Edgar Arnold. \_Exit, (J. 
 
 ).i'cene IL — A wood near Ed^ar^s shop. 
 
 Enter Lillian, R. 
 
 LiLL. (^tdearl how unfortunate that my poor 
 horse should become lame so far from home, and in 
 such a deserted spot. I w^onder if there is any hope 
 of finding assistance near here. Ah ! who is this com- 
 ing down the road, gesticulating in such an earnest 
 manners! Some school boy practicing his declama- 
 tion probably; 1 must see what information he can 
 furnish. 
 
 Enter Jkkry, H. [speaking.) 
 
 JKiiKY. Friends, Romans, countrymen! lend me 
 youi- ears! 1 come not here to talk! My name is 
 Norval on the Grampian hills^^— {Seeing Lillian.) 
 
 'Sense me. Miss; didn't mean to run over you. 
 (aside.) Crotch-all-Coimecticut! ain't she purty 
 though ? 
 
 LiLL. O, there's no harm done, I assure vou, Mr. 
 Mr.— Norval. 
 
 Jerry. O, my name ain't Norval; it's Jeremiah 
 Stebbins; Spoutin' Jerry the boys call me, cause Mas- 
 ter Edgar's teachin' me elocutionary. 
 
 LiLL. And who is Master Edgar pray, the village 
 
10 EDGAR ARNOLD. [ACT I. 
 
 scliool-teacher? 
 
 Jerry. Crotcli-all-Connecticiit! Miss, where was 
 you raised? Why, I thought everybody knowed Mas- 
 ter Edgar. He ain't no school-teacher by a long chalk, 
 but he's lots of other things though; he's a artist, a 
 orater, a poet, and — and — a blacksmith. 
 
 LiLL. {Laughing.) A very remarkable combina- 
 tion of professions, indeed. 1 should be pleased to 
 make tlie acnuaintance of a gentleman possessing 
 such a variety of accomplishments, especially as he 
 is a blacksmith and may be of service to me. Is his 
 shop far from here ? 
 
 Jerry. Only a few steps. Miss, down at the 
 cross-roads yonder. I work for Master Edgar and 
 am going down there now. 
 
 LiLL. How fortunate. Then you can show me 
 the M^ay without inconvenience to yourself. 
 
 Jerry. Certain Miss, 'twon't be a bit of trouble. 
 I guess we'll find Master Edgar there for I'm a little 
 late this morning. Just follow me and we'll bo 
 there in a jitfy. {Aside.) Crotch-all-Connecticut! 
 won't Master Edgar think I've foimd a stunnin^ 
 Bv;eetheart thought {Exit Jerri/ L. followed hy 
 Lillian.) 
 
 Scene HI. — A blacksmith shop Forge and anvil 
 L. Table R., F., with bookshelf upon it^ containing 
 several books Above the bookshelf three crayon pic- 
 tures representing Laughter, Fear^ and Rage Ham- 
 mers etc., lying around. Edgar heard without, L. sing- 
 ing a merry song. 
 
 Enter Edgar, C. 
 
 Edgar. {Looking around.) Jerry not here, and 
 no fire made? Well, it is of little consequence. 
 There is no business in particular on hand this 
 morning, and if there were, I am too happy to give it 
 
ACT I.] EDGAR ARNOLD. 11 
 
 proper attention. 1 can hardly believe that the stray 
 thoughts penned by a poor country blacksmith dur- 
 ing his idle moments have brought so much good 
 fortune, I must read Henry's letter again and assure 
 myself that 1 have not been dreaming. {Siis in 
 chair at table and reads letter.) 
 
 New York, S'ept. 5tli. 
 My Dear Edgar: 
 
 The MS. which you entrusted to my 
 care was duly placed in the handsof a publisher, and 
 as I predicted, has created a sensation. He seemed 
 much surprised that such a work should eminate 
 from the brain of a country blacksmith, and offers 
 to publish.it upon terms which I consider very ad- 
 vantageous to you. He also advises you to devote 
 the remainder of your life to literary labor, with the 
 assurance that there is both fame and fortune in store 
 for you. kSo yon see I Vv^as right after all, when I said 
 that you were wasting your time and talen.s, ham- 
 mering away with that evei lasting old sledge. (^Se 
 crushes the letter impatiently.) — Stop! Henry; you 
 shall not slander the implements of my humble trade. 
 It was the only legac}' left me by a father whose 
 memory I revere, {lakes up a sledge and pais it 
 affectionately. Jerry and Lillian appear at the door, 
 C. Lillian starts to enter but Jerry motions her to 
 stop, and they both stand listening.) No, no, my dear 
 old companion; you have been the friend of my pov- 
 erty, enabling me to earn an honest living while 
 striving for something higher. Besides the constant 
 exercise of mind and body has no doubt prevented 
 my l)eing troubled with that waking nightmare 
 which the world calls love. Yes, thank heaven I 
 have lived for thirty years without being afflicted with 
 that contagion. Thirty years, and yet are my affec- 
 tions true to the memory of her who shared my 
 childish joys, and soothed my childish sorrows. (Pro- 
 
12 EDG^AR ARNOLD. [aCT I. 
 
 duces minaiure and looks at it intently.) Oh, hallowed 
 image of my sainted mother; BO vision of youthful 
 loveliness shall ever crowd thee from my reverent 
 heart; no raven locks were ever half so beautiful as 
 thine, all silvered over with the frost of years; no 
 cheeks, though painted by the breath of heaven with 
 roses of the rarest hue, were ever half so fair to me as 
 thine, so pale and wrinkled with the cares of life; and 
 nevei; shall 1 know a love, one half as pure, unselfish 
 and fervent, as w^as thine, my mother. (Kisses picture 
 Jerry sneezes, Edgar rises and replaces 'picture in 
 pocket. 
 
 Enter Lillian and Jerry, C. 
 
 TiiLL. I hope you will pardon me, .--ir, for being 
 an unintentional listener to your soliloquy. I should 
 have made my presence known sooner had not this 
 young man })revented me, 
 
 Jerry. [Aside.) Just liste]i to that, will you? 
 She calls me a young man. 
 
 Edgar. No apologies ai"c necessary I assure you, 
 Miss— Miss— 
 
 Jerry. (Stepping forwar<l .) 0, 'sense me folkf^; 
 I forgot you hadn't been introductionated. Mr. 
 Arnold, tliis is Miss Gray, Lillian Gray, daughter of 
 old man Gray who's just moved into the big house 
 down on the river road. She's a crackin' nice gal 
 too, I tell you. 
 
 LiLL. (Laughing.) Tliank you, Jerry, for the 
 compliment. I hope it is as sincere as it is original. 
 Your young man, Mr. Arnold, seems to be quite a 
 genius in his way. 
 
 Edgar. Yes, / have always insisted that he was 
 a genius, though most people persist in calling him 
 an imp. But let me inquire, Miss Gray, to wdiat am 
 I indebted for the pleasure of this unexpected visit? 
 Can I be of any service to you? 
 
ACT I.] EDGAK ARNOLD. 13 
 
 LiLL. Really, 1 had almost forgotten the accident 
 which brought me here. As I was returning from 
 my morning ride to the clifl', my horse suddenly be- 
 came so lame that I was compelled to leave him by 
 the roadside and seek assistance. Perhaps you may 
 be able to relieve him. 
 
 Edgar. Very likely. A thorn in the foot is prob- 
 ably the cause of the difficulty. If that is all 1 shall 
 soon have him ready for your service again. {Gets 
 tools, pufs 071 apron, etc.) Meanwhile sit down and make 
 yourself as comfortable as you can under the circum- 
 stances. ( Exit C. — Jerry commences to dust chair for 
 Lillian.) 
 
 LiLL. Never mind the chair, Jerry; I do not care 
 to sit down. A blacksmith shop is quite a curiosity 
 to me, and I prefer to look around a little. Why, 
 what a neat and tidy place it is; it looks much more 
 like an office than a shop. (aS^^^' s pictures and laughs.) 
 0, Jerry! what is this, Mr. Arnold's art gallery? 
 
 Jerry. Darn me if I know. I never seen them 
 chaps afore. Guess Master Edgar must have put 
 them up after I left last night. I saw him drawin' 
 away on somethin' yesterday, but never paid no 'ten- 
 tion to it. Crotch-all-Connecticut! ain't that feller 
 in the middle scar't though ? Guess he must have 
 seen his daddy's ghost or suthin'. 
 
 LiLL. {Examining books.) Shakespere, Milton, 
 
 Plutarch's Lives! Really, Mr. Arnold must be a 
 
 remarkable man. Here on one hand are evidences 
 of culture, taste and retinement, while on the other 
 are implements of lowdy toil. {Endeavors to lift 
 large sledge. ) Graci ons ! what a heavy hammer ; Jerry, 
 do you use this? 
 
 Jerry. Me! pshaw, I couldn't begin to lift that; 
 but Master Edgar can swing it as easy as you do your 
 riden' wdiip. 
 
 LiLL. Then he must be very strong. 
 
14 EDGAR ARNOLD. [aOT I. 
 
 Jerry. I guess he is strong. Why, he's a regular 
 Herculaneum, he is. 
 
 LiLL. Hercules, you mean. 
 
 Jerry. Yes, I guess that is the chap. He was a 
 champion club^swinger or suthin' of that sort. You 
 see I wasn't J[uainted with him myself, but I've 
 heard Master Edgar read about him. 
 
 LiLL. And does Mr. Arnold read a great deal? 
 
 Jerry. 0, yes, he's always readin' or writin' when 
 he isn't at work. No, not always either, for some- 
 times he sits for the longest time with his head leanin' 
 on ]iis hands, and just thinks, and thinks, and thinks; 
 and then I musn't speak to him. 
 
 LiLL. And if you do he scolds you, I suppose. 
 
 Jerry. 0, no, he never scolds. I don't believe he 
 knows how to do that. 
 
 LiLL. And is he always kind to you? 
 
 Jerry. Kind, Miss ! He is the kindest man that 
 ever lived. I don't know what old Aunt Dorathy 
 would do if it wasn't for him. She's all crippled up 
 with the rheumatiz and can't do nothin' but knit. 
 We had an awful hard time 'till Master Edgar took 
 me to help him. But now, every Saturday he pays 
 Aunt Dorathy my week's wages, ever so much money, 
 Miss, enough to hire a big strong man with, and 
 when she asks him if I earn so much, he says he's 
 sorry he isn't able to pay me more, 'cause I'm so 
 much help to him he don't know how he could get 
 along without me. But I know he only says that to 
 |)lease her, {crying) 'cause everyone else says I'm a 
 careless imp, and 'aint no account to nobody for 
 nothin.' {Aside.) Darn my eyes if I ain't crying. 
 
 Enter Edgar, C. 
 
 Edgar. {Showing a thorn.) Here, Miss Gray, is 
 the cause of your animal's lameness. Fortunately 
 I was able to remove it without difficulty, and he is 
 
ACT I.] EDGAR ARNOLD. 15 
 
 standing outside, as ready as ever for the service of 
 liis fair rider. 
 
 LiLL. All! sir, I see you are as ready with your 
 compliments as with your services. For the com- 
 pliment accept my thanks, and for the service — 
 (^feeling for purse)^YQ'^^\J 1 am sorry I have no 
 money with me, but I will send it to you as soon as 
 I get home. 
 
 EuGAR. Pray, do not mention money in connec- 
 tion with so slight a service. I am sufficiently re- 
 warded in being able to relieve the suffering of your 
 noble animal. 
 
 LiLL. Well then, let me thank you again, for Juno 
 as well as for myself, and now I must bid you good 
 day for father will be getting anxious about me. 
 {Lillian takes off her glove and fxie ,d8 her hand. 
 JEdgar takes it timidly. Count looks in at door, C. 
 
 Edgar. Shall I assist you to mount? 
 
 LiLL. If you please. {As they turn.) 
 
 Enter Count, C. 
 
 Count. Thank you, sir, but I will relieve you of 
 any further trouble on Miss Gray's account. 
 
 Edgar. And whom have I the honor of address- 
 ing. 
 
 Count. Count LeGrande, this lady's affianced 
 husband. {Edgar reluctantly releases Lillian, Count 
 leads her to the door, ivhere she turns and gives Edgar 
 a parting look. As she and the Count go off, R,, 
 Edgar starts forward as if to follow, but checks him- 
 self, goes slowly back and sinks into chair at table.) 
 
 Edgar. Count LeGrande, her affianced husband. 
 
 J j^RUY. {A»ide.) Crotch-all -Connecticut! darned if 
 I don't believe he's kind o' stuck on that girl. 
 
 END OF act I. 
 
16 EDCfAK ARNOLD. [ACT II. 
 
 ACT 11. 
 
 Scene 1. — A wood, ^. 
 
 Enter Jerry, R. Edgar, L. {Meeting.) 
 
 Edgar. Well, Jerry, I see you are on your way to 
 tlie shop bright and early this morning. 
 
 Jerry. Yes, sir, thought I'd better be on hand, 
 as I didn't know whether you'd be there to-day or 
 not. 
 
 Edgar. Very well, just look after matters until I 
 come. I am going for a walk into, the wood§ and 
 may not be back for some time. {Ande.) 0; that 
 my heart was as light and free as this careless boy's! 
 
 [Exit R, 
 
 Enter Count, L. ( Watchivg and listening.) 
 
 Jerry. Now I'd just like to know what's the 
 matter with him. He hain't been a bit like himself 
 since the day that Gray girl came to the shop. If 
 he's in love with her, why don't he tell her so and 
 not go mopin' around all day like a mule with the 
 epizootic. If she'd made a mash on me I bet she'd 
 tind it out, in a hurry too. What would I care if 
 that Count feller was engaged to her? I don't like 
 his looks nohow. I just wish I had him here* now; 
 in the language of my friend Billy Shakespere, {trag- 
 ically) I'd tear him limb from limb, and 
 
 Count. {Slapping Jerry on the shoulder.) Hello! 
 
 Jerry. {Starting hack, hut recovering himself.) 
 Hello! yourself and see how you like it. 
 
 Count. Was that Mr. Arnold you were speaking 
 with just now? 
 
 Jerry. May be 'twas, and then again may be 
 'twasn't. 
 
ACT II.] EDGAR ARNOLD. 17 
 
 Count. Well, sir, I know that it was. 
 
 Jerry. Well then, if you know so much about it, 
 what joii askin' me for'^ 
 
 Count. Where is he going now? 
 
 Jerry. Don't know nothin' about it; 'taint none 
 of my business nohow. Guess 'taint none of yours 
 nuther. 
 
 Count. See here, young man, I advise you to keep 
 a civil tongue in your head and answer my questions 
 properly. Now tell me, isn't Mr. Arnold away from 
 the shop a great deal lately? 
 
 Jerry. O; yes, but that don't make no difference 
 if you've got any business in our line. Just come 
 right along with me and 111 attend to you. I al- 
 ways shoes the donkeys myself. [Exit L. 
 
 Count. Curse the young scapegrace! he has more 
 wit than I gave him credit for. Well, I'm not likely 
 to get much satisfaction from him, so I'll take the 
 liberty of following Edgar Arnold^ and if I find that 
 he is dogging the footsteps of Lillian Cray, let him 
 beware, for he shall learn that Harry Logan is too 
 old and desperate a gambler to be cheated with im- 
 punity. [Exit B. 
 
 Scene 11. — CatsJcill mountains just before sunrise 
 Cascade^ R. High cliff, L., with grape vine growing 
 over it. 
 
 Enter Edgar, E. 
 
 Edgar. Count LeGrande, her affianced husband! 
 Night and day for three long, joyless weeks, those 
 words have been ringing in my ears like the death 
 knell of a new born hope. Well, it is a fit punish- 
 ment for my presumption. Fool that I was, to im- 
 agine for a moment that I could ever be anything to 
 one so far above my sphere in life. Tet how vainly 
 do 1 strive to banish her sweet image from my heart. 
 
18 EDGAK ARNOLD. [aCT II. 
 
 Every morning an irresi stable impulse lias drawn me 
 to this spot, where nnperceived 1 could gaze upon 
 her lovely countenance as she stood on yonder cliff 
 and watched the glories of the autumn sunrise. But 
 even this must cease. To-day I shall look upon her 
 face for the last time, and then, farewell forever to 
 tliese scenes where I have spent so many happy years, 
 and welcome to the busy tumult of the great city, 
 where I will try and forget that I have ever seen her. 
 
 [Exit, L. 
 
 Enter Count, R. 
 
 Count. {Aside.) So, Edgar Arnold, I have found 
 the lover's trystiiig place at last. A very romantic 
 spot, indeed, for your secret meetings with my affi- 
 anced bride. But I will find some means to block 
 your game of love. What if your mangled body 
 should be found floating in the pool at the foot of 
 yonder precipice, as though you had accidentally 
 fallen from the cliff? That would not be likely to 
 direct suspicion toward me, and it would rid me of a 
 troublesome rival. Ah! there he comes again and I 
 will watch my opportunity. {Conceals himself, R.) 
 
 Enter Edgak, L. He crosses stage slowly to R. F. 
 and seats himself upon a rock. The Count picks up a. 
 large stone, creeps carefully toward Edgar and is about 
 to strike him when a scream is heard off L. 
 
 Edgar. {Starting up.) What's that? {Runs 
 across and Iqoks off', L.) O, heavens! 'tis Lillian's 
 horse, frightened and running toward that fearful 
 precipice. My God! must I stand idly here and see 
 her dashed in pieces before my very eyes? Is there 
 no way that I can reach the cliff before her? {Turns 
 and sees vine.) Ah ! yes ; the vine ! the vine ! thank 
 heaven, I'll save her yet. {Climbs vine to top of the 
 cliff, disappears a moment, then reappears holding 
 
ACT III.] EDGAR AKNOLD. 19 
 
 horse by the bit. He struygles for a moment^ then 
 raises his arm and strikes the horse on the temple, 
 horse falls. Edgar looses his balance, falls over 
 precipice and disappears. Lillian appears, screams, 
 faints upon cliff. (^Curtain.) 
 
 Tableaux. 
 
 Curtain rises arid discovers Count standing upon 
 the cliff' holding Lillian, still fainting, and looking 
 down at the spot where Edgar has fallen. 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
 ACTIII. 
 
 Scene I — A rooiit in Mr. Gro.y^s house. Lillian 
 discovered seated at table, L., with letter in her hand, 
 
 LiLL. Only one sliort montii has passed, yet what 
 a world of experience has been crowded into that 
 brief space of time. My terrible danger at the cliU', 
 and Edgar's heroic conduct and fearful fall into the 
 pool below, which fortunately saved his life. Then 
 my discovery through Jerry of Edgar's love for me, 
 and the difficulty 1 had in letting him know it was 
 returned, without overstepping the bounds of wom- 
 anly modesty. How strange it seems that one so 
 strong and brave in the presence of danger, should 
 be so timid in declaring iiis love for the girl whose 
 life he has saved, almost at the expense of his own. 
 How diherent his conduct is to that of the Count, who 
 seems to take everything as a matter of course. I 
 wonder what brought the Count to the cliff that 
 morning. I have a suspicion that he has been play- 
 ing the spy upon my movements. Well, happily 
 Edgar and I understand each other at last, and 1 must 
 take the lirst opportnnity of letting the Count know 
 
20 EDGAR ARNOLD. [aCT III. 
 
 my feelings toward him. Let me read that passage 
 ill Edgar's letter again. (Reading.) 
 
 Yes, Dear Lillian, I have been very near to death's 
 door, and only longed that it might unclose and let 
 me pass beyond the sorrows and disappointments of 
 earth. But the knowledge of your love has opened 
 a new world before me, brighter than heaven itself, 
 and made life again worth living. I am now com- 
 paratively well and strong again, and shall visit your 
 father to-day, to ask his consent to our engagement, 
 {Speaking.) And it shall be my task to see that his 
 consent is not withheld. 
 
 Enter Mr. U., C. 
 
 Mr. G. Ah! Lillian, another note I see. Any 
 news from Mr. Arnold? 
 
 LiLL. {Rinng.) Yes, father; he says he has al- 
 most entirely recovered and will be here to-day to see 
 you on important business. 
 
 Mr. G. Lideed! then he shall receive a hearty 
 welcome, for I long to thank him in person for his 
 heroic conduct in saving your life. Ah! my child, I 
 shudder to think how dreary and desolate the re- 
 mainder of my life would be, had it not been for his 
 strong arm and noble courage. 
 
 LiLL. Yes, father, but Edgar may ask something 
 more of you than thanks. 
 
 Mr. G. Certainly ; his illness must have interfered 
 very materially with his business ; but never fear, the 
 savior of my daughter's life shall never want for cash 
 while the name of William Gray is good for a million. 
 
 LiLL. No, no, father, I did not mean that. Edgar 
 is in no need of money, and if he were starving, he 
 would scorn to accept a reward for any act of heroism 
 or self-sacrifice. {Hesitatingly.) No, he is coming 
 to ask you for — for — 
 
ACT III.] KDGAK ARNOLD. 21 
 
 Mk. G. Well, well, for what my cliilcr:? Sj^eiik out. 
 
 LiLL. {Looking up into his face coaxingly.) Forme. 
 
 Mr. G. What! 
 
 LiLL. Yes, father, and I will second his petition. 
 Will jon not promise me that his request shall be 
 granted ':; 
 
 Mr. G. Indeed, Lillian, this is a very sudden and 
 unex23ected revelation to me, and I must have a little 
 time for reflection. However, this much 1 wdll 
 promise, that I will hear the young man patiently, 
 and do what I honestly believe will best promote 
 your haj^piness. 
 
 LiLL. Thank you, father. 1 know your good, 
 kind heart, and am willing to rely upon your judge- 
 ment. 
 
 Enter Kitty, C. (with card, which 
 she gives to Mr. G-ray.) 
 
 Mr. G. {Reading card.) Edgar Arnold — Very 
 well, Kitty; show him in. [Exit Kilty, C. 
 
 LiLL. VVell, father, I will retire now and leave 
 Edgar to plead his owai cause, {Aside.) and may 
 heaven help him to plead successfully. [Uxit^ L. 
 
 Enter Edgar, C. 
 
 Mr. G. {Shaking Edgar s hand cordially.) Mr. 
 Arnold, good morning. This is a happiness for 
 whicji I have been impatiently waiting; the pleasure 
 of grasping your hand, and thanking you for your 
 heroic conduct in saving my daughter's life. 
 
 Edgar. Ah! sir, let us rather thank heaven for 
 directing my footsteps to that spot, and thus enabling 
 me to save a life, dearer to me a thousand times than 
 my own. Mr. Gray, I fear you will deem my errand 
 here presumptions, yet I trust that you will listen to 
 me patiently. Ever since that well remembered 
 morning, w^hen the sunlight of your daughter's pres- 
 ence first fell across the threshold ofmy humble shop, 
 
^22 EDGAR ARNOLD. [acT III. 
 
 I have loved lier with a devotion which I shall not at- 
 tempt to express in a poor, beggarly compliment of 
 words. I now know that she returns my love, and I 
 have come here to ask your consent to our marriage. 
 
 Mr. G. Your declaration, my young friend, does 
 not take me entirely by surprise, and I cannot but 
 admire your frank manner of making it. Before 
 giving you an answer however, I wish to speak a few 
 plain words with you: so pray be seated, and let us 
 for the moment discard sentiment and discuss the 
 matter like sensible men. {They seal themse'ves right 
 and left of table.) First, then, w^ere you aware that 
 Lillian had already promised her hand to Count 
 LeG-rande ? 
 
 Edgar. Yes, sir, and I would have died before 
 asking her to break that promise, had I not learned 
 the circumstances under which it was given, and re- 
 ceived the assurance from her own lips that she could 
 never be happy as his wife. 
 
 Mr. G. That, at least, is honorable; but there is 
 still another matter to be considered. Lillian is an 
 only child, and no wish which w^ealth could gratify 
 has ever been denied her. I must confess to some 
 misgivings in regard to her happiness as the wife of 
 a poor country blaclfoUiith. True I have an abun- 
 dance which I could leave to her, but should she 
 chose to disregard my v\^ishes in this matter, I might 
 conclude to dispose of it otherwise. 
 
 Edgar. That, sir, is the very boon I would have 
 craved, for then I might prove that the love which 
 lias blossomed so suddeidy within my heart, is no 
 rank weed of sellishness. True, my life has been 
 23assed in an humble though honest calling; but my 
 spare moments have been occupied in earnest en- 
 deavors to rise above the condition in which early 
 circumstances placed me. Those eiibrts have been so 
 far successful that I am now assured, not only of a fair 
 
ACT III.] EDGAR ARNOLD. 23 
 
 share of tbrtiiiie, but of a position in society where I 
 trust even you will not be ashamed to own me as a 
 member of yonr family. This letter will explain in 
 a measure what I mean. {Hands letter to Mr. G. 
 tvhieh he rea'h and both rise. Ccunt looks in at door.) 
 
 Mr. G. {Shaking Edgar* s hand.) My dear young 
 friend, I congratulate you upon your good fortune. 
 Whatever may have been the circumstances of your 
 early life, your whole conduct proves you to be one 
 of nature's true noblemen. My will is already made 
 in Lillian's favor and no action of hers shall ever 
 cause me to change it. However, her promise to the 
 Count should not be broken without due deliberation. 
 1 will go and consult with her again, after which, if 
 jou will permit me to visit you at your shop, a place 
 which I have long had a curiosity to see, I will there 
 give 3'ou a definite answer. 
 
 Edgar. I shall be most happy, sir, to have my 
 poor shop so honored. 
 
 Mr. G. Very well, until then adieu. 
 
 Edgar. Adieu, sir, and whatever may be your 
 answer, may heaven bless you for your kind words 
 of encouragement. \_Exit Mr. (r., X., as Edgar 
 turns to go^ 
 
 Enter Count, C. 
 
 Count. A word with you, if you please. 
 
 Edgar. Certainly, as many as you wish. ♦ 
 
 Count. I suspect, sir, that you are here for the 
 purpose of w^orking upon the gratitude of these peo- 
 ple, and thus securing if possible, the hand and fortune 
 of Lillian Gray. If so, I wish to inform you that 
 there is an insurmountable obstacle in your way. 
 
 Edgar. And I suppose, from your manner, that 
 you are here for the purpose of trying to provoke a 
 quarrel. If so, you will find that I am too happy to 
 be easily offended. 
 
24 EDUAR ARNOLD. [aOT III. 
 
 Count. Then I suppose yon think you have suc- 
 ceeded in steiling that which rightfully belongs to 
 me, but let me warn you, fellow, that you are play- 
 ing a game which you may not find quite so safe as 
 you anticipate. 
 
 Eduar. Your warning is entirely superiluous, sir, 
 and I prefer to hold no further conversation here 
 with one who, though he claims a title of nobility, 
 so far lacks the instincts of a gentleman as to seek a 
 quarrel in a lady's parlor. {Bows and turns to go.) 
 
 Count. An insult! Then, curse you, take that. 
 (^Raises a dagger, Edgar i<eizes his wrist, Count drops 
 the dagger and sinks slowly to his knees when Edgar 
 throws hirn off and he f gills to the flior ) 
 
 Edgar. [Picking up the dagger and examining it 
 a moment, thnt fhrowir^g it foivards the Count.) Keep 
 your dagger; I have no use for it. Such weapons 
 may be necessary to defend the honor of the nobility of 
 France, but the honor of America's most humble 
 citizen needs no such questionable support. (^Bowing.) 
 I have the pleasure, sir, to wish you good morning. 
 
 [Exit 0. 
 
 Count. {Rising and rubbing his wrist.) Curse the 
 fellow, what a grip he has. Served me right though, 
 for letting my passion get the better of my judg- 
 ment. I should have remembered my own maxim: 
 "The gambler who loses his temper is almost always 
 sure to lose the game." I'm playing for old Gray's 
 million now, and can't afford to throw away a single 
 trick; but when I've won it, I'll settle scores with 
 those who played against me. {Hears voices off L.) 
 I3ut here conies Lillian and her father; I will conceal 
 myself, and learn if possible how the cards are run- 
 ning in that direction. {Conceals himself ^ B.) 
 
 Enter Mr. G. and Lillian, L. 
 
 Mr. G. So, Lillian, you are certain that it is not 
 
ACT III.] EDGAR ARNOLD. 25 
 
 gratitude that j^roinpts you to this step, and you are 
 quite sure you could never Icarii to love the Count;? 
 
 LiLL. Love him, father! 1 even fear him. Heaven 
 forgive me if I do him an injustice; but somehow, 
 whenever I come into his presence of late, a strange 
 feeling of dread steals over me, as though I had sud- 
 denly come upon a serpent coiled in the grass at my 
 feet. 
 
 Mk. G. Very well; you shall consult your own 
 heart in this matter, so come and I will prepare for 
 my visit to Mr. Arnold's shop, w^here i have prom- 
 ised to give him my linal answer. I am sure the 
 Count loves you devotedly, but of course he will not 
 wish to hold you to your promise when he finds that 
 your heart belongs to another. [Exeunt^ C. 
 
 Re-enter Count, from R. 
 
 Count. Indeed! what a wonderful clairvoyant this 
 doting old father is, to be sure. As if I cared a farth- 
 ing for his daughter's heart, or hand either for that 
 matter, only as a means of getting possession of her 
 fortune. It's lucky I sent for Slippery Dick when I 
 did, although I had hoped to win the stake without 
 resorting to anything more dangerous than deception. 
 But I have sworn to have this fortune at any hazard, 
 and now that the old man has concluded to take a hand 
 against me, he must abide the consequences. {Looks 
 at watch?) It is about the hour that I appointed for 
 Dick to meet me in the woods, and I must not tail to 
 be on hand. {Going to door.) Now my friends, for 
 a new deal, and this time I'll take good care who 
 holds the trunq^s. [Exif^ C. 
 
26 EDGAR ARNOLD. [ACT III. 
 
 Scene II. — A wood. 
 
 Enter Dick, L. 
 
 Dick. {Looking around.) This 1 think ninst be 
 tlie phT.ce, and the time has ah'eady past, but Harry 
 hasn't put in an appearance yet. I wonder what the 
 cnnning devil wants of Dick this time. It mnst be 
 something of importance or he wouldn't have sent to 
 town after his old pard. Bnt yonder he comes now, 
 and it won't take him long to impart the necessary 
 information. I'll just step aside here and give him 
 a little start. (Conceals himself. L.) 
 
 Enter Count, R. 
 
 Count. Dick not here? I wonder if he could have 
 failed to get my letter. 
 
 Dick. {Stepping out.) Hello! Logan. 
 
 Count. {Starting.) Sh — there's no one by that 
 name living in these parts. Allow me to introduce 
 myself. Count LeGrande at your service. 
 
 Dick. The devil! 
 
 Count. Excuse me, but for the present I prefer to 
 be called the Count. 
 
 Dick. Well, perhaps that does sound more genteel, 
 but the devil would be more appropriate. However 
 let's proceed to business at once for I'm anxious to 
 get back to town. This country air is entirely too 
 pure for me ; doesn't agree with my constitution, you 
 know. In what way can I serve your Countship? 
 
 Count. Dick, there is a blacksmith shop just 
 down the road there. 
 
 Dick. I know there is, for I passed it only a few 
 moments ago; but I hope yuu didn't send to New 
 \ ork for me, to help you steal a blacksmith's anvil, 
 did you? 
 
 Count. Well, not exact] v! Never fear but I'll crive 
 
ACT Iir.] EDGAR ARNOLD. 27 
 
 you a job that will test your metal before you are 
 througli with it. The gentleman who officiates at 
 that horse-shoe manutactory is in my way. 
 
 Dick. Oh ! ho ! and I suppose you want me to put 
 him out of the way. Is that the racket? 
 
 Count. Well, I maj^ as well give you the whole 
 story, and then you can judge for yourself how it is 
 best to proceed. Last Winter I managed to get intro- 
 duced as a French Count into the family of a mil- 
 lionaire, who was too innocent himself to suspect de- 
 ception in others; and T proceeded at once to make 
 love to the daughter, an only child. The mother 
 died shortly after my introduction, and the girl came 
 near following suit. After much persuasion from 
 her father, an ambitious old fool, she promised that 
 she would at some future time, become my wife. 
 Not long ago they moved up among these mountains 
 for the girl's health ; she recovered rapidly, and has 
 finally taken it into her silly head to shake the Count, 
 and bestow her hand and fortune on this young anvil 
 bruiser. 
 
 Dick. Foolish, foolish girl, to give up a genuine 
 French Count for a country blacksmith. Rather 
 flattering to your personal attractions, eh, Harry? 
 ha! ha! 
 
 Count. Oh! damn your levity! I'm in no mood for 
 joking, so be quiet and listen. The old man, who 
 has hitherto favored my suit, has at last been won 
 over to the enemy, and will to-day visit the shop of 
 my illustrious rival to make final arrangements for 
 the wedding. 
 
 Dick. And do you want me to go there and plead 
 your cause with the old man? 
 
 Count. Oh ! curse your stupidity ! can't you twig a 
 fellow without his using ugly language? {Get^s close 
 to Dick and hisses the uords in his ear.) Edgar 
 Arnold mu^t l)e convicted of the murder of old Mr. 
 
28 ED^AK ARNOLD. [ACT III. 
 
 Dick. (Giving a long, low whistle.) Jerusalem! 
 you have matured into a lirst-class villain and no 
 mistake. But I say, Logan, — excuse me, Count I 
 mean; tliis is a dangerous job, and if I undertake it, 
 you must come down handsomely. 
 
 Count. Never fear; I have always acted on the 
 square with you, and now, just let me get my clutches 
 on old Gray's million and you can retire from business. 
 
 Dick. But suppose the girl refuses to marry you 
 after all? 
 
 Count. I'll wager that she don't do, that when once 
 this blacksmith is out of the way. I have already 
 prepared a will which I shall manage to have found 
 among the old man's papers, providing, that unless 
 she shall marry me within a certain time after her 
 father's death, all his property shall he divided among 
 various charitable institutions. 
 
 Dick. A very clever device, indeed; hut since you 
 are able to dis})ose of the old man's property so readily, 
 why not will it to yourself at once? 
 
 Count. Because I am not a fool. That would ex- 
 cite suspicion and might lead to a detection of the 
 forgery. Besides, if the will should he contested, it 
 would be well to have someone with capital interested 
 in sustaining it. You may trust me for business of 
 that sort. Harry Logan is an old gambler, and when 
 lie stocks the cards 'twill take a keen eye to detect 
 the trick. But get to work now, and be careful that 
 your conscience doesn't interfere with you. 
 
 Dick. No danger of any trouble from that quarter. 
 I gave that meddlesome individual a holiday years 
 ago, and he has never returned to report for duty. 
 I'll attend to the old man and then slope at once, and 
 leave the rest to you. So if I don't see you again; 
 so long! ' [Uxif,X 
 
 Count. Vcrv welL I will be on hand to take niv 
 
ACT III.] EDGAR ARNOLD. 29 
 
 cue. My plmis have been well laid, and if my gani- 
 l)ler's luck does not forsake nie, this trick is mine. 
 It is a dangerous card to lead, but I have staked my 
 all upon the game, and now Fll play it out, although 
 I take the hangman for a partner. [Exit County R. 
 
 Setie III. — Edgar s shop. 
 
 Enter Mr. Gray, C. 
 
 Mr. G. Mr. Arnold not here? Well, so much the 
 better. I shall have an opportunity of inspecting the 
 J) remises at my leisure. [Dick appears at the door., 
 6^., looks up and doivn the road., enters, moves cautiously 
 around L. and picks up a small hammer Mr G. 
 goes IL, looks at the pictures and continues.) What's 
 this, a trio of charcoal sketches? (Reading.) L?i\ig\i- 
 ter — Fear — Rage, very good indeed; Mr. Arnold 
 must be quite an artist. {Looking at books.) And 
 here is the library; small but very select. Ah! what 
 is this? (Opening a hook) A volume of manuscript 
 poems, entitled: 
 
 SPARKS FROM THE ANVIL. 
 
 BY A COUNTRY BLACKSMITH. 
 
 Well, well, I have really discovered a genius hidden 
 away among these mountains, and when once he is 
 my son-in-law, I'll see to it that the world hears of 
 him. — (Dick who has crept cautiously up behind, 
 strikes him on the temple ivith the hammer. Mr. Gray 
 falls; Dick goes to the door, looks up and down the 
 road. Exit off L. Edgar heard singing off R. 
 
 Enter Edgar, C. {Count appears 
 at door, and watches him ) 
 
 Edgar. Well, Fortune, well named the Fickle 
 
30 EDOAR ARNOLD. [acT III. 
 
 Dame, is certainly lavishing lier smiles upon me at 
 last, and I know I am the happiest man in all the 
 world. {Seeing Mr. Gr^s body.) Hello! what's this; 
 someone intoxicated in my shop? {Stands as if un- 
 decided what to do.) 
 
 Count. (Aside.) Ha! ha! Dick's work has been 
 well done, and now if I conld tind an officer to make 
 the arrest the job would be complete. {Looking down 
 the road R. By heavens! I believe the very Fates are 
 playing square into my hand. Here comes the village 
 constable just in time to serve my purpose. {Disap- 
 pears li.) 
 
 Edgar. {Kneding and examining the body.) 
 What's this? — My Grod! 'tis Mr. Gray, dead ! murdered ! 
 here in my shop, where he had come to place the seal 
 of his consent upon the scroll of my great happiness. 
 ( Picks up the hammer and rises.) And with my ham- 
 mer too! 0, Heaven! hast thou unbarred Perdition's 
 gates, and turned the Furies loose upon the sons of 
 men, that any demon could be found on earth to do this 
 hellish deed? {Count and 'fficer appear at door.) 0, 
 Lillian! Lillian! how can I ever look into your face 
 and tell you your father has been murdered? 
 
 Enter Count and Officer, C. 
 
 Officer. {Placing his hand on Edgar^s shoulder.) 
 Edgar Arnold, you are my prisoners. 
 
 Edgar. Prisoner — I — I do not understand you: 
 prisoner for what? 
 
 Officer. You are accused of the murder of Will- 
 iam Gray. 
 
 Edgar. Murder! 1 accused of murder! no, no, this 
 is some horrible mistake. See, 'tis Lillian's father, — 
 Who dares to say that I would ever harm a hair upon 
 his head? 
 
 Count. {Stepping up to him.) I, sir, am your ac- 
 cuser; I saw you strike the iatal blow. 
 
ACT IV.] EDGAR ARNOLD. 31 
 
 Edgar. Villain, you lie! {He strikes the County 
 who falls. Officer seizes Edgar, and he stands glaring 
 upon the Count, who partially rises and returns Edgar^s 
 look with one of hctred and revenge.) 
 
 END OF ACT III. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — A room^ in Lillian s house. Table and 
 chairs L., C. An open hook and lighted candle on the 
 table. 
 
 Enter Kitty, L. ( Wiping her eyes.) 
 
 Kitty. Sure it's nothing but trouble and sorrow 
 that's been coming into this house lately. Poor old 
 master murdered, and that young man who saved 
 Miss Lillian's life, in jail, and going to be hung to- 
 morrow for the murder. But I'll never believe 'twas 
 him that did it, at all, at all. Faith, I'd sooner think 
 it was that Frinchman, who keeps as cool as an ice 
 cream freezer through it all, and who has been mak- 
 ing himself as officious around here ever since, as 
 though he was the head of the family. 
 
 Enter Count, C. 
 
 Count. {At the door.) Good evening, Miss Kitty. 
 
 Kitty. {Crossing herself and speaking aside.) The 
 Saints preserve me! Speak of the devil and you'er 
 sure to catch a sniff of brimstone. {To the Count) 
 Good evening, sir. 
 
 Count. Is your mistress at home? 
 
 Kitty. Yes, sir, but she's is in her room crying, 
 poor child, fit to break her heart, and I don't think 
 she'd like to be disturbed. 
 
 Count. Take her my card, and say that I have 
 
32 EDGAR ARNOLD. [aCT IV. 
 
 important lousiness, of interest to lier, wliicli cannot 
 be postponed. (Gives card.) 
 
 Kitty. {Aside, looking at card.) Faith, I wish it 
 was an invitation to his tnneral. [^Exit L. 
 
 Count. {Coming to t<ihle and seeing book.) Hello! 
 what's this? Hang nie if Lillian hasn't been seeking 
 consolation in that blacksmith's book of poems (Sifs.) 
 I must see what passage she was reading last, as it 
 niay furnish me the key to her present state of mind. 
 (Reads.) 
 
 The heart is softest when the eyes are wet 
 
 With sorrow's dew; and souls that, basking 
 
 In the sunshine of prosperity, only 
 
 Reveal a barren soil of sellishness; 
 
 When watered with the tears of grief, oft yield 
 
 The rarest fruits of love and charity. 
 (Throwing down tie h"ok.) Bah! wliat sentimental 
 slush. (Riift'S.) Plowever, I'll utilize the hint it 
 furnishes by laying desperate seige to Lillian's heart 
 before the shower is over. And behold, here comes 
 my sorrow-stricken victim. Now, Harry Logan, 
 summon all your powers of soft persuasion to your 
 aid, and let each gesture, look and tone, belie the 
 lurking devil in your heart. 
 
 Enter Lillian, L. 
 
 Pardon me, Miss Gray, for troubling you with 
 business matters at such a time, but a will has just 
 been discovered among your father's papers, and it is 
 necessary that you should know its contents irn- 
 inediately. TJie task of informing you is an un- 
 welcome one, but I preferred doing it myself, rather 
 than trust it to 'Strangers. 
 
 LiLL. I thank you, sir, for your consideration. 
 Pray be seated, and I will try and listen patiently. 
 (They S7t /?., and L., r^ table.) 
 
 Count. I will not trouble yon at present with 
 
ACT IV.] EDGAR ARNOLD. 33 
 
 details; but tlie substance of the will is this, that 
 unless our marriage shall take place within a year, 
 all your lather's property shall be divided among 
 certain charitable institutions, which he has named. 
 
 LiLL. It is strange that my father should make 
 such a will, and then consent so readily to my follow- 
 ing my own feelings in the matter. 
 
 Count. So it is, and no doubt had he lived it 
 would have been changed. But that is now impos- 
 sible. Unfortunately, too, the matter is beyond my 
 control; otherwise all should be restored to you un- 
 conditionally, and I would try in some far oil' land to 
 forget my sorrow, since 1 have learned with what a 
 cold distrust you have always regarded me. {Both 
 rise.) 
 
 LiLL. Ah! sir, your kindness in my hour of af- 
 fliction makes me fear that I have done you an in- 
 justice. Can you forgive me? {Extends her hand.) 
 
 Count. {Taking her hand, and retaining it.) Pray 
 do not add to your already too great sorrow by any 
 self-reproach. Let the dead past bury its dead sus- 
 picions! But 0, Lillian, if through the midnight 
 darkness of despair which now enshrouds my life, I 
 could see one little ray of hope, that you might some 
 day learn to love me, the world should yet be bright 
 for both of us. , 
 
 LiLL. O, sir, do not speak to me of love; my 
 heart is dead and 1 can only think of poor, poor 
 Edgar's fate. 
 
 Count. You must endeavor to forget that unfor- 
 tunate and unworthy young man. Remember, 
 Lillian, he is your father's murderer. 
 
 LiLL. {Drawing away from him and speaking 
 passionately.) 'Tis false! and 1 will hear no more 
 from lying lips that utter such a slander. I ha^'e 
 that within which tells me Edgar Arnold's soul was 
 never stained with crime, and although an angel from 
 
34 EDGAR ARNOLD. [aCT IV. 
 
 heaven should swear it, I would not believe him 
 guilty. Our interview is ended, sir, and 1 hope it 
 may be long before you seek another. [Hxit L. 
 
 Count. Damnation! But I've made a pretty 
 mess of it. Instead of coaxing the fragrant blossom 
 of affection from a grief-stricken heart, I've thrown 
 a lighted torch into a powder magazine and been 
 blown up in the explosion. But Harry Logan never 
 throws up his hand while a single trump remains. 
 There is one card left with which the game may yet 
 be won. That card I'll play to-night, and if to- 
 morrow's sun shall find this trusting damsel's faith 
 still firm, I'll quit the field, and leave the spoils a 
 legacy to charity. [Exit 6% with a mocking laugh. 
 
 Enter Lillian, L. 
 
 LiLL. Thank heaven, he's gone! But alas! his 
 baleful shadow lingers still, and his cruel words 
 have raised within my heart a thousand doubts and 
 fears, each fighting for the mastery. Only Edgar 
 Arnold's lips can speak the "Peace be still" to 
 calm the troubled waters of toy soul ; and to-night 1 
 am resolved that he shall speak it, or if he cannot — 
 {Wildly.) but no! no! no! I must not, dare not think 
 of that, or my despair will drive me mad. {Sinks into 
 a chair at table and sobs.) 
 
 Scene II. — A village street. 
 
 Enter Count, L. {Holding a folded paper. ) 
 
 Count. And so my little lady persistently refuses 
 to believe that Edgar Arnold is the murderer of her 
 father; even after he has been convicted by twelve 
 honest and intelligent jurymen, upon the sworn tes- 
 timony of such a paragon of truth and virtue as 
 Count LeGrande himself. Well, well, how difiicult 
 
ACT IV.j EDGAR ARNOLD. 35 
 
 it is to convince a woman that the man she 
 loves is not an angeL However, if circumstances 
 continue to favor me, I will yet accomplish even that 
 superhuman task. This unsophisticated blacksmith 
 is certainly my superior in strength, hut he'll 
 find himself no match for me in cunning. He must 
 be almost frantic with despair by this time, and 
 surely while in that state of mind, by holding out a 
 plausible hope of pardon or reprieve I can induce 
 him to sign this mild confession. And when I show 
 that to Lillian Gray, perha23S she will not be so quick 
 to fling the lie into my face. [Uxit R. 
 
 Scene 111. — The village jail. Matlrass and 
 blanket R. B. Near the door is a grated window and 
 a few feet in front of it a large ring is fastened to the 
 floor. Edgar discovered seated upon a stool at the 
 table with his face bowed upon his folded arms. 
 
 Edgar. {Slowly raising his head and speaking 
 with deep emotion.) Tried, condemned and sentenced 
 to be hung. Convicted of murdering a man 1 would 
 have died to serve. I, whose heart was ever so averse 
 to cruelty, that when I've walked the fields I've often 
 turned aside least I should crush a crawling worm. 
 To-morrow morning at ten o'clock ! So soon ? Just 
 when the star of a bright destiny was shining in the 
 horizon of my life; to die an ignominious death, de- 
 spised by all the world, and loatl^ed by her 1 loved 
 better than life itself. Oh ! I could bear anything but 
 that, but 'tis too much, too much ! {Bows his head and 
 sobs. He hears bolts rattling at the door and starts up 
 wiping his eyes.) What, some one coming? Back idle 
 tears I back, back I say ! for though my heart be burst- 
 ing with its grief, they shall not see me weep. 
 
 Enter Count, C. {He comes down 
 front and bows politely as he speaks.) 
 
36 EDGAE ARNOLD. [ACT IV. 
 
 Count. Good evening, Mr. Arnold. ' 
 
 Edc^ak. {Looking at him contemptiouslt/.) Well, 
 sir, what devilish impulse sent you here with your soft 
 good evening. {Mimicing the Qount's tone.) When 
 I was on trial for my life and not a soul in all the 
 court-room believed me guilty, although circum- 
 stances had coiled a chain of evidence about me 
 which I could not unwind; you stepped forward and 
 welded the ends of that chain together with the 
 sledge-hammer of a lie, by swearing that you saw me 
 strike the fatal h\ow. Your work was well done, but 
 I warn you to beware how you thrust yourself into 
 my presence to enjoy a victory for which you have 
 already paid the price of perjury. 
 
 Count. You entirely mistake my mission, sir. I 
 am not here to triumph in the misfortune of a fellow- 
 being in whose downfall the law and circumstances 
 made me instrumental. On the contrary, 1 have 
 come to offer you the only possible means of escape. 
 If you will listen to my plan you may possibly be 
 convinced that I am not as much your enemy as you 
 suppose. [Edgar looks at him steadily for a moment 
 while the Count drops his eyes as if unable to stand his 
 gaze.) 
 
 Edgar. I cannot look into your face and still be- 
 lieve you are an honest man. But go on, I promise 
 that 1 will hear you through without a word of in- 
 terruption. [He leans against the end of the table and 
 looks off front.) 
 
 Count. Your refusal to make any statement at 
 the trial makes the plan a most feasible one. It is 
 simply this. 1 have a statement here, [producing 
 paper,) already prepared for jour signature, to the 
 ehect that Mr. Gray came to your shop and provoked 
 a quarrel; that he tinally raised a deadly weapon 
 against you, and that you, believing your life in dan- 
 ger, struck the fatal blow in self-defense. This state- 
 
ACT IV.] EDGAR ARNOLD. 37 
 
 meiit, with a petition signed bj both judge and jury 
 shall be placed in the hands of the Governor before 
 daylight to-morrow, and will no doubt insure a re- 
 prieve. By that means jou will gain time to verify 
 your assertion of innocence; while if you allow your- 
 self to suffer for a crime of which you are not guilty 
 yon will lose that opj^ortnnity forever. But the time 
 for action is brief, and you must decide at once. (Efe 
 steps forward and holds the paper temptingly before 
 Edgar ) 
 
 Edgar. {Speaking as if chocking with indignation.) 
 I beg that you w^ill pardon the slowness of my answer. 
 Such overwdielming and unexj)eted kindness from the 
 man whose lying lips liad doomed me to the gallows 
 quite scared away my power of speech and it returns 
 with but a sluggish, halting step. You ask me to 
 sign this statement, declaring that I, in the full 
 strength and vigor of youth, struck down a w^eak old 
 man in self-defense. To perjure my soul that I may 
 lengthen out for a few paltry years, a life that would be 
 torture ten-fold worse than hell itself. Oh! thou ac- 
 cursed emissary of perdition, sent here to tempt a dy- 
 ing man in his despair; thou hast presumed too far 
 upon my helpless misery. Take back the insult or by 
 mine innocence I'll sto23 the breath that uttered it! 
 {Be takes the Count by the throat, chokes him for a 
 moment, and then throws him to the floor.) Now, take 
 your hateful presence from my sight, before 1 give 
 them a just cause for hanging me. [A'dyar staygers 
 back and sinks upon the stool at the table. The Count 
 rises, partially draws a dayyer and takes a step for- 
 ward, but checks himself and returns the dayger to his 
 pocket.) 
 
 Count. (Aside.) Stay! Why should I play the 
 rash, impulsive fool, and run my neck into the hang- 
 man's noose, to hasten a revenge which will be more 
 complete without my further aid? No, let nic rather 
 
38 EDGAR ARNOLD. [ACT IV. 
 
 mask my passion with a smile, and leave this slave of 
 conscience to his doom. [To Edgar.) Ah! Monsieur, 
 your embraces are so affectionate that I am quite 
 overcome. But I will forbear to longer interrupt 
 your pleasant meditations. [Going to door.) G-ood 
 night, Monsieur; i hope to see you again to-morrow. 
 \_Exit with a moeking laugh. 
 Edgar. Oh ! why did just heaven suffer that villain 
 to come here and enrage me so; just when I was try- 
 ing to compose my soul for its great trial on the 
 morrow? 1 cannot imagine what motive lay con- 
 cealed beneath his hellish proposition. But this I 
 know, a pure and honest thought could no more is- 
 sue from his heart than a fair rose could bud and 
 blossom on a rotten stick. [He hears bolts rattling at 
 the door.) Another visitor ? Oh ! why will they not let 
 me pass my last night on earth in peace? 
 
 Enter Lillian, C. 
 
 LiLL. [Aside.) How I tremble. I almost wish I 
 had not come, but I have gone so far and 1 will not 
 turn back. [She comes down and touches Edgar lightly 
 on the shoulder. Edgar looks up rises suddenly and 
 extends his arms toward her.) 
 
 Edgar. Lillian! [She draws hack, and he recovers 
 himself.) I crave your pardon. Miss Grray; your ap- 
 pearance was so unexpected that I forgot myself. 
 
 LiLL. No doubt you are surprised at seeing me, 
 but 1 have come to ask a question which I hope you 
 will answer truly. 
 
 Edgar. I never yet have answered any question 
 falsely, and if I do not answer this one truly, it shall 
 remain unanswered. 
 
 LiLL. [Brokenly.) Edgar, did — you — kill — my 
 father? [She bursts into tears and sobs violently.) 
 
 Edgar. 0, Lillian! That question, coming from 
 your lips, has given me a keener pain than though 
 
ACT IV.J EDGAR ARNOLD. 39 
 
 another's hand had thrust a living coal into my throb- 
 bing heart. I dare not hoj)e that you will accept my 
 answer, but you shall have it in plain, simple words. 
 No, Lillian, I did not. 
 
 LiLL. And, Edgar, I believe you. 
 
 Edgar. 0, heaven ! I thank thee for this moment's 
 joy. Now let the trial come! Those words have 
 robbed the gallows of its terror, and I can die in peace. 
 
 LiLL. Die! die! Oh! yes, I had forgotten. What, 
 die. for a crime of which you are not guilty? No! 
 no! it must not, shall not be. {She clings to him 
 weeping bitterly.) 
 
 Edgar. Peace, Lillian! Do not unnerve me at a 
 time when I most need my strength. Nothing could 
 save me now but the confession of the true criminal, 
 nor would I accept release upon any other terms. 
 Nothing but that would convince the world that I am 
 innocent; and, now that I am sure of your trust and 
 confidence, I had rather die and leave you free to seek 
 for peace and happiness where e'er you may, than 
 live to have the horrid spector of the world's sus23icion 
 forever rising up between us. You have youth, 
 beauty and wealth still left you ; use them all as best 
 you can, to bring forgetfulness of this sad hour; and 
 if it be true that the spirits of the blest can look 
 down upon the loved ones they have left behind, it 
 will be the greatest joy heaven can bestow on me, to 
 let me see you happy. 
 
 LiLL. Y outh, wealth and beauty. Alas ! the words 
 are but a cruel mockery. My years are few indeed, 
 and yet my heart is old with grief. Mj beauty can- 
 not long survive my happiness, and in a year i shall 
 be penidless. 
 
 Edgar. Penniless \ 
 
 LiLL. Yes. Listen and 1 will exjjlain. Scarcely 
 an hour ago, Count LeGrrande came to me with a will 
 which he said had been found among my father's ^v.- 
 
40' EDGAR ARNOLD. [aCT IV. 
 
 pers ; which provided that, unless I should marry the 
 Count within a year, all my father's property should 
 go to strangers. 
 
 Edgar. (Aside.) Oh! I begin to see tlie villain's 
 motive now. 
 
 LiLL. He admitted it was strange my father should 
 make such a will, and said if it were in his power all 
 should be restored to me. Then he grew so tender, and 
 began to speak to me of love ; and when I told him 1 
 could only think of you, he begged me to forget you, 
 {Brokenly.) and said you were my father's murderer. 
 
 Edgar. And what did you reply? 
 
 LiLL. I told him that he lied. 
 
 Edgar. And I will kiss the lips that told him so. 
 {Kisses her.) 
 
 LiLL. I then resolved that I would see you face 
 to face, and take from your own lips the verdict of 
 your guilt or innocence; and, now that my faith 
 has been conlirmed, it is so hard to know that you 
 must die to-morrow. 
 
 Edgar. Then 1 will not die to-morrow! {Lillic.n 
 looks up in surprise.) Lillian, 1 have a strange re- 
 quest to make. The next time you meet Count 
 LeCrande, promise him that, if within one year my 
 innocence is not proven to the satisfaction of the 
 world, you will marry him. 
 
 LiLL. Why would you have me make so rash a 
 promise? 
 
 Edgar. A horrible suspicion has crept into my soul. 
 
 LiLL. Suspicion? 
 
 Edgar. Nay, do not question me, for 1 will not 
 name it until 1 have the proof. To get that proof I 
 must be free. A moment since I said 1 would accept 
 of liberty only on one condition; but now, I swear 
 by every memory the heart holds dear, that I will win 
 it, no matter what it cost. 
 
 LiLL. But how, Edgar, how? 
 
ACT IV.] EDGAR ARNOLD. 41 
 
 Edgar. I know not how ; I only know I must and 
 will. This is a village jail, not made for desperate 
 criminals; surely a strong arm and ready ingenuity 
 can lind some method of escaping from it. {He looks 
 around and Unally up toward the roof.) See, yonder 
 near the roof there is a window left unbarred, and 
 just above it is a projecting beam. 
 
 LiLL. {Joyfully.) Yes, yes, I see ! now if you only 
 had a rope. 
 
 Edgar. ( Despondently.) If, if; it is a simple word, 
 only two letters long, yet like a horrid demon stand- 
 ing between a soul and heaven, that little word stands 
 between me and liberty. 
 
 LiLL. Then I will drive tliat demon from your 
 path. 
 
 EdGxVr. You, Lillian, you ; a poor weak girl ? 
 
 LiLL. No, I am no longer a weak girl; my love 
 and hope have made me strong. Listen, Edgar; I 
 will leave you now, but will soon return and ask an- 
 other interview. Old Nathan is too kind and unsus- 
 pecting to deny me. I will bring a rope con- 
 cealed about me which I will leave with you, and 
 when the proper time has come, you will know how 
 to use it. 
 
 Edgar. It is a brave plan Lillian; but it cannot 
 be. To save my life I would not have you thus in- 
 vite the world's suspicion. No, Lillian; before I'd 
 have the poisoned tongue of slander whispering thy 
 sweet name upon the listening air, I'd die a thousand 
 deaths, and bless the fate that kept thy fair fame spot- 
 less at so small a cost. 
 
 LiLL. Oh! must I be so loved, and yet do nothing 
 to prove my worthiness? 
 
 Edgar. Only promise that which I have asked, and 
 leave the rest to heaven and me. 
 
 LiLL. Well then, I promise, but 0, Edgar, if you 
 should fail — 
 
42 EDGAK ARNOLD. [aCT IV. 
 
 Edgar. But I'll not fail! tlie same great power 
 that gave the will, must surely lend me wit to find 
 a way. {Hears holts move.) But hark! old Nathan 
 is at the door and we must part. ( He leads her slowly 
 toward the door.) 
 
 LiLL. {Turning and dinging to him.) Oh! must 
 I say farewell? 
 
 Edgar. {Smiling.) No, not farewell; good night! 
 
 LiLL. Then good night let it be, and heaven grant 
 we soon may meet again. {Exit 0. The door is 
 closed and bolted.) 
 
 Edgar. Heaven bless her for her brave and gen- 
 erous love; but I could not accept of even life at such 
 a sacrifice. To-morrow the whole village would be 
 ringing with the news, that Lillian G-ray had aided 
 her father's murderer to escape. No, no, I can seek 
 no help from human hands, but upon thee, heaven, 
 I call for aid. Grant that I may get beyond these 
 walls, and here I swear my life shall be devoted to 
 avenging that most inhuman murder. I'll hunt the 
 author of that bloody deed to the remotest corners of 
 the globe. In the broad sunlight, and in the mid- 
 night's deepest gloom, I'll dog his footsteps like a 
 sleuth-hound on the track ; and though he crawl into 
 the darkest caverns of the earth, I'll drag him to the 
 light, that all the world may see how base a villain 
 
 hell hath spewed upon the earth. But why do I 
 
 rave so wildly when I should be calm and thoughtful ? 
 It is too early yet for action; I will sit down a mo- 
 ment and think what it is best to do. {Sits at the table.) 
 
 Scene IV. — A street in the village. 
 
 Enter Count, Yi. 
 
 Count. My curse upon you, Edgar Arnold! that 
 grasp upon my throat has stifled conscience, and to- 
 
ACT IV.] EDGAR ARNOLD. 43 
 
 morrow I can smile to see the hangman strangle you. 
 {Looking R.) What do I see? As I live 'tis Lillian 
 Gray, and all alone; I mnst know the meaning of her 
 presence here. {He puts himself in her path.) 
 
 Enter Lillian, R. 
 
 LiLL. {Suddenly discovering the Count and starling 
 back.) The Connt! 
 
 Count. Yes, Miss Gray, it is I; and I hope you 
 will pardon me if I seem to take an unsolicited in- 
 terest in your welfare; but it is hardly prudent for a 
 young lady to be out so late at night without an escort. 
 
 LiLL. Fear not for me, sir; -1 am in no need of 
 protection, and 1 prefer to be alone; so let me pass. 
 {Count steps aside, Lillian crosses to Z., hesitates a 
 moment, then returns.) But stay, perhaps you would 
 like to know the purpose of my seeming imprudence ? 
 
 Count. I must confess to some curiosity upon the 
 subject. 
 
 LiLL. Then you shall hear. 1 have been to Ed- 
 gar Arnold's cell to get from his own lips the verdict 
 of his guilt or innocence. 
 
 Count. And of course he told you he was innocent. 
 
 LiLL. Yes, and I believed him. 
 
 Count. Upon my word your faith in man is most 
 remarkable. 
 
 LiLL. And my works shall prove how hrm it if. 
 Not two hours ago you asked me if 1 would one day 
 be 3'our wife; you shall now have your answer. In 
 a few days I shall return to the city with my uncio. 
 Leave me there in peace for one year; do not speak 
 to me or even come into my presence, and if within 
 that time the innocence of Edgar Arnold is not es- 
 tablished, I will marry you. 
 
 Count. But, Lillian, why this silent probation of 
 a year. {He takes a step toward Iter, but &he motions 
 him to stop.) 
 
44 EDGAK AKNOLD. [AOT IV. 
 
 LiLL. Enough! it shall be that or nothing. 
 
 Count. Well, I accept the terms. {Looks at 
 tvitch) It is now just eleven o'clock; in one year 
 from this hour I will come to claim your promise. 
 
 LiLL. And if my life survive my faith I shall be 
 ready to fulfill it; until then, adieu. \_Exit L. 
 
 Count. Well, for all that is inconsistent and in- 
 comprehensible in human nature, commend me to a 
 woman. I'll be hanged if it don't stump me to know 
 what she meant by leading into my hand in that 
 manner, just as I had concluded that the game was 
 up with me. Is it possible she can suspect? Bah! 
 nonsense! 'tis only a weak woman's subterfuge for 
 postponing the inevitable. Well, there is nothing 
 left for me to do but await the time in patience. My 
 last card is played, the game is fairly won, and when 
 the year is up, I'll be on hand to claim the stakes. 
 
 [Exit L. 
 
 Scene V. — The village jail. Edgar discovered at 
 the table, asleep. 
 
 Edgar. {Raising his head and looking about 
 strangely.) What's this? Where am I? Oh! yes, I 
 remember now; I am in prison and condemned to 
 die. I must have been asleep and dreaming. I 
 thought it was a bright, moonlight night, and Lil- 
 lian Gray, clad all in spotless white and accompanied 
 by an old man strangely like her father, was standing 
 in a beautiful garden, beside a silver fountain. Close at 
 her feet lay coiled a monstrous serpent, that fixed its 
 baleful eyes upon her lovely features for a moment; 
 then raised itself and was about to clasp her in its 
 slimy folds, when a strong arm struck it to the earth. 
 Ah! how I strained my eyes to catch the features of 
 Lillian's preserver; and when at last I saw his face, 
 0, God be praised, 'twas mine! 'twas mine! It was a 
 
ACT IV.] EDGAR ARNOLD. 45 
 
 Strange, strange dream ; but heaven grant that it may 
 prove prophetic. {Clock strikes twelve.) What, al- 
 ready midnight? {Rising. ) Then it is time to be at 
 Avork, and I must see if 1 cannot hud some way to 
 improvise a roj^e. {Goes to the bed and examines 
 blanket.) Yes, I believe I can manufacture one from 
 this. {He cuts the blanket into strips and ties them to- 
 gether. As he is at work a distant peal of thunder is 
 heard.) Hark! what's that, thunder in the distance? 
 Heaven send the cloud this way, a storm would help 
 to cover my escape. {After getting the rope ready he 
 pauses a moment as if thinking how he shall get it over 
 the beam.) Now where shall I hnd a string? Ah! I 
 have it; the very thing. {He sits upon the stool, and 
 with a knife cuts off the leg of his sock at the ankle and 
 commences imraveling it; then tries the strength of the 
 yarn.) It is good honest yarn; I might have known 
 til at, since the socks were knit for me by old Aunt 
 Dorathy. 1 remember how the tears came into her 
 dim, gray eyes as she gave them to me, and begged me 
 to wear them for the sake of one to whom 1 had been 
 all that a kind and dutilul son could be. Wear them ? 
 Bless her dear, motherly old heart, I would have worn 
 them then, though they had been tilled with living 
 coals. {Having finished unraveling the sock, he takes 
 from his pocket a coin with a hole in it, and. ties it to 
 the end of the yarn; then ties the other end to the im- 
 provised rope, throws the coin over the beam and draw- 
 ing the rope over, twists it; loops the end through the 
 ring in the floor and ties it with one end of the yarn in 
 a bow-knot so that he can untie it by pulling at the other 
 end from above.) How often are the works of human 
 hands, thus made to serve a purpose quite contrary 
 to that for which they were intendeci. This ring, 
 placed here for greater security against the escape ot 
 some desperate criminal, is now aiding me in mine. 
 {Just as he has completed his arrangements a furious 
 
46 EDOAE AENOLD. [aOT V. 
 
 thunder-storm commences.) 0, Heaven be praised ! my 
 prayer is answered and the cloud has burst. Howi 
 on, ye demons of the air, your hoarsest bellowings 
 are sweetest music to my ears ; blow tempests, blow, 
 until the forest oaks do loosen at their roots, ye can- 
 not match the tumult of my soul. My brain is all on 
 lire with mingled hope and fear, and I do long to 
 feel the storm-king's cooling breath upon my burning 
 brow. (^He climbs the rope as the curtain descends.) 
 
 Tableaux. 
 
 {Curtain rises and discovers Edgar lowering himself 
 by the rope^ which now hangs outside the grated window.) 
 
 END OF ACT IV. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — A street in Neiv York. 
 
 Enter Ed^ak, R. {He wears a 
 cloak and slouch hat, drawn down as if fur a partial 
 disguise.) 
 
 Edgae. Oh ! what a heavy cloud hangs o'er my 
 soul; while hope, that like a smiling angel lured me 
 on from day to day with promises of quick success, is 
 fled, and in its place 1 only see the mocking demon 
 of despair. The hour is almost here, and yet 1 have 
 no proof. Kight and day, in a hundred different 
 disguises, 1 have followed Count LeGrande up and 
 down the streets of this great city like his very 
 shadow; and, although I am convinced that he is re- 
 sponsible for that horrible murder, I have been able to 
 obtain no scrap of evidence upon which I could hope 
 for his conviction. This morning I saw him take a 
 letter from the oflice which seemed to agitate him 
 
ACT v.] . ED(LVK ARNOLD. 47 
 
 strangely, and as he passed me I heard a muttered 
 curse and thought I could distinguish the word con- 
 fession. It flashed over me in a moment that in that 
 letter might be found a key to the whole mystery, 
 ajid 1 was tempted to force it from his hand at any 
 hazard; but that would have exposed me, and might 
 have ruined my last chance. I have put Jerry on 
 the track however, and if he only succeeds in obtain- 
 ing it, Lillian may yet be saved. There he comes now, 
 and apparently he has news of importance. 
 
 Enter Jerry, L. {Flourishing a 
 payer and shouting.) 
 
 Jerry. Eureka — E pluribus unum — Sio semper 
 McGinnis — Erifigo hraghl which is French for -the 
 English of it. Just cast your optics over that docu- 
 ment, will you? {Bands paper to Edgar.) 
 
 Edgar. {Reading.) '^Last will and testament of 
 William Gray," Where did you get this, Jerry? 
 
 Jerry. Well, 1 stumbled on it accidentally a little 
 while ago, when I stepped in at Lillian's to ask Kitty 
 about the wedding. I thought you might like to see 
 it, so I didn't say nothing to nobody about it; but just 
 meandered around here with it as soon as possible. 
 
 Edgar. It is the very will that Lillian's father 
 told me of the last time I saw him alive, and it proves 
 the other a forgery as I suspected. So Lillian need 
 not marry the Count to save her fortune after all. 
 13ut no, this is not enough ; she has given him her 
 solemn promise, and unless I can produce the proof 
 of my innocence, 1 believe she would keep her word, 
 even though she knew him to be a forger. Could 
 3^ou not get the letter, Jerry? 
 
 Jerry. No, 1 didn't get it; but I think I've found 
 out where it is, though. You see, 1 went up where 
 the Count stays, intending to bust in and steal it if 
 necessary ; l^ut when I got to the door, I lieard the Count 
 
48 EDGAK AKNOLD. [aCT V. 
 
 racing up and down the room in a way that would 
 have set the green-eyed lobster of jealousy a clawin' 
 at the heart-strings of one of them tragedy actors at 
 the old Bowery. He was just cussin' himself blue 
 for sending his white vest to the laundry with that 
 infernal letter in the pocket. Don't you want me to 
 give you a specimen of his style ? {^Strikes an attitude.) 
 
 Edgar. No, never mind that now, but tell me, do 
 you know where this laundry is? 
 
 Jeury. You bet your life I do. 'Taint more'n 
 three blocks from here nuther, and it's kept by a 
 regular old pig-tail Chinaman. 
 
 Edgar. We must manage in some way to get 
 possession of that letter ; but alas ! 1 fear it will be 
 too late. Did you learn at what time the wedding 
 would take place? 
 
 Jerry. Yes, at eleven o'clock exactly. Kitty said 
 they were to be married by moonlight, near the foun- 
 tain in the garden. {Sinys.) ''Oh! come into the 
 garden, Maud." 
 
 Edgar. {Aside.) Moonlight, garden, fountain! 
 Yes, I remember ; it was the prophetic vision of my 
 prison cell, and now 1 know that victory is mine. 
 {Handing Jerry a pocket-hook.) Here, Jerry, take this, 
 go at once to that laundry and buy that Chinaman 
 out. Pay him anything he asks, but buy him out 
 and get him away as soon as possible, i will be there 
 directly, but 1 had rather not be seen. 
 
 Jerry. All right, I'll strike a bargain with old 
 Pig-tail in a jiify. [Ja^xit L. 
 
 Edgar. Moonlight, garden, fountain ! \V hat a lirm 
 confidence those simple words have given me. The 
 cloud has disappeared, and now 1 feel as certain of 
 success as though I already had my heel upon the 
 serpent's neck. {Looks at watch.) Six o'clock! just 
 five hours left for action, and they must be busy 
 hours for me. Now, Count LeGrande, beware what 
 
ACT v.] EDGAR AKNULD. 49 
 
 tracks you leave behind you, for Edgar Arnold the 
 avenger is close upon your heels. [Exit L. 
 
 Scene 11. — A laundry. Table and chair R. 0. 
 Table has several flat-irons and a lighted candle upo7i 
 it, A large basket of clothes stand near, and a tin 
 wash-boiler cover leans against the table, Jerry dis- 
 covered looking out of door C, and off L. 
 
 Jerky. {Turning and coming down C.) Well, I've 
 got rid of old Pig-tail at last, but gewhillikins 1 didn't 
 i have to come down with the stamps though? An- 
 other bargain like that and the iirm of Arnold, Steb- 
 bins & Co., w^ould be busted higher 'n Gildaroy's kite. 
 Well, the senior partner ain't here yet, so I guess I[il 
 take an inventory of the furniture, and see wh.«t's in 
 the old shebang anyhow. {Ta;:es up the boiler-cover.) 
 Crotch-all-Connecticut! wouldn't this make a stunnin' 
 shield for one of them fellers at the tlieater'^ If Mr. 
 Count would just step in now, I'd like to play a little 
 Macbeth witli him. {Tragically.) Hi! "Lay on 
 Macduli', and damned be he who first cries" — {He 
 siezes a fiat-iron and flourishes it, but burns his hand, 
 and drops flat-iron and the boiler-cover.) — Jerusalem 
 Jenldns ! but that reception was a little warmer than 
 1 meant it should be. {He blows his hands.) 
 
 Enter Edgar, C. 
 
 Edgar. {Laying his hand on Jerry's shoulder.) 
 Jerry! 
 
 Jerry. {Starting.) "Avaunt and quit my sight ! — 
 Oh! its you is it? Thunder and lightning! how you 
 scar't me. 
 
 Edgar. Has the Chinaman gone? 
 
 Jerry. Yes, but I had to pay him an awful price 
 though to get rid of him. 
 
 Edgar. Oh! talk not to me of price, while Lil- 
 
50 EDGAR AENOLD. [aCT V. 
 
 iian's fate liangs treinl)iing in tlie scale; if every 
 mountain in tlie Catslvill range were one Imge himp 
 of solid gold, and I the owner of the whole, I'd give 
 it all as freely as I'd give an idle breath, to purchase 
 one short hour of happiness for Lillian Gray, (ffe 
 goes to >he basket and looks for the letter.) 
 
 Jekey. (^Aside.) Crotch-all-Connecticut! ain't he 
 got it bad though? 
 
 Edgak. i^Fin ding the letter and opening it excitedly.) 
 Here it is; and now for the contents. {Reads.) 
 
 Harry Logan: 
 
 1 feel that my days are almost numl)eredj 
 and I cannot die in peace with that murder still un- 
 confessed resting upon my soul, and sentence of death 
 yet hanging over that innocent blac. smith. I am 
 going to make a clean breast of my own part in that 
 affair, but shall not implicate you if I can avoid it. 
 I only beg of you to take Wcirr'ng from the tortures 
 which I am now enduring, and mend your ways 
 before you are brought face to face with the grim 
 specter that will only mock at your repentence. And 
 now, as this is the la^.t communication you will ever 
 recieve from me, I bid you farewell. I shall try and 
 make what amends I can for my evil deeds, and when 
 the end comes, may God have mercy on my soiil! 
 {Speaking reverently.) And to that piayer 1 say, amen ! 
 
 {Edgar takes a pen and pocket inkstayid from his 
 pocket, writes a note and hands it to Jerry.) Here, 
 Jerry, take the lirst hack you see and drive as fast as 
 possible to the nearest minister's. Give him this note, 
 wh'ch is a request that he will go at once to receive 
 a dying man's confess* on. Then return immediately 
 as I shall have another errand for you. 
 
 Jekry. All right, sir, I'll be back before you can 
 say Jack Robinson. {Going to the door.) "A horse! 
 a horse! my kingdom for a," — hello! there's a hack, 
 I guess that'll answer. {JSxit running.) 
 
ACT V.J EDGAR ARNOLD. 51 
 
 Edgar. And now for some means of throwing 
 tlicit villain off his guard, in case he should come here 
 in search of this letter. Let me see; ah! 1 have it: 
 ''Fight the devil with lire," says the old maxim, and 
 1 will trap a . )rger wiiji a forge. ^ . {He taken a sheet 
 vj paper J. a km jjocket, compares it with that on 
 whiali the letter is written; then copies the letter carejuUy 
 until he comes to the signature.) What strange freak 
 is this? 1 had not noticed it before. The signature 
 is writen with red ink and 1 have nothing here but 
 black. No matter; no obstacle shall blociv my pro- 
 gress now. I'll make an inkstand of my own veins, 
 and wnie a murderer's name in good, honest blood. 
 i^tie rolls up his sleeve, takes a pen-knife and cutting 
 his arm, fills the pen with blood arid writes the signature.) 
 There, it is done, and 1 doubt if a bank cashier could 
 detect the forgery. {^He places the forged letter in the 
 envelope, puts it back in the vest pocket, and leaves the 
 vcEt in a conspicuous place, goes to the door and looks 
 out, but draws quickly back.) There comes the vil- 
 lain now, and 1 must not 'at him find me here; the 
 other room perhaps w^ili serve me for a hiding place. 
 [^ijoes into room H.) 
 
 Enter Count, C. {Cautiously.) 
 
 Count. ]S o one in the room ? So much the better, 
 providing that letter has not been discovered, for then 
 1 can get it without exciting suspicion that anything 
 is w-ong. {Be finds the vest, takes the letter from the 
 pocket, opens it and lets the envelope fall upon the floor.) 
 Yes, here it is all safe, and I will take care that it 
 remains so. {Lights the letter at the candle and holds 
 it until it burn" to ashes.) There, that piece of evi- 
 dence will never see the light again, and no vV let that 
 conscierce-b .icken ic' )t conil and die in peace, 
 while I p- are for the hist act of th* 3 romantic drama. 
 
52 EDGAR ARNOLD. [ACT V. 
 
 1 am sorry to liave entered the establishment of this 
 Oriental gentleman so unceremoniously, but I will 
 see him later and present my apologies. IJExit C. 
 
 Re-enter Edgar from R. 
 
 Edgar. The villain has walked into the snare 
 without the least suspicion. {Seeing envelope.) Hello! 
 he has left the envelope to his letter here. Very 
 kind of him I am sure, and I must not forget to 
 thank him at my earliest convenience. {He picks up 
 the envelope.) places the letter in it and puts it in his 
 pocket.) We'll, Harry Logan, you shall see the pro- 
 prietor of this- establishment, sooner perhaps than 
 you antici^^ate, and much I doubt if you will enjoy 
 the meeting. [_Exit C. 
 
 Scene 111. — A 
 
 Enter Edgar R. 
 
 Edgar. Jerry not yet returned? Very well, I 
 will occupy the intervening time in writing the note 
 I wish him to carry. ( Writing.) 
 
 "Sergeant Metropolitan Police: 
 
 Please meet me with two trusty of- 
 ficers, at a quarter of eleven to-night, for the purpose 
 of arresting a man implicated in a murder. The 
 bearer will give you the place of meeting, and I will 
 be there with the necessary proofs. Do not fail to 
 be on time as there is much which I cannot now ex- 
 plain depending upon promptness." 
 
 Enter Jerry, L. 
 
 Jerry. {Presenting a note, and speaking in a 
 theatrical tone.) A letter for my lord. 
 
 Edgar. {Reading.) "Sir — your note just received, 
 and I will attend to the matter at once." {He hands 
 
ACT v.] EDGAR ARNOLD. 53 
 
 the note he has written^ to Jerry.) Very well; now 
 take this to the nearest Police Station, give it to the 
 sergeant in charge, and then get ready and come to 
 the wedding. There may be a change of bridegrooms, 
 and I shall want your assistance. 
 
 Jerry. Oh ! you want me to be one of the brides- 
 maids on the gentleman's side, do you? 
 
 Edoar. Weil, perhaps so, and here, {Hands him 
 the will.) it was you who discovered this will which 
 makes Lillian Gray heiress to a million dollars. Keep 
 it until the proper time, and let it be your wedding 
 present to her; but now be off, and don't fail to be 
 on hand at eleven o'clock. 
 
 Jerry. Oh! don't you forget it, I'll be there. 
 i^Aside.) Crotch-all-Connecticut! won't Jeremiah 
 Htebbins be some pumpkins though, makin' a wed- 
 ding present of a million dollars? Oh, my! [Exit L. 
 
 Edgar. How quickly does the tide of human for- 
 tune ebb and flow! One moment om- poor barque 
 of fate lies stranded like a hopeless wreck upon a 
 barren coast; and at the next, the sluggish waters, 
 moved by some hidden ]30wer which we blind mortals 
 misname chance, or accident, rise suddenly and bear 
 it safely into port. My tide is rising now, and if it 
 does not ebb within an hour, my vow will be fultilled 
 and the avenger's work accomplished. Yes, Harry 
 Logan, the drama is almost ended, but you had better 
 not remain to play it out, or the last act shall be for 
 you a tragedy. [Uxit U. 
 
 fScene IV. — Vtstibule in Lillian^ 8 house. 
 
 Enter Lillian, dressed for the wed- 
 diny, and leaniny upo7i her uncte^s arm. 
 
 Uncle. Well, Lillian, if you so much dread this 
 wedding, why do you not refuse, even at the last 
 
54 EDGAR ARNOLD . [ACT V. 
 
 moment, to proceed with it. True, I have no elegant 
 home like this to offer yon, but even snch a one as 
 you can find with me will be better than the misery 
 you anticipate as this man's wife. And besides 
 
 LiLL. (Interrupting.) Stoj), uncle, I implore you! 
 Do not add your persuasion to the wild impulse of 
 my breaking heart or I shall do some desperate deed. 
 I would gladly let death release me from my pledge, 
 but while I live I dare not break it. No, at the re- 
 quest of Edgar Arnold, I gave the Count my solemn 
 promise; he has complied strictly with the conditions 
 1 imposed, and now if Edgar fails me I must keep 
 my word. 
 
 Uncle. And have you heard nothing from Mr. 
 Arnold ? 
 
 LiLL. 1 only know through the faithful Jerry that 
 he escajjed safely to the city and is still alive, and if 
 he fails to get the evidence he is seeking I am sure 
 that is all I shall ever hear. 
 
 Uncle. Alas ! my child, if that evidence comes at 
 all, I fear it will come to late. {Looking at watch.) 
 It lacks but a few moments now ofthe appointed time. 
 
 Enter Kitty, C. 
 
 Kitty. The minister has come, sir. 
 
 Uncle. Very well, we will be there in a moment. 
 {Exit Kitty C.) Come Lillian, try and compose 
 yourself while I go and arrange matters with the 
 minister, and let us hope that the event may not 
 prove as unhappy as you anticipate. [Exit C. 
 
 LiLL. 0, Edgar, Edgar! and have you too forsaken 
 me 1 I remember when I was in deadly peril on that 
 clilf; I called you not, yet you were there to rescue 
 me. But now I stand upon a far more frightful preci- 
 pice, and a darker chasm yawns beneath my feet. 
 No hand but yours can save me from the fall, and 
 yet I cry to you in vain for help : I strain my eyes to 
 
ACT V.J EDGAR AKNOlD. ' 55 
 
 catcli one gleam of hope, and only see the cruel sneer 
 upon those lips that soon will call me bride. I listen 
 for your voice to tell me I am free, and only hear his 
 mocking words: "I will be there to claim your prom- 
 ise." 0, God! my grief is more than I can bear! 
 Heaven hear my prayer, and let me die to end my 
 misery! {She sinks upon the sofa sobbing.) 
 
 Scene V. — A street. 
 
 Enter Jerry, L., panting as though 
 he had been running, and dressed in new clothes much 
 too large for him. 
 
 Jerry. Crotch-all-Connecticut! don't old Te7npu>i 
 fug it though, as them Romans used to say? If I 
 ain't careful I'll be too late for the wedding after all, 
 and I'll be darned if I hadn't rather miss a circus 
 any time. I just want to see Master Edgar come 
 down on that humbug Count once. I thought them 
 cops never would get started. Just like them though ; 
 they always are slower than molasses in January 
 when there's any business on hand. Then I had to 
 stop and get some store clothes, 'cause I couldn't 
 stand up with no bride in them old duds I've been 
 a wearin', no how. It looks to me like there was room 
 enough in these so I might take in a partner to 
 help pay expenses, but that feller I bought them of, 
 he said: "Oh! my leetle man, dot clodings fits you 
 shoost Like de paper on de vail, ain't it?^' I didn't 
 have much time to fool around gettin' a fit, but I 
 guess I'll 'grow to 'em afcer a while any way, and 
 may be they'll do for my trousseau when I get mar- 
 ried. Crotch-all-Connecticut ! wouldn't I be a stunnin' 
 bridegroom thought (I^xit M, imitating the strut of 
 a swell.) 
 
bQ EDGAR ARNOLD. [aCT V. 
 
 Scene VI. — A garden by moonlight, with fountain in 
 the center. The Count enters slowly from R., smoking. 
 Be walks about the garden examining the arrangements 
 and then comes down R., C. 
 
 Count. Well, 1 must say that this will be a most 
 romantic wedding, and 1 admire Lillian's taste in mak- 
 ing the arrangements They are quite worthy of the 
 noble Count who is to play the part of bridegroom. 
 {Be laughs ironically. Clock strikes eleven. As it 
 begins striking he starts, then counts the strokes anx- 
 iously until it ceases.) The hour has struck and Lil- 
 lian is not here. Can it be possible that she will fail 
 to keep her promise after all '( No, 1 hear them com- 
 ing now; I will step aside and not trouble them until 
 I am called upon. {He goes R., leans carelessly 
 against the wings, throws down his cigar and crushes 
 it with his foot.) 
 
 Enter from L. U. E. 
 (The Minister with Kitty upon his arm, followed by 
 Lillian and her Uncle. They come down center and 
 take positions as follows : 
 
 Minister. Lillian. Uncle. Kitty. 
 
 Edgar appears R. but remains concealed from the rest. 
 
 Minister. Lillian Gray, are you ready for the 
 ceremony? (Lillian bows.) 
 Count LeGrande, are you ready? 
 
 Count. (Stepping forward.) Quite ready, sir. 
 
 Minister. If there be anyone who knows aught 
 why these two should not be united in the holy bonds 
 of matrimony, let him speak now, or forever hold 
 his peace. 
 
 Edgar. (Stepping forward and speaking in 
 a somewhat disguised voice.) There is, sir; I forbid 
 the baiwks! (All start in surprise.) 
 
ACT v.] KLXJAR ARN<_)Ln. 57 
 
 CoijNT. And who are yon, to take such liberties? 
 
 Edgar. {Tlirowbig off his hat and cloak, and 
 speaking in his natural voice.) Edgar Arnold, the 
 avenger ! 
 
 LiLL. {Throvnng herself into Edgarh arms.) 0, 
 Edgar, 3^011 have come and I am saved at last. 
 
 Edgar. {To the officers who have stepped to the 
 Counfs side.) Gentlemen, I accuse that man of being 
 an accessory to the murder of William Gray, and I 
 demand his arrest. 
 
 Count. Indeed! and perhaps Edgar Arnold, tlie 
 escaped convict, will be kind enough to inform us 
 upon what evidence he makes such a startling accu- 
 sation. 
 
 Edgar. With pleasure, sir. Upon the dying con- 
 fession of one, Richard Thornton, othervv^ise known 
 as Slij^pery Dick, and also this letter, (Hddivg up 
 the letter) written to Harry Logan, otherwise known 
 as Count LeGrande, informing him that such a con- 
 fession would be made. (77?f Count lot.k^ at th^- letter 
 in astonishment.) I see you are somewhat surprised 
 at the production of this letter. That was a very 
 clever forgery you burned this evening, but this is the 
 original document. 
 
 Count. {Aside.) Death and confusion! he has 
 euchered me at last, and at the very moment when I 
 thought I had my hand upon the stake; but I will put 
 one drop of gall into his cup, before his lips have 
 tasted it. {To Edgar.) Well, Edgar Arnold, I con- 
 gratulate 3"ou upon your brilliant success. I have lost 
 a prize and you have won a pauper bride, {Produciti.g 
 the forged will.) this document at least will hold. 
 
 Jerry. {Entering from R. and showing the uni- 
 uine will.) You're another! here's the little joker 
 that'll take that trick. 
 
 Count. {Aside. Hell and furies! they have found 
 the missinii" will, and so my game is blocked on every 
 
58 EDGAK ARNOLD. [aCT V. 
 
 side. There is notliing left me now but to cheat the 
 hangman of his victim, and give these lovers here 
 my dying curse. (As the officers are about to take him 
 he motions them to stop.) One moment, gentlemen. 
 I feel my days are numbered, and I have a few words 
 that I wonld say before I go. Let me speak them, 
 and then I promise you, no hope or fear, no torture 
 or remorse, shall ever wring from me a single syllable. 
 
 Edgar. Go on. (All turn to listen.) 
 
 Count. Edgar Arnold, when first you came be- 
 tween me and the object of my life, I took such means 
 as I found necessary to remove you from my path; 
 when that was done I had no further cause for re- 
 sentment against you; but when, one year ago to- 
 night, I visited you in your cell, you took me by the 
 throat and choked me like a dog; then it was I swore 
 I never would forgive you, but would curse you to 
 my dying hour; thathonr has come, and here, with 
 my last breath, I call npon your head, and on the 
 head of Lillian Gray, the — [He raises a dagger to stab 
 himself when he has finished the curse. Lillian utters 
 a faint scream and hides her face on her uncle^s shoulder ) 
 
 Edgar. (Interrupting.) Heaven strike thee dumb, 
 before the curse is uttered! (To the officers.) Away 
 with him. 
 
 (The dagger drops from the Count^s hand, and as ike 
 officers taJce him back he still struggles as if attempting 
 to finish the curse, but is unable to speak. They take 
 him to back of stage, where he remains glaring upon 
 the rest of the company.) > 
 
 Edgar. (Taking Lillian from her uncle.) Darling, 
 Look up! the clouds have passed, the skies are bright; 
 We'll bid our sorrows and our friends, good night. 
 
 TUE end.