PHILLIPS 
 Camilla ! s Husband
 
 NO. CCCXXVII. 
 
 FRENCH'S STANDARD DRAMA. 
 
 ^lje ^tihrg <& bit ion. 
 
 CAMILLA'S HUSBASD. 
 
 An Original Drama, 
 
 IN THREE ACTS. 
 
 BY WATTS PHILLIPS, ESQ. 
 
 TO WHICH ARE ADDED 
 
 A description of the Costume — Cast of the Characters— Entrances and Exits- 
 Relative Positions of the Performers on the Stage, and 
 the whole of the Stage Business. 
 
 AS NOW PERFORMED AT THE PRINCIPAL ENGLISH 
 AND AMERICAN THEATRES. 
 
 NHW YORK: 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, PUBLISHER, 
 
 122 Nassau Stbeet, (Up Stairs.)
 
 [CAST OF CHARACTERS-CAMILLAS HUSBAND.] 
 
 Royal Olympic, 
 London, 1862. 
 
 Olympic, 
 New York, 1863. 
 
 Sir James Hailstone Mr. 
 
 Sir Philip Hailstone, [his son] . . Mr. 
 Sir Thomas Kendal Mr. 
 
 Major Lumley. . . . 
 Captain Shrimplon . 
 
 Dogbriar 
 
 Maurice Warner \ 
 Hyacinth Jonquil j 
 Maybush, [Landlord of the j Mr. 
 
 : Red Lion] | Mr. 
 
 Chowler, [a Smith] Mr. 
 
 Artists 
 
 .Mr. 
 .Mr. 
 .Mr. 
 
 Mr. 
 
 Mr. 
 
 James. 
 G. Vincent. 
 Franks. 
 H. Cooper. 
 H. Rivers. 
 
 F. Robson. 
 H. Neville. 
 W Gordon. 
 H Wigan. 
 
 G. Cooke. 
 
 C. Harwood. 
 
 Mr. 
 Mr. 
 Mr. 
 Mr. 
 Mr. 
 Mr. 
 Mr. 
 I Mr. 
 
 [Mr. 
 
 Mr. 
 
 Peck. 
 
 G. Jamison. 
 
 Brucciani. 
 
 N. C. Lapaugh. 
 
 G. H Clarke. 
 
 W. Davidge. 
 
 J. K. M<rtimer 
 
 Geo. Becks. 
 
 T. Owens. 
 
 C. Parsloe, Jr. 
 
 Servants, Gentlemen, Villagers, fyc. 
 
 Lady Camilla Hailstone Miss Kate Saville. Mrs. John Wood. 
 
 Lady Roseville Miss Grant. Miss DeLacey. 
 
 Miss Placida Poyntz Mrs. Leigh Murray. Mrs. Howard. 
 
 Red Judy, [ Wife of Dogbriar] Mrs. Stephens. Miss Harris. 
 
 Sloeberry, [their Daughter] . . .Miss F. Haydon. Miss J. Walters. 
 
 Time, 1762.— Costumes of that period, for which see Brown's Illustrations to 
 " Barnaby Budge." 
 
 RELATIVE POSITIONS, EXITS, &c. 
 
 B., means Right; L.,Left;R. H., Right Hand, L. H., Left 
 Hand ; C, Centre ; S. E., (or 2d E.,) Second Entrance ; U. E., Up- 
 per Entrance ; M. D., Middle Door ; F., the Flat ; D. F, Door in 
 Flat ; R. C, Right of Centre ; L. C. Left of Centre. 
 
 R. R.C. C. L.C. L. 
 
 * # * The reader is supposed to be upon the Stage, facing the audience.
 
 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 -iys 
 
 CAMILLA'S HUSBAND. 
 
 ACT I.— SCENE I. 
 
 Curtain rises upon the exterior of a Country Inn. " The Red Lion," r ; back 
 of scene to be sufficiently open to show a considerable portion of the Village 
 and a Country road, which appears and disappears winding among thick 
 clumps of trees ; Blacksmith's Shop, R. U. E , and the Porch of a quaint 
 little Church, l. U. e., form the principal objects in the little Vdlage ; the 
 entire arrangement of scene must be very open, sunny , and picturesque, giving 
 an idea of rural beauty and seclusion. 
 
 Maybush, landlord of tlie •' Red Lion Inn," is moving about, sprinkling 
 ground with ivater : Chowler at Smith's work in shop at back. 
 
 Chowl. [r., resting hammer on anvil and calling across to Matbush.] 
 Maybush, neebor Maybueh ! 
 
 May. [h. C, turning and moving a little up stage.] What s gotten to 
 say, neebor Chowler ? 
 
 Choul. Naething ; I spoke for coompany. 
 
 May. That be neeborly. Thank' ee Chowler. [Both resume their oc- 
 cupations — the one his hammering, the other his sprinkling. 
 
 Chowl. {Same business as at commencement of scene.] Neebor Maybush 
 
 May. [ditto] Well, neebor Chowler ? 
 
 Chowl. Hast seen any one to-day ? 
 
 May. Yeas. [Stands with watering-pot in one Jumd, scratching head reflect- 
 ively with the other.] I ha' seen thee, an' Dick Purkiss, an' blind old — 
 
 Chowl. [Coming to his door.] I mean ha' ye seed no strangers ? 
 
 May. [Slowly.] Noa ; I ha' seen none o' that sart sin' last week, an' 
 then I see a mort foive on 'em. 
 
 Chowl. [Pointing down road.] Then gie' thy eyes a rub an' IT. 
 show 'ee some more. 
 
 May. [Eagerly, and going up stage.] Wheer ? 
 
 Chowl. [Still pointing.] Theer ! 
 
 Doobriar, Red Judy, and Sloeberrt are seen entering village, L. u. a.; 
 the Tinker is ruling on a donkey, which is laden with the paraphernalia of 
 tlie tinker's trade: the Woman and Girl are walking. 
 
 May. [Contemptuously.] Them! they bean't naething. Them's 
 tramps. 
 
 Dog. [Pulling up before Inn.] Woah ! [Springing from donkey.] I'm as 
 dry as a sand-pit, and holler as a pipkin. [Cominq down, l. c.| Land- 
 lord ! landlord ! J 
 
 May. [ Who, after eyeing the party with much disdain, has seated himutf 
 down stage, r.. back to Tinkbr.] Cooming !
 
 4 CAMILLA' S nUSBAND. 
 
 Dog. So's the fortin as I'm expectin'; but if it doesn't make more 
 haste nor you I shall die a poor man yet. [Scats himself and strikes fist 
 on table.'] Can o' beer for me an' the ladies. 
 
 Enter Red Judy and Sloeberry into Inn, the former pushing tlie latter 
 somewhat roughly before her — Judy icears red gipsy cloak,aud bonnet of coarse 
 straw — Sloeberry 's appearance is more picturesque and fantastic ; she car- 
 ries tamborine, and her manner betokens both dejection and weariness. 
 May. [Rising surlily.] Ladies ! You be the gentlemen, I suppose ? 
 Dog. Nothing shorter. I horders and I pays — a hemperor — can do 
 more. 
 
 While Judt is unloading donkey of some of the tinkering tools — Sloeberry 
 has sunk down as exhausted on bench at back.] 
 
 May. Emperors dunnat let the women walk while they do the 
 grand on a donkey. 
 
 Dog. As the hanimal's a small one he's only licensed to carry sin- 
 gle, so as I 'ates to make a difference, I let 'em both walk for fair- 
 ness. [Rising.] But you're a good Sammarrian — you are, to stand 
 talking while a feller creatures dying wi' thirst. 
 
 Maybush shrugs shoulders, and exits into inn r. — Dogbriar going up 
 
 stage h. , touches Sloeberry on shoulder ; her hands are clasped loosely on 
 
 lap ; her head has sunk on her breast. 
 
 Dog. Sloeberry, lass ! You seem knocked up all of a suddent. 
 Y*/u was bright enough when I left you dancin' in t'other village — I 
 know it's a rough bit o' road 'tween this and there. 
 
 Judy. [Impatiently.] It's not the road — it's them as she met on it. 
 
 Dog. Them ! who ? 
 
 Judy. Mad Maurice and Hyacinth Jonquil. They'll be here in a 
 minit. I left 'em a top o' the hill, taking a picture — a lamb-skip as 
 they call it. 
 
 Dog. [Smiting his knees.] Well I never — to think o' meeting them 
 pair o' ne'er-do-wells after losing sight o' them for six months an' 
 more. [To Sloeberry.] An' you takin' on after Maurice. I'm 
 'shamed on you. He'll never be no good to you nor any one else. 
 
 Judy. He never wastes a thought on her — or me, though I brought 
 him up — by hand. 
 
 Dog. And as it were a hard hand it should ha' made some impres- 
 sion. 
 
 Judy. I was checktaker at old Jupiter Jonquil's the-ay-ter, when 
 Maurice first come into my charge, and as he was a loveable little 
 chap * 
 
 Dog. And old Jupiter's payments reg'lar. 
 
 Judy. I was better nor a mother to him. 
 
 Dog. A mother might have sp'ilt him— you didn't. 
 
 Judy. But old Jonquil did, when he took it into his head to make 
 a scholard of him along wi' young Hyacinth, his son, and taught 
 him to paint scenes an' sich like, 'stead o' something useful okipation. 
 
 Dog. Sich as tinkerin', which is a thing as everybody wants;
 
 Camilla's husband. 6 
 
 while picturs, -when you've looked at 'em once, ain't good for noth- 
 ing. 
 
 Slo. [With sudden animation.'] Oh, father! I've heard Manager 
 Jonquil say that Maurice painted like an angel. 
 
 Dog. P'raps ! as I ain't come across many hangels in my time, I 
 can't say what's expected of 'em in that line ; but what I do know 
 is that all Maurice makes he spends, and all in licker. 
 
 Slo. [Sadly.] He's drinking himself to death. 
 
 Bog. Which is a frightful thing to think on. [Take? jug from May- 
 bush who enters, and drinks.] Besides, it's selfish, and selfishness I can't 
 abear. [Gives jug to Judy. 
 
 Judy. [Glancing into jug with blank surprise.] Empty ! 
 
 Slo. [At door of inn.] They're coming along the road. 
 
 Dog. Who? 
 
 Slo. [Joyfully.] Maurice and Hyacinth — Maurice Warner ! 
 
 Maurice Warner and Hyacinth Jonquil heard singing. 
 There was a jolly miller once lived on the river Dee, 
 He danced and sang from morn till night no lark so blithe 
 as he. [Tiiey appear at back singing. 
 
 And this the burden of his song for ever used to be, 
 " I care for nobody, no, not I, if nobody cares for me.' " 
 
 They enter L. u. e. singing the last line ; both are habited in suits threadbare 
 and covered with dust — they wear battered hats and have knapsacks on their 
 backs — the appearance of Maurice Warner wild, careless, and haggard, 
 as from much dissipation, a mixture of poetic excitement with a hard cynical 
 indifference — Jonquil carries a sketching apparatus, &rc, which he fixes care- 
 fully back of stage. 
 
 Maurice. [As he comes down stage carelessly, doffing hat and unslinging 
 knapsack.] Good day to the companv! [Tossing knapsack on bench, R.] 
 An old friend but a heavy burden. [Slapping Maybush on back.] Hollo, 
 landlord, some brandy. 
 
 Jonquil. [Aside and intercepting Maybush as he is passing out.] Ale. 
 
 Maybush. And brand}' ? 
 
 Jonquil. [Aside with emphasis.] And no brandy. [Exit Maybush, r. 
 
 Mau. [To Docbriar ] What, thou Prince of Tinkers, art still in 
 the land of the living? [Speaking to Jonquil his hand on Dogbriar's 
 shoulder.] A wondrous fellow this, ever mending, but nev< r improv- 
 ing — a black smutch upon the face of nature — an ignus fatuus, or 
 wandering fire. 
 
 Dog. [i. Angrily.] Ha' done wi' your names 
 
 Mau. Never be angry, old Tubal Cain. Thou shalt have moisture 
 for thy dusty throat. 
 
 Jonquil. Landlord! the drink ! [Maybvsti places jug on table.] What's 
 this? 
 
 Enter Maybush, r. with ale. 
 
 May. Ale. 
 
 Jonquil. [Seating himself on corner of the table L., and filling glasses.] As 
 we were thirsty I thought
 
 6 Camilla's husband. 
 
 Mau. [Laughs.] I know as usual, you thought for me. [Taps fore- 
 head ] To let unfurnished — eh, Jonquil ? Well drink is drink, so toss 
 it down. [Drinks. 
 
 Slo. [Aside, l.] Poor Maurice ! 
 
 Mau. [Seated on other corner of table passes glasses about.'] 
 
 Dog. How are you getting on wi' your purfession, Maurice ? Not 
 that I think much on it. 
 
 Mau. [Rising quickly.] Not think much of it? [With enthusiasm.] 
 What higher glory than to he a painter — a true painter — to see and 
 understand nature in her myriad aspects — to see each fleeting beauty 
 and fix it, still living and breathing on the canvass, to — [Stops abruptly 
 andjasses hand over forehead .] Bah ! we' re both tinkers, Dogbriar ! you 
 alter your fashion, I after mine. — 
 
 [Fills glass with an unsteady hand and drinks. 
 
 Dog. [With dignity.] Tinker! I should be sorry to be anything 
 else! In summer I roam about like the butterflies In the winter I 
 takes to the towns, and lives as 'appy as a rat in a gran' ry — as happy 
 as you mignt ha' been if Manager Jonquil hadn't given you a heddi- 
 cation. 
 
 Jon. [rising] Take care Mr. Dogbriar ; you're speaking of my 
 father. 
 
 Mau. [restraining Jonquil.] Let him talk — let him talk — wisdom 
 speakuth by the wayside— give heed to it. 
 
 Dog. The worst of heddication is people never knows when to 
 stop ; none of us knows how bad our misfortins are till we reads on 
 'em, and as for writin, as soon as a poor chap can figger out his own 
 name, he takes to scribblin' somebodyelse's name — leastways it 
 were so in my family. 
 
 Mau. Proceed, most learned Theban. 
 
 Dog. Eeadin' and writin's very well for them as can afford to he 
 idle ; but a man as has got to yearn a living, [with great contempt] ain'^ 
 got no time for any such knick-knackeries, [pointing to Sloeberry] 
 Why, I warn't half her age when my guv'nor turned me adrift. 
 We was six in family, an' rubbed on pretty well till another one 
 comes to be horned. Then the old 'un — that's my father — says to- 
 me, "Doggy," says he — for he'd always an affectionate turn, 
 " Doggy ! six mouths is as much as I can 'onestly feed, so yours is 
 one too many, and a precious large one too." Then he takes me by 
 the scruff, [indicating back of neck] and starts me in the world wi' fust 
 one boot, and then the other. Them kicks made a man o' me. 
 [wipes hts eyes with end of neck-tie] I never thinks on 'em but they 
 brings tears in my eyes, [he goes up stage, and off r. u. e.] 
 
 Mau. [to Jonquil, laughing] The oracle speaks truth, even though 
 its tripod is a tinker's stool. Bad or good, accept your lot, that's 
 your only true happiness. 
 
 Jon. [warmly] Have you no ambition, Maurice ? 
 
 Mau. Once I had. I sought a someting — I know not what — a 
 something above — beyond me — it was but an uncertain flickering 
 light at the best — and [passes hand vaguely over foreltead] it is gone.
 
 CAMILLA S HUSBAND. 7 
 
 Jon. [sadly] Maurice — Maurice ! I sometimes think you mad ! 
 
 Mau. At present madness is a happiness denied me ; I would 
 forget myself, old friend, but cannot, [holds out hand] Is that the 
 hand of a painter ? That ? [bitterly] It is shaking like an aspen leaf. 
 
 Jon. And you asked for brandy when you entered. 
 
 Mau. Why not ? It steadies the nerves ; it fires the brain, and 
 gives the- impetus I want. I must drink to paint, and I must paint 
 to live. 
 
 Jon. But the future ? 
 
 Mau. The present hour is enough for me. [placing hand on Jon- 
 quil's shoulder] We are alone in the world, Jonquil, without family 
 and without friends, two of those rolling stones, now in the sun- 
 shine now in the shade, that never rest till they have gathered their 
 first and last moss in a pauper's grave. You gone, what have I to 
 live for ? — nothing. 
 
 Jon. You have your art — a glorious one ! 
 
 Mau. Fit for the gods ! [laughs] And for the gods alone, for it 
 brings only sorrow and starvation upon earth. Your father used to 
 say that a man must live a century to know the world, and then 
 live another to profit by the knowledge. The jolly miller's philoso- 
 phy was the right one after all. [sings.] 
 
 " I care for nobody, no, not I, if nobody cares for me." 
 
 Slo. [who has come down stage, l. c, places her hand upon Maurice's 
 arm], But somebody does care for you ; Jonquil does, and I do. 
 
 Mau. [very kindly.] What, are you there, Sloeberry ? [patting arm 
 about her.] Then I love one, at least— nay, two. [giving unoccupied hand 
 to Jonquil] 
 
 Slo. [looking up into his/ace.] You can love, Maurice ? 
 
 Mau. Like a brother ; but it's dry work talking. [Goes to table. 
 Landlord! the jug's empty. 
 
 Maybush, who, together with Chowler, has been examining the sketching 
 apparatus with siupid astonishment, comes quickly down stage. 
 
 Mau. The jug's empty. Well, what are you stopping for? 
 
 May. [Up R.] The money. 
 
 [There is a silenee, Jonquil looks ruefully at Sloeberry. 
 
 Mau. [ Who has thrown himself in chair, looks from one to the other.] 
 You're cash-keeper, Hyacinth ; how much remains ? 
 
 Jon. [By a sudden movement draws out two empty pockets.] Nothing. 
 
 [Maurice laughs. 
 
 May. [Comes dozen, c] Naething ! and ye coom here a tarkin' as 
 thof all th' country soide belonged to 'ee. For thirsty folk as ha' 
 no money there's the pump, while for tramps and sich loike theer'a 
 
 the constable an' the cage. Yuu'll get naething here, unless 
 
 [He is going up stage, stops suddenly, wheels round and surveys Maurice 
 doubtfully.] 
 
 Mau. Unless what ? 
 
 May. I think some one said you could paint.
 
 8 Camilla's husband. 
 
 Slo. Maurice paint !• 
 
 Jon. Like a Raphael ! 
 
 May. I want naething to do wi' raffles. Can you paint pictures ? 
 
 Mau. [Carelessly.] Why ? 
 
 May. I ha' gotten a beauty. 
 
 Mau. [Half rises.] You! 
 
 May. It's a little damaged, and if you can make it raight, the 
 whole o' ye may ha' as much as ye can eat an' drink at one sittin', 
 for naething. 
 
 Mdu. [Shortly.] Fetch it. [Maybusii exits at back.] After all, art 
 may yield a dinner, at least. 
 
 [Sloeberry has joined Judy who is squatted, l., knitting. 
 
 Mau. [Seeded carelessly on table, one foot on chair, the other on the ground — ■ 
 he is J tiling pipe.] What are you about, Hyacinth ? 
 
 Jon. [Brings doivn palette and brushes.] Earning my share of the din- 
 ner. [They laugh. 
 
 Maybush re-enters carrying a board or panel, the face of which must be kept 
 turned from the audience— he brings it down stage, and places it on chair, in 
 a position so that the face still remains unseen by either Maurice or Au- 
 dience; this done, Maybush loolcs at Maurice with a patronizing smile. 
 Back of Stage has been gradually filling with Villagers. 
 
 Mau. Is that the picture? It should be an old one by the panel. 
 May. Old ! three generations ha' been drunk under it. 
 
 Mau. Under it ! [Maybush turns panel and exhibits a grotesque "Red 
 Lion," very rampant. 
 
 Mau. [Springs from table.] Why, it's the sign ! 
 
 May. [Proudly.] It be the sign; my gran'fether painted 'im his 
 sen an' fixed 'im o'er the door afterwards. 
 
 Mau. [Laughs.] This will make the third I've painted within the 
 last twelve days. [Aside.] And each to discharge a reckoning. 
 [Aloud ] A marvellous monster ! be content ; your lion shall be the 
 king of beasts. 
 
 May. [Doubtfully.] A king bean' t a lion. 
 
 Mau. [Takes colors, Sfc., from knapsack.] I'll take as much pains as 
 though the portrait were your own. Place the animal there. 
 [Points to chair, r.] Good ! [Seats himself before it.] Where's the brandy 
 
 May. [Having fetched it, produces brandy.] Here. 
 
 Mau. Better! [Prepares to paint.] Now go and attend to your guests, 
 fcr you seem to have enough of them. 
 
 Jon. [ Who has taken out paper and crayons as about to sketch, addresses 
 Villagers, who group about him up stage.] I can't take all your heads 
 off at once. [They draw back] Each portrait, sixpence; colored, 
 sixpence more. [Aside to Maybush.] Out of each shilling, twopence 
 for you. 
 
 Jon. [To Maurice.] How are you getting on, Maurice ? 
 
 Mau [Laughing and pointing to Lion.] I paint the beauties of 
 nature. 
 
 Jon. [Who is sketching a Villager.] And I their opposite.
 
 Camilla's husband. 9 
 
 Judy. [Coming down singe, r.. knitting and addressing Maurice, who 
 is painting, k.] ' Twas a bad thing for you, Maurice, when old Jupiter 
 Jonquil died. 
 
 Mau. [Fainting.'] It's always a bad thing to lose a friend, Judy, and 
 he was my only one. 
 
 Judy. Your only one. And them's all the thanks I get. "Sou ain't 
 made so much by your paintin', that you should turn your nose up 
 at me an' Sloeberry. 
 
 Mau. [Quickly.] Sloeberry ! my little foster sister ! poor child ! for 
 her sake alone I could wish myself other than I am. [Pours out 
 brandy and drinks.] But destiny's too much for me ; all depends where 
 a man's thrown. I'm surrounded by a circle of fire — ot fire — from 
 which there's no escape ; so scorpion-' like in my very desperation, I 
 sting myself to death. [Drinks.] There, don't bother me, [he 
 laug/is,] or I shall spoil the sign board. 
 
 Judy. [Shrugging shoulders, and speaking aside as she moves up stage.] 
 You're a lost one anyhow. Dogbriar is right. He says he wouldn't 
 be a genius on no account. [Goes up. 
 
 Maybusii, now in a state of high excitement re-enters at back. 
 
 May. [Seizing Jonquil by the sleeve — they come down, L. c ] Coom over 
 to Todd's varm ; he ha' sent for 'ee. 
 
 Jon. Who's Todd? 
 
 May. Squoire Todd ; he wants a dozen portraits. 
 
 Jon. [Hurriedly rises.] Of his children ? 
 
 May. Noa ! Of his pigs. 
 
 Jon. [Hesitates.] Pigs ! Never mind — they're family portraits, any- 
 how. [He exits at back, attended by Villagers. 
 
 May. [About to folloiv, turns to glance at Maurice.] Dang me, if he 
 beant fallen asleep over my lion. 
 
 He is about to descend stage to arouse him, when there is a great ?wise at back, 
 any a post chaise with much cracking of whips is heard to drive up L. to 
 door of Inn ; Lady Camilla Hailstone and Miss Placida Poyntz 
 enter from L. u. e. Lady Camilla is dressed with great elegance ; her 
 manners quick and impetuous, yet full of distinction. She is very young, 
 and altogether in direct contrast to her companion, who is quiet, prim, and 
 middle-aged. Maurice, who has fallen asleep, his liead against pa?iel, and 
 the empty bottle at his feet, is, from his position, hidden from the new arrivals. 
 
 May. [Backing down stage ivith a prof usion of rustic bows.] This be the 
 Red Lion, my Lady, though the sign be 
 
 Lady C. [Haughtily, and pausing in centre of stage.] You are the land- 
 lord, I presume. 
 
 May. At your ladyship's service. 
 
 Lady C. I have a strange, a very strange demand to make of you. 
 
 Miss P. [Interposes, and speaking in an alarmed undertone.] Lady Camilla, 
 I implore you, listen to reason. 
 
 Lady C. [Impatiently.] I have reasons too many. 
 
 Miss P. [With a despairing entreaty.] Oh, reflect.
 
 10 Camilla's husband. 
 
 Lady C. [Haughtily.] I have reflected. [Turning to Maybush.] Land- 
 lord, you must rind me a husband. 
 
 May. [recoils, his cap drops from his Iiand and he stares open mouthed at 
 the lady.] I find — Oh-h-h my lady ! 
 
 Lady C. [without heading his astonishment, ana with the same imperious 
 bearing.] When I say huaband I mean some person, who for a sum of 
 money a — large sum would — consent to marry me. 
 
 Miss P. [again interposes.'] Lady Camilla ! 
 
 Lady C. [checking her by a gesture.] And immediately after the cere- 
 mony allow me to depart without questioning or seeking by any 
 means to know aught of me now or hereafter. He must swear this. 
 
 May. [bewildered.] But- 
 
 Lady C. The church is there, in front of your door, and I have 
 a licence which only requires filling up. Quick, [she jlajices at watch 
 and turns to Placida.] Should they have taken the same road we 
 have not a minute to lose. 
 
 May. [slowly scratching head.] Most on us here be married a' ready 
 —a miserable lot, I can assure your ladyship. 
 
 Lady C. [to Placida,] We'll go on to the next village. 
 
 May. [aside, and glancing over at forge.] There, Chowler ! I'll try 
 him. ' 
 
 lie goes up stage and beckons over Chowler : Lady Camilla and Placida 
 have come doicn stage L., while Maurice, aroused by the noise of the arrival 
 has risen, still unperceived, and stands r. with one hand resting on panel, 
 gazing with wonder upon the proud and beautiful girl. 
 
 Lady C. My good Placida, do not look so alarmed. A desperate 
 disease requires a desperate remedy. I have sworn to break the 
 chain, and I will. I am a woman— a girl, if you will ; but they 
 shall still find I am not powerless to avenge. 
 
 Chowler, who has crossed over to Maybush, no sooner receives the intima- 
 tion of what is expected of him, given in rapid dumb show, than ivlthout even 
 glancing at Lvdy Camilla, he beats a hurried retreat into his forge, shut- 
 ting his door wit,h a bang. 
 
 Re-enter Maybush. 
 
 May. [crest-fallen.] I be afear'd my lady 
 
 Lady C. [stampsher foot impatiently.] Enough! We'll go on. [Skesweeps 
 quickly up the stage ; when Maurice, who has moved round from his 
 position of half -concealment, stands before her. Lady C. draws back sur- 
 prised and startled at the sudde?iness of this apparition, but quickly recovers 
 her self -possession, and speaks with her usual hauteur.] 
 Lady C. Who are you ? • 
 Man. [l.. quietly.] Nobody. 
 Lady C. What are you ? 
 
 Mau. [same tone.] Nothing. The very man you require. 
 Lady C. Sir. 
 Mau. Pardon me, if by accident I have played eavesdropper ; but, 
 
 having heard your demand, I reply to it.
 
 Camilla's husband. 11 
 
 Lady C. You want money. 
 
 Mau. The want is universal. 
 
 Lady C. And having heard the terms — ? 
 
 Mau. Consent, [he spealcs in his old careless manner.] Anything to 
 oblige a lady. 
 
 Lady C. The ceremony performed, I depart at once, and unques- 
 tioned ; [Maurice bows] and you will never see my face again. 
 
 Mau. [raises his eyes to hers, gazes on her face steadfastly for a moment.] 
 Except at your own desire — never. 
 
 Lady C. [haughtily.] At my desire ! you forget yourself ! 
 
 Mau. [calmly.] I would it were possible for me to do so. What 
 I am you see, what I am like to be it is not difficult to guess. 
 
 Lady C. Nor does it concern me to know. [7b Placida.J Come. 
 
 Miss P. [Up stage, C, in a low tone.] Be warned ! 
 
 Lady C. Same tone, but quick and impatient.] You know my reasons — 
 am I not of age ? [Turns to go up stage, c. 
 
 Miss P. [Aside tvith gesture of despair.] Just four-and- twenty hours 
 ago. 
 
 Lady C. [To Maybush, ivho has sunk into a state of chronic astonishment.] 
 You will witness this marriage. You shall be well paid for your 
 trouble. [To Placida.] Come. [ Without glancing again at Maurice, 
 wlwse eyes have never left her, she goes up stage zcith Placida Poyntz. 
 
 Mau. [With a curious bewilderment.] Am I awake ? Bah! what mat- 
 ters — married or single it's all one to me ! 
 
 Goes up stage quickly — they exeunt, l. v. K. 
 
 The stage is clear for a moment, then enter Dogbriar, carrying two saucepans 
 andafrying-paji. With him Sloeberry, Judy, andsome Villagers, r. u. k. 
 
 Dog. [Coming down stage, l.] Here's a willage ! Talk of ciwilization ! 
 why they ain't got more nor a kipple o' sarspins and a frying-pan 
 amongst 'em. 
 
 Slo. [Coming close to him and looking round anxiously.] Where's Mau- 
 rice ? 
 
 Dog. [Testily.] How should I know? [Examines saucepan.] Drat 
 the nasty creetures, why don't they clean their sarspans afore givin 
 'em to be mended. 
 
 Slo. But when I left he was here. 
 
 Dog. And now he's somewhere else — there, don't 'rasperate me ; 
 don't you see I'm at work. 
 
 Re-enter Jonquil, l, u. k. 
 
 Jon. [Gaily.] Landlord ! landlord ! [Comes down stage, l. clinking 
 money in his hand.] Where's the landlord ? This is the music we all 
 dance to. 
 
 Dog. [Sealed on side-bench tinkering.] Are the pigs done ? 
 
 Jon. To a turn. [Leans over Dogbriar.] What are you about ? I 
 call that making a hole, not mending one. 
 
 Dog. [Slily.] I does as my betters does — Whenevever I'm called in 
 to mend one hole, I gives the inside a scrape here an' there — this
 
 12 Camilla's husband. 
 
 fashin', [scrapes,] so by the time I comes that way .agin there's sure 
 to be two or three more wants mendin'. That's politics, that is, 
 and what I culls gettin' your your feed out of other folks' sarsepins. 
 [Judy comes down stage, L., touches Sloeberry roughly on the shoulder. 
 
 Tue latter is sealed, her head bent as in a reverie, her fingers moving dream- 
 ily over tambourine. 
 
 Judy. [Harshly.'] Come, dance ! 
 
 Slo. [Rising ] Not now — not now. 
 
 Judy. Not now ! nonsense ! [Indicating Vdlagers.] Money's made 
 where fools are thickest. Give 'em the dance that used to go so 
 well at Jupiter Jonquil's theaytcr. The gay one. 
 
 Slo. Gay ! [She rallies tanborine.] My heart is like lead. 
 
 Villagers. [Aide and female, coming down stage.] A dance ! a dance ! 
 Sloererry dances a short, bright, fantastic Spanish dance. Dogbriab 
 
 beating time upon frying pan. While she is dancing, Jonquil, who has 
 
 gone out at buck, re-enters hurriedly. 
 
 Jon. Maurice ! Maurice Warner married ! Impossible ! 
 There is a confused movement among the Villagers, who draw back on either 
 
 side as Lady Camilla Hailstone, Miss Placida Poyntz, Maurice 
 
 Warner, and Maybusii enter from Church porch l. u. e. Lady Ca- 
 . milla is now closely veiled: as she comes down stage, Sloeberry, who in 
 
 her dance lias approached her, drops tamborine with a cry. 
 
 Sloe. Married ! [She staggers back, her eyes fixed on Lady Camilla, and 
 pressing her hand on her heart, leans for support against table. 
 
 Lady C. [Centre of stage to Maurice.] And now, sir, we part, never 
 to meet again. For the service you have rendered, in this pocket- 
 book you will find a sufficient recognition. [She extends pocket-book, 
 which Maurice takes mechanically ; he seeim like one completely fascinated — 
 his manner strangely bewildered, his eyes rivetted, as it ivere, upon the veil that 
 conceals Camilla's/occ.] Farewell, sir. [Maurice is about to speak, she 
 stops him by a cold gesture of command.] I depart unquestioned — we part 
 — and forever. [She moves up stage, pausing only to throiv a small purse to 
 Maybusii, then sweeping past the curtseying and bowing Villagers, goes off 
 with Placida Poyntz, l. v. e. 
 
 Jon. [Placing hand on the shoulder of Maurice, who still stands immove- 
 able, his eyes fixed on the place where Camilla had been standing, as though 
 to him she were still there. The pocket-book has dropped from his hand, and 
 lies at his feet.] Maurice ! rouse yourself ! are you dreaming ? 
 
 Mau. [Starts.] Dreaming ! true, it is a dream. 
 
 Dog. [Approaclws with glass of spirits.] Take a drop o' this, Maurice. 
 
 Maurice takes it in the same dreamy, mechanical way with whicJi he had 
 
 taken the pocket-book ; then, without booking at it, places it — to the wide 
 
 astonishment of Mr. Dogbriar on table. 
 
 Dog. [r.] Well, I never ! 
 
 Jon. [l., who has picked up pocket-book.] Come. 
 
 Mau. [a., with sudden energy.] Yes! you are in the right ; let us 
 push on. [Hurriedly re-slinging knapsack, Sec] As for the landlord 
 
 Jon. He's paid.
 
 Camilla's husband. 13 
 
 Mau. Come then ! the air of the place is stifling, [to Dogbriar, as 
 he goes up stage.'] We shall meet on the road. 
 The two friends exeunt at back — in the road Maurice Warner halls for a 
 
 moment, and leaning upon the staff he carries, gazes earnestly in the direction 
 
 taken by Lady Camilla — Jonquil again touches him upon the shoulder, 
 
 and, with a gesture as of utter bewilderment, Maurice turns, and they go 
 
 off quickly, r. u. e. 
 
 Judy. {Down stage, r., to Dogbriar.] So Maurice is really married. 
 
 Dog. Ah ! I knew he'd come to no good. Mat'er'mony is like a 
 chark pit, easy enough to tumble into, but precious hard to get out 
 on. [To Sloeberry.] Come Sloe, we'd best be trudgin, too. 
 They move slowly up stage, R., and exeunt — there is again heard the rolling 
 
 of wheels and cracking of whips. 
 
 Eiiter Sir James and Sir Philip Hailstone, hurriedly from l. u. b. 
 
 Sir Phil. [Sharply as they enter ] Which is the landlord here ? 
 
 May. [Bowing] At your service. 
 
 Sir Phil. Has a lady — a young and beautiful lady stopped here? 
 
 May. They ha' but this moment departed. 
 
 Sir Phil. [With triumph.] I knew we should overtake them. 
 
 [They are going quickly tip stage, when Maybush produces a sealed paper. 
 
 May. She left this for any as moight enquire for her. 
 
 Sir Phil. [Snatching paper.] Give it me ! [Tearing it open.] I — this 
 gentleman is her uncle. [He glances at paper.] A marriage certificate ! 
 this is folly ! worse ! much worse ! it is ruin. 
 Tableau— Sir J A.ME& fallen in chair, l., his face hidden in his hands — Philip 
 
 Hailstone, r. , leaning against table, his face expressing rage and disap- 
 pointment — Maybush a little up stage, cap in hand — at back, Dogbriar, 
 
 Judy, and Sloeberry— -former on donkey. 
 
 ACT II— SCENE I. 
 
 A Scene in the Lake District. The foreground, an interior of abbey ruins, 
 very picturesque, but in the last stage of crumbling decay — the ruins must be 
 very open in their effect, to give a broad view of the lake, which, broken by 
 creek and promontory, stretches away in placid beauty to base of mountains 
 that rise gradually in precipice and gorge, until crowned by the peak of 
 Slciddaw — sky blue and cloudless, general effect very bright and sunny, so 
 as to give prominence to the mountain peaks — the curtain rises upon an 
 empty stage — merry music heard as from unseen musicians among ruins — 
 then a confusion of voices, and from every side comes crowding upon stage a 
 gay company of Ladies and Gentlemen, all in elegant, some in fanciful 
 toilet, many of the ladies wear an archery costume, and a few of the gentle- 
 men are in yachting dress — the whole entrance very bright and animated. 
 Every effort should be made to give this scene the appearance of haut ton. 
 
 Major. Who has Avon the silver arrow ? 
 
 A Lady. [In archery costume.] Lady Roseville. 
 
 Shrimp. But where is Lady Camilla, the queen of the fete ?
 
 14 Camilla's husband. 
 
 Several Voices. Here ! she's here ! 
 Music. — The crowd at back slowly divides to give passage to Lady Camilla 
 Hailstone, who, accompanied by Lady Roseville, Miss Placida 
 Poyntz, Sir Philip and Sir Thomas Kendal, comes down from stage, 
 
 r. v. e. Lady Camilla's toilet is very elegant, and somewhat fanciful, 
 
 befitting a fashionable fete champetrt. Lady Roseville wears a rich 
 
 archery costume. Miss Placida, attired in dove-colored silk — no crinoline 
 
 — appearance calm, stiff, and angular. 
 
 Lady C. [ Who carries a small silver arrow.] The prize is fairly yours, 
 Lady Roseville. [Giving arrow.] Diana herself could not have 
 bent a bow better, nor sent an arrow truer to the mark. 
 
 Lady R. It might have been otherwise had Lady Camilla deigned 
 to enter the lists. 
 
 Lady C. [Laughs.] She would most assuredly have been conquered, 
 for, were I to take to archery, I should shoot as blindly as the little 
 love god himself. 
 
 Shrimp. [He always speaks ivith a simper.] Ah ! Lady Camilla, which 
 of us has not already been struck by one of those wandering shafts ? 
 
 Lady C. If Captain Shrimpton receives no deeper wounds, war 
 will, indeed, prove to him the most innocent of pastimes. [To 
 Placida] Well, my most placid Placida, why are you r-o grave ? 
 Is there aught in our fete that offends you ? 
 
 Miss P. Oh ! Lady Camilla ! what pleases others, must please me 
 — I know my position, yet 
 
 Lady C. [ Very kindly.] Yet what ? 
 
 Miss P. As I am called upon to speak, I think a little economy, 
 [All laugh.] Oh ! I apologise, it is my duty to do so — and I apol- 
 ogise . 
 
 Lady C. [Laughs.] For what ? 
 
 Miss P. For venturing an opinion. Speech is silver, but silence 
 is gold, says the proverb. 
 
 Lady C. [Quick — aside to Miss Placida.] You at least have found it 
 so. [Aloud, with change of manner, and turning to Major Lumley.] We 
 are impatient for the regatta these gentlemen have promised us. 
 
 Major. [Pointing to lake — upon ivhich several small pleasure yachts appear 
 at a distance.] There are the boats, in a few minutes they will be 
 here. [A merry confusion of voices, l. u. e. 
 
 Shrimp. [Coming down.] A fortune-teller ! perfect Mother Shipton 
 — red cloak — brown face — everything as it should be. 
 
 Red Judy appears at back, l. u. e. , surrounded by ladies. 
 
 Lady R. [To Lady Camilla.] Another pleasant surprise ! Your 
 fete is perfect, my dear. 
 
 Lady C. A surprise of which I am ignorant of the author — but of 
 ■which I shall not hesitate to take advantage. [Gaily.] Come who is 
 anxious to know what the future has in store for them ? 
 
 Sir Phil. [Shrugs shoulders and slightly glances at Lady Camilla.] But 
 few I should think. 
 
 Lady C. [Shakes fingers.] You said that with the air of a Mephisto- 
 pheles Ycm are no believer in destiny, Sir Philip ?
 
 Camilla's husband. 16 
 
 Sir Philip, [it., laugh.] We are the makers of our own, as the old 
 poet says — 
 
 "Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, 
 Our fatal shadows that walk hy us still." 
 
 [Turns to Lady Camilla .] What is your opinion, cousin ? 
 
 Lady G. I have none to offer. Folly is the malady of youth. 
 
 Major. Fur which experience is the only doctor. 
 
 Lady C. A doctor whom we generally call in too late. 
 
 Sir PM. Lady Camilla speaks bitterly. 
 
 Major. For one so young, and, pardon me, so happy. 
 
 Lady C. [Seriously, then with sudden change of manner.] Young! happy! 
 [Gaily, and takes Major Lumley's arm.] Ah ! Major it is sometimes 
 the greatest of errors to reckon life by years ; or happiness by smiles. 
 
 [Music. 
 
 The company move vp stage, and off, it. u. e. — there is soft music as from 
 boats on uaier— front of stage left clear as Sloeberry enters R. 1 E., fol- 
 lowed by Dogbriar carrying a target and some ai-rows. 
 
 Dog. [r.] Not pick up things which you see lying 'mong the 
 grass! Well, I am surprised! Why you don't put yourself up to 
 be better nor the birds — do you ? 
 
 Sloe, [l.] Is it honest, father ? 
 
 Dog. Is it what ? Go away ! [Reproachfully.] I'm ashamed on you 
 — I am — people as is pitched into this world with no such provision 
 as silver spoons is obligated to borrow some one-else's— it's needces- 
 ity and its natur. 
 
 Sloe. I'd rather work. 
 
 Dog. Don't 'rasperate me ! Work's like treacle, too much of it 
 at first an' you detest it ever arterwards. [Seals himself on fragment of 
 ruin, R takes a cold fowl out of his pocket and begins to eat, cutting off frag- 
 ments with clasp knife.] There's one thing in these feet sham-peters as 
 I can't abear. It's the wittals — lots o' hices, jellies and such like 
 nastyness, which aiD't at all to my goot. If I were a sham- peter, 
 [digs fowl with knife] or any other peter, and 'ad chice of a dish — it 
 ud be hen ins and rum. The one clings to t'other, and the flay- 
 viour's dee-licious. [Looking up, he sees Sloebekry who is leaning against 
 portion of wall, L,, her face hidden in her luinds.] There's that girl again. 
 [Rises impatiently .] She's all a heart like a summer cabbage. [Crosses to 
 Sloeberry — he sliafces her roughly but kindly.] Give over; you're moping 
 after that Maurice I know you are. 
 
 Sloe. I can't forget him. 
 
 Dog. Yet it's more nor a twelvemoonth since we've lost sight of 
 him — well you ain't like the rest o' your sect. 
 
 Sloe. [Sadly.] He's dead 
 
 Dog Then what '6 the use o' cryin' ? Crying' wont bring folks 
 out o' their graves or it wouldn't be so much in fashion. I've lost 
 a father, mother, and heaps o' brothers, but, bless yer, I never cried 
 for none of 'em. It's true I don't belong to the female specious.
 
 16 Camilla's husband. 
 
 As for Maurice, I did hear as 'ow he and Hyacint' had gone to paint 
 'mong them furrineers as lives abroad, but it's a rummer as want's 
 cobobberation. Come, cheer up! you've laid the dust pretty well 
 for once. Why what's that! [He strikes an attitude of interne surprize 
 as his eyes rest upon a light lace scarf u-hich has been forgotten on projection 
 of ruins, l.] A something more left for the birds — shameful ! [Crosses 
 r. and twitches it dou>n.~\ It's a scurf. 
 
 Sloe. [Endeavoring to prevent kim.~\ What are you doing ? 
 
 Dog. Doing ! 'eaven helps them as 'elps themselves. [Buttons 
 pocket ] So I 'elps myself to what I can, which is natur' and fee- 
 losophy. 
 
 Sloe. [Imploringly .] But, father 
 
 Dog. Don't rasperate me. There's company acomin'. [Music — 
 Lady Camilla, fyc, &{., appearing among nmis at back, it. u. E.] 
 Some on 'cm are young an' 'andsome, and in coorse want's their 
 fortins told. Give the best o' fortius to them as pays the best. The 
 lines in a hand that holds the money can't be hard lines you know. 
 [He gives her an encouraging push as site moi>es slowly and reluctantly over 
 to Company, l. , then himself quickly crossing stage.] I wonder what's be- 
 come of Judy ? [Loolcs off, r.] There she is, lookin' as lively as a 
 howl on a stick. [Exit, R. 1 e. 
 
 Lady C. [As she comes down, c] The oracle is a blind one — even the 
 past is as great a mystery to her as the future is to us. 
 
 Sloe. [Who has started at first sound of Lady Camilla's voice, stands 
 transfixed — aside.] It is the lady of the inn. 
 
 Sir Phil. [Indicating Sloeberry.] This should be another prophet- 
 ess, whose eyes are bright enough to disturb a future, even though 
 they may fail to read one. 
 
 Shrimp, [l. c] A delicious little witch, really. 
 
 Lady O. [a] Come hither, pretty one, can you read the future ? 
 
 Sloe. [Approaches slowly, l.] I can hazard a guess. 
 
 Lady C. [Smiles.] We most of us do that — come nearer, and I will 
 cross your hand with gold, but my future must prove a happy one. 
 
 Sloe. Gold does not always purchase happiness, lady. [She draws 
 back a little as Lady Camilla extends her haud.] If I read the riddle it 
 must be for your ear alone. 
 
 Lady C [Laughs.] As you will. [To company.] Retire for a moment, 
 I entreat of you, [All retire up.] my seer, at least, understands one 
 secret of her trade, and clothes herself in mystery. 
 
 Sloe. [Aside.] I cannot be mistaken in the voice. 
 
 Lady C. [Who has come down stage, r., again extends hatid.] Read, 
 child, and read quickly. 
 
 Sloe. [Takes her hand.] The past ? 
 
 Lady C. [Good humoredly.] As you will — but first — [gives piece of 
 money.] 
 
 She. A hand full of mystery ! 
 
 Lady C. Unravel it. 
 
 Sloe. [Traces line with finger.] 
 
 This line, if well followed, should good fortune bring ; 
 It crosses a church porch — yet I see no ring.
 
 Camilla's husband. 17 
 
 She touches significantly the marriage finger, and at the same moment raisce 
 her eyes to Lady Camilla. 
 
 Lady C. [Snatches away hand.] Insolent ! [Crosses to l.] 
 Sloe, [&.] The thorn it is felt — let it rankle and smart 
 
 In hand that has wed without thought of the heart. 
 
 She tosses the piece of money at the fat o/Lady Camilla, and exits R. 1 E. — 
 The company come down and surround Lady Camilla, and laughing at 
 the same moment — Major Lumley and Sir Thomas Kendal also, descend 
 stage. 
 
 Major L. and Sir Thos. [Speaking together.] The Yachts ! the yachts ! 
 Sir Thos. [l.] We only await Lady Camilla to give the signal for 
 the start. 
 Major L. [r., to Lady Camilla.] May I claim your promise? 
 
 Lady Camilla, who has made a movement as to detain Sloeberry, hat 
 recovered by a powerful, yet to the audience perceptible, effort, her compo- 
 sure — she speaks with a gaiety that is forced, yet unnoticed by all but Sir 
 Philip, whose eyes never quit her. 
 
 Lady C. I entrust myself to your safe keeping, Major. 
 
 [About to take Major Lumley's arm, when Placida interposes. 
 
 Miss P. I know I am wrong to venture an opinion— I feel that 
 persons in a subordinate position — 
 
 Lady C. [With some impatience.] Well, Placida ? 
 
 Miss P. I would advise the regatta be postponed for 
 
 All. [In protest.] Oh! 
 
 Miss P. [Points to a thin silvery cloud tliat has descended upon the peak of 
 Skiddaw.] I was born ip the Lake districts — and that cloud betokens — 
 
 Major. Nothing ; but that old Skiddaw chooses to wear a night 
 cap. 
 
 Miss P. [With cold dignity.] I made no allusion to nightcaps ; and 
 I trust no allusion will be made to anything of the kind in my 
 presence. [Turns up stage. 
 
 Lady C. I will not be frightened from my jaunt. Come, Major. 
 [Takes Lumley's arm, and moves up stage ; as she passes Placida, who 
 stands frigid and cold — a statue of virgin modesty — she speaks in rapid aside.] 
 That girl ! that fortune teller ! seek her. 
 
 Miss P. [In strong astonishment.] I ! 
 
 Lady C. [Sume tone ] I must see her. [7b Major Lumley — thorough 
 change of manner.] What is the name of the yacht, Major ? 
 
 Major. The Lady of the Lake ! But from this day it will bear 
 another title — the Lady Camilla ! 
 
 [They go up stage and off at back, r. d. e. 
 
 Sir Phil. So my lady cousin will not yet conquer her aversion to 
 me. Ours is certainly a very curious family. By her father's will 
 she was to enter into possession of her estates on attaining her 
 twenty-first year — only — if married. My father — her guardian— 
 naturally anxious that the property should not go out of the family,
 
 IS Camilla's husband. 
 
 destined me for the happy man. The important anniversary arrived, 
 so did the bridegroom. The parson was ready, but the bride em- 
 phatically said " No ! " My father raged like a tempest. The quar- 
 rel was a fierce one, and finished by Sir James locking up his refrac- 
 tory ward. A night's reflection, he said, would put another aspect 
 on the matter. It did ; for when the cage was opened, the bird had 
 flown. We traced her to a village some thirty miles from here — 
 and there found— a marriage certificate ! Who can the husband be ? 
 By the description some strolling vagabond, who has had at least 
 the grace to keep out of the way. More than twelve months of 
 anxious search on my part has failed to discover his whereabouts. 
 No wonder that Lady Camilla's pride writhes beneath the conscious- 
 ness of such an alliance. Her fear that this marriage should become 
 known has enabled me to retain the management of her'estates — 
 and she would willingly give half of them to undo the folly she has 
 done. The husband once found, the divorce becomes a mere ques- 
 tion of price, and I, %ho now hold a mastery through her fears, 
 may put in a yet stronger claim upon her gratitude. 
 
 [Shrimpton conies down stage, c. 
 
 Shrimp. A dance ! a dance ! ladies and gentlemen, during her ab- 
 sence, the queen of the file has delegated her power into my hands, 
 [seizing Sir Philip,] and I allow no desertion — choose a Dartner, Sir 
 Philip. 
 
 Sir Phil. [Aside.'] Hang the fellow ! [Aloud.] My choice is made. 
 [Boioing with exagerated politeness.] If Miss Placida 
 
 Miss P. I dance ; I know my place. Sir Philip. 
 
 Sir Phil. Then let us take it. [As they move up stage.] But the 
 yachts ? 
 
 Shrimp. [ With a gesture towards lake.] Are no longer visible, they 
 have rounded the point — Lumley's first. [Waving hand as signal to 
 musicians off stage.] The remembrance of so many bright eyes and 
 twinkling feet should make glad the heart of these old ruins for 
 years. 
 
 A dance — while the dance continues the clouds gather gradually 
 around Skiddatc, till at Inst the peak is entirely hidden— a flash 
 of lightning darts from the cap of the cloud, a peal of thunder 
 follows — the Dancers start apart, and the Ladies utter some 
 cries of alarm ; but Sir Philip, Captain Shrimpton, and the 
 Gentlemen laugh at their fears. The dance proceeds, the mu- 
 sic continues its exhilarating strains, while ever and anon breaks 
 in between the bars the diapason of the distant thunder — suddenly 
 as instinctively, all the Dancers huddle in groups, the music 
 ceases, a black veil shuts out the distant scenery, flash after flash 
 of lightning succeed each other, followed by peals of thunder — 
 heavy rains; the Ladies are flying for skelter on either side, 
 when suddenly a shout arises from, the bach, " The yachts ! the 
 yachts !"
 
 Camilla's husband. 19 
 
 Sir Phil. [it. at back — he is standing on a huge fragment of ruin, and 
 points out on dvrturbed surface of lake. ~] Lurnley's boat is on the rocks. 
 
 Shrimp. Sht;'s off again. 
 
 Sir Phil. No, the wind catches her. [There is a low murmur of alarm. 
 They're in the water. [Placida and other Ladies rushing up stage.] 
 Lady Camilla ! Lady Camilla ! 
 
 Sir Phil. [Who springs to higher part of ruins.'] A man leaps into the 
 water ! He has reached her ! bravely done — she is safe ! 
 
 Here follows a shout as of great relief — Sir Philip springs down 
 from his elevation as the crowd separate, and gives passage to 
 Maurice Warner, icho carries in his arms Lady Camilla in- 
 sensible— he is followed by Hvasinth Jonquil, who has on. his 
 back an ortisi's knapsack and sketching apparatus, and another 
 knapsack, that of Maurics in his hand — the appearance both of 
 Maurice and Hyacinth Jonquil is greatly changed from first 
 act — Maurice has a higher, nobler look — both wear short beard 
 and moustache, Jonquil red or sandy, and with eloth blouse, 
 belt and cap have the appearance of poor foreign students — Pla- 
 cida, Lady Rosetille, fyc, take charge of Lady Camilla, 
 whom they put in a reclining position, r. 2 e., and give restora- 
 tives, chafing hands and temples — Maurice stands in c. of stoge, 
 his eyes rivited as by fascination upon the pale face o/Lady Ca- 
 milla — Sloeberry entering quickly, r. 1 e., is crossing up 
 stage when her eyes fall upon Warner. 
 
 Sloe. Maurice ! [She checks herself, as xoith a quick movement of recogni 
 lion Maurice raises his finger to his lips. 
 Sloe. [Aside.] Returned at last. 
 
 Jonquil draws her a little aside, as Sir Philip crosses to Maurice — Exit 
 Jonquil and Sloeberry into ruins, r. 1 e. 
 
 Sir Phil. How can we sufficiently reward the service you have 
 rendered ? 
 
 Mau. By forgetting it. [He is turning away. 
 
 Sir Phil. Pardon me ; but — [hesitates — then with a glance at Maurice's 
 dress] — you are poor ! 
 
 Mau. [Quickly.] Pardon me — my friend and I are rich. [Noticing 
 Sir Philip's incredulous stare.] That is, we have enough for our wants, 
 and neither beg nor borrow from our neighbors. [Turns abruptly 
 away, and disappears in crowd after Hyacinth and Sloeberry, r. 2 e. 
 
 Ladi/ C. [Rising slowly.] Where is he ? 
 
 LadyR. Who? 
 
 Lady C. My brave preserver. 
 
 Sir P. Gone, cousin ! 
 
 Lady C. And unrewarded ! such bravery deserves a liberal recom 
 pense. [to Placida.] You saw him ? 
 
 Mas P. No ; in my fright I had eyes for no face but your own.
 
 20 Camilla's husband. 
 
 Lady C. [Pressing her hand.] My good Placida ! [to Sir Philip.] Find 
 him, Philip, and bring him to the ball — he will not at least refuse 
 my thanks. 
 
 Sir Philip boivs and offers the support of his arm to his cousin ; they go up and 
 off stage, which becomes gradually clear, l. u. e. The veil that has 
 shrouded mountain has been lifting since Maurice's entrance with Lady G. 
 Maurice re-enters, r. 2 e., with Jonquil — hepcutses in centre of stage, 
 and gazes after retreating figures, then with a hurried movement of the hand 
 to forehead, and a sigh, as of deep pain, he turns to Jonquil. 
 
 Mau. [l.] Am I waking — or is this but a repetition of the ever- 
 haunting dream? 
 
 Jon. [r.] Dream ? 
 
 Mau. What other name for that which has no waking life — no 
 substance — nothing that even the mind can grasp— a vision of beauty 
 more fleeting than the passing cloud, whose shadow only rests upon 
 the earth. 
 
 Jon. [Sadly.] You recognized her at once ? 
 
 Mau. Recognized— is her's a face to be forgotten ? 
 
 Jon. A strange chance our coming here. 
 
 Mau. It is such chances that shape the destinies of men. Our 
 feet have scarcely again touched English ground, when — Bah ! why 
 waste thought upon a vision, no sooner seen than it is gone — like 
 yonder vapory veil, that is rolling so swiftly away from the crest 
 of Skkldaw. [He snatches up knapsack.] Come, Hyacinth ; our way 
 lies back again to London. 
 
 Jon. All ways are alike to me— as long as we journey together. 
 
 Mau. To London then ! at least we may there find fame, for- 
 tune 
 
 Jon. [Gaily.] And happiness. See, the clouda are gone ! [He 
 points to the mountains, on which the sunbeams are again beginning to glitter.] 
 Accept the omen — Come ! [He grasps Maurice's liand, and they art 
 moving to side, R. 1 e., when Dogbriar appears, R. 1 e., his arms loaded 
 with empty champagne bottles. Sec; as he enters lie comes full face with Mau- 
 rice, and starts back, letting fall his load in great surprise. 
 
 Dog Maurice ! ! Why I took yer for a couple o' ghosts, that I 
 did. Ouf ! you've given me quite a flirtation o' the heart. [He 
 crosses to Jonquil, while Maurice, as one lost in a reverie, has fallen a little 
 back leaning against pillar and looking off stage, upstage, l. — r. to Jonquil.] 
 Where 'ave you been ? 
 
 Jon. [Laughs.] Travelling. 
 
 Hog. Ah, it's a great thing to travel, as my old father used to say; 
 an' he used to do his thirty mile a day reg' lar, [aside] on the tread- 
 mill. [Aloud.] What 'ave you been up to abroad ? 
 
 Jun. Picking up all sorts of things. 
 
 Hog. [Quickly.] Walables, I 'ope ? 
 
 Jon. [Laugh'.] I hope so. 
 
 Hog. 'Cos idleness isn't good for nobody, it's like rust to a kniie, 
 it spiles the polish, an' takes off the sharpness of the blade. So my 
 father used to say, and he was a feelosopher. *
 
 Camilla's iiusband. 21 
 
 Jon. [Fastening ttrap of hiapsack.] Did he make money ? 
 
 Dog. He died in the work' us. He used to call it the 'ouse 'o peers, 
 becos, says he, you've nothink else to do but sit quiet, and be fed 
 by the nation. It was a 'appy end. [Picking up bottle.] Now for the 
 refugees. [Crosses to l. , he is chasing a bottle which rolls before him, when 
 his gaze is suddenly attracted by something that lies upon the ground, close to 
 where Lady Camilla has been reclining.] 'Art alive ! it's a ring [Snatch- 
 ing it up.] On'y to think 'o the carelessness 'o some people. [He is 
 about to thrust it into his pocket, when Maurice' 6 hand is laid upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 Mau. [it ] Dogbriar, that ring must be returned to its owner. 
 
 Dog. [a] Owner ! I'm its owner. 
 
 Mau. [Firmly.] Give it me. 
 
 Dog. Give it you ! You're jokin' ! Dimunds isn't dew drops, 
 and ain't to be found on every blade o' grass. 
 
 Mau. I will have it. [They struggle for a moment. Maurice wrests the 
 ring from Dogbriar, and throws him back some paces just as Surimpton, 
 enters l. 
 
 Shrimp. [To Maurice] I am requested to bring you to the hall. 
 Lady Camilla Hailstone would see and thank her preserver. 
 
 Mau. [Aside to Jonquil ] Why should I struggle against fate. The 
 wish is her's, not mine. [Gently putting aside Jonquil's hand as the latter 
 endeavors to detain him, he advances towards Surimpton slightly raising cap.] 
 At your service, sir, I will see this lady. 
 
 Enter Servant, l. 
 
 Ser. Lady Camilla Hailstone has lost a valuable ring, which 
 
 Dog. [ With savage energy.] A dimund ! He stole it. [Pointing to 
 Maurice — indignant movement on part of Jonquil, which Maurice re- 
 presses. — Tableau close in. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 First grooves — A Wooded Lane. View of lake, and Skiddaw also seen 
 
 through trees. A portion of Hailstone Hall, very picturesque. A rough- 
 looking tent, painted under tree, L. 
 Judy comes on l. hurriedly, followed by Sloeberry. The former is speak- 
 ing testily as she enters. 
 
 Judy.^ Returned ! of course he's returned ; some folk are like the 
 roomatiz, they never leaves you for long — Is he comin' to see me? 
 
 Sloe. I don't know. 
 
 Judy. I shouldn't wonder if he didn't— he's like his father— who 
 had more pride than pence ; Gentleman Warner, we used to call him 
 in the theayter — his hand was ever in his pocket for some one, so 
 he'd soon none left for himself. 
 
 Sloe. And Maurice's mother? 
 
 Judy. Poorcreetur! she wur one o' your 'of ouse plants ; natur', 
 in the rough state, wur too much for her ; she never liked our life, 
 and our life didn't like her. 
 
 Sloe. She should have left it. 
 
 Judy. So she did— she died ! 'Twas the first chance she had, an' 
 6he took it.
 
 22 Camilla's husband. 
 
 Sloe. And Maurice. Did she make no provision for him ? 
 
 Judy. [Setting herself at side ] In course she did. Just afore she died 
 she called me to her bedside — " Mis. McCann," says she, for she'd 
 real quality manners, and always gave the name complete — "Mrs. 
 McCann, there's Maurice !" "I see him and I hear him," says I, for 
 he was crying like mad. "Will you an' Mr. Jonquil purtect him !" 
 says she. I pulled up a moment fore answering ; when, with her 
 lips all of a tremble, she ketches at my hand. " You won't ! then 
 heaven help my unfort'nit child, for he's no friend on earth!" 
 'Twas then old Jupiter Jonquil, who'd been listenin all the time, 
 broke in — "I'll never desert Maurice !" says he — " he shall have a 
 bit of my crust while I've got it ; and as for eddication, I'll make a 
 painter of him." 
 
 DOQBRIAR, who has entered, L. I.E. 
 
 Dog. Edication. Maurice's edication ! It's arum un — to let such 
 a chance as we had just now slip through his fingers. My parients 
 never taught me sicii conduct. 
 
 Sloe. What chance ? 
 
 Dog. It's no odds, but I'll be even with him. [Crossing c. to Judy.] 
 I s'pose you've bin tellin' little Sloe some of your secrets. 
 
 Judy, [r., gruffly.'] You suppose wrong as usual. 
 
 Dog, All the better — a secret's like a shirt ; when you ain't used 
 to it, it only worrits yer and makes yer feel uncomfortable. [To Ju- 
 dy.] But why don't you go on wi' your discoorsin ? There's no one 
 goin' to lay an inflammation agin you. 
 
 Judy. I was tellin' her what Jupiter Jonquil said when 
 
 Dog. I heeid yer. And what did the poor creature reply ? 
 
 Judy. Nothing. Her voice had gone — but you should have seen 
 the look she gave him. 
 
 Dog. Savage ? 
 
 Judy. A look that said, Bless yer ! plainer than lips could speak. 
 Then, when he was gone, she put one of her thin hands under her 
 pillar, and gave me 
 
 Dog. [Eagerly.] What? 
 
 Judy. [As recollecting herself '.] It wasn't money, and so it ain't got 
 no interest for you. [Crosses to L.; she takes pipe from pocket and turns 
 away muttering and mumbling as she fills it, while Dog briar, who has come 
 close to her, speaks in his most insinuating manner — Sloebkrry a little up 
 stage, listens eagerly. 
 
 Dog. Was it anything in the shape of a momentum ? 
 
 Judy. What's that? 
 
 Dog, A something to remember her by. 
 
 Judy. She twined some of her beautiful hair round the infant's 
 neck — that's all. 
 
 Dog. [With much disgust.] Hair! what's the good o' hair ? Every- 
 body has hair ; I see no use in a momentum like that. 
 
 Judy. She did'nt leave no other — so that point 's settled. 
 
 Dog. Is it ? Well, you won't die of to much govillity. [Taking bot- 
 defrom his pocket—drinlcs, and hands it to Judy.] Squench your feelins.
 
 Camilla's husband. 28 
 
 Judy. I'll take a sip. [She drinks, tilllo'DoonvLiATi'a horror, the bottle as- 
 sumes a perpendicular position, as though she were balancing it on her nose.] 
 
 Dog. [ Whose face has sunk from fear to despair.] Sip. [Taking bottle. 
 You haven't lost your powers o' suction. You've gone into the bu- 
 siness in the wholesale line. [Holdiug empty bottle to light.] Great re- 
 duction made in takin' a quantity. [Putting it in pocket.] Sloe, have 
 you got such a thing as a comb about yer ? Thank' ee ; now I'll 
 just borrow a wusp o' straw from the rick yonder, and go down to 
 the pond at the bottom o' the lane. 
 
 Judy. What for ? 
 
 Dog. [With dignity.] To make my twy -light. 
 
 Judy. [Contemptuously.] Why' re making a dandy o' yourself ? 
 
 Dog. I'm goiu' up to the 'all. I've an account to settle with 
 Mister Maurice Warner. Sarve out to others the same allowance 
 they sarves out to you — that's my fee-losophy. [He crosses stage to m., 
 when Sloeberry catches him by the arm — she is greatly agitated.] 
 
 Slo. Maurice ! — Maurice ! at the hall ! Why has he gone there ? 
 Oh, tell me ! 
 
 Dog. [r. , in much surprise at her excitement.] Because he was sent for 
 
 Slo. By her ? 
 
 Dog. Her ! — who ? 
 
 Slo. His wife? 
 Sh* covers her face with her hands — Dogbriar starts back, open-mouthed, 
 while Judy, as moved by a steel spring, rises to her feet — Judy, r. 
 
 Both. Wife! 
 
 Dog. [Recovering himself with a prolonged whistle] Phew! here's a ket- 
 tle o' fish ! [moving quickly to side] and I'll be in at the cookin' ! [push- 
 es her roughly aside, and exits, r 1 e., followed slowly by Judy and Sloe- 
 berry, the head of latter sunk on Judy's shoulder, R. 1 E. 
 
 SCENE m. 
 Hailstone Hall. Glass doors opening out upon lawn, doors l. and R. — Pic- 
 turesque view of lake; in extreme distance., Skiddaw — Lady Camilla 
 Hailstone reclining on couch down stage, R. — change of costume and 
 arrangement of hair — Sir Philip stands near foot of couch, one hand resting 
 upon small table, in the other he holds some papers and a parchment.] 
 
 Sir Phil. [ With irritation, l. c] You refuse to sign these papers ? 
 Lady 0. [Calmly.] 1 refuse. 
 
 Sir P. [Struggling to repress temper.] May I ask your reasons ? 
 Lady C. [Rising slightly into a half sitting posture, and fixing her eyes 
 steadily upon Sir Philip's angry face.] You shall hear them : by sign- 
 ing these papers, which Mr. Fussel, your agent, has drawn up, I 
 give that gentleman an undue authority over a large portion of my 
 estates. 
 
 Sir Phil. [I begin to understand — you would assume the entire 
 authority. 
 
 Lady C. [Rising to her feet.] Assume! Have I not the right ? 
 Sir Phil. [When you have found a husband ! 
 Camilla is silent — Sir Philip continues to speak ; he leans over hack of 
 chair — his expression- that of mockery and triumph.
 
 24 Camilla's husband. 
 
 Sir Phil. That husband exists — granted. Find him — why not? 
 Proclaim him ! [M jvemerU on t/teparl of Lady Camilla J The hushand 
 of Lady Camilla has only to be known for fashion to throw wide 
 open her doors, and society to prostrate at his feet ! 
 
 Lady O. [ With much dignity.'] Forbear, sir ! To possess a power and 
 misuse it is worse than cruelty — it is cowardice ! 
 
 Sir Phil. [C.'iange of manner.] Pardon me ! My excuse 
 
 Lady G. I dispense with. [Moving a Utile down sLige.] Our interview 
 is at an end. 
 
 Sir Phil. [Hesitates, themnth an impassioned gesture.] Camilla! Cousin! 
 [Turns away as Sir Philip comes down stage.] Have I not kept your 
 secret ? 
 
 Lady 0. [Turning upon him with cold disdain ] For such silence have 
 I not paid the price ? The discovery of the secret would — I own it 
 — bow my head to the very earth with shame ; but it would also 
 leave you a beggar. [Movement on part of Sir Philip.] Nay, I must not 
 be choice of phrase. It is time the mask should fall. 
 
 Sir Phil. But fall for us alone. [Sarcastically.] It is the world's 
 verdict that you dread — the world's opinion that you fear. 
 
 Lady G. And if I answer yes to that ? Is there one among us, 
 woman or man, who does not live in daily — in hourly fear of this 
 world's Argus eyes and deadly tongue. What is this society of 
 which we talk so much ? A despot, whose smile is fame, whose 
 frown is death ? We would shroud ourselves in mystery, but the 
 blank walls have a hundred ears, a hundred crevices, through which 
 a hundred eyes peep in. The world is ever about us — all we do — 
 all we say, — nay, almost all we think is noted down by a myriad of 
 unseen spies — a book compiled by Jealousy and revised by malice, 
 then passed from hand to hand and published by our friends ; such, 
 Philip, is the world of which we form a part. 
 
 Sir Phil. [Anxiously.] Would you brave it, cousin ? 
 
 Lady G [After a pause.] No ; I will not seek to conceal the misery 
 — the shame — that my headstrong folly has brought upon me. 
 
 Sir Phil. ^Camilla ! Camilla ! there is yet hope. Confide in my 
 love, and [he endeavors to lake her hand — she draws quickly back. 
 
 Lady G. Your love ! 
 
 Sir Phil. [ With increasing fervor.] Must I ever repeat that I love 
 you ! fondly ! madly ! that 
 
 Lady C. [ With dignity.] Silence ! sir, I command your silence ! I 
 have a husband— you at least know that. 
 
 Sir P. [Quickly and eagerly watching her face] Suppose I prove that 
 husband dead ? 
 
 Lady C. Dead! 
 
 Sir Phil. I can ! I will ! [The door r. t« thrown suddenly open, and 
 Maurice Warner enters, preceded by Servant. 
 
 Servant. [Coming a little down stage.] The person Lady Camilla de- 
 sired to see. [Lady Camilla, much agitated by Sir Philip's words, bows 
 slightly, but does not immediately turn her head— exit Servant. 
 
 Sir P. [Going up stage, with assumed gaiety.] I leave you for a mo- 
 ment, cousin, we will speak again upon this matter when this gen- 
 tleman [he bows to MauriceJ has departed. [Exit l. door. 
 
 Lady G. [u, by an effort, conquering hor emotion.] You muet pardon
 
 Camilla's husband. 25 
 
 me, sir, if I have been somewhat tardy in my thanks, but — [She 
 turns, and sees Maurice, ruho stands up stage— pile and motionless — fixed as 
 a stdue With a cry of mingled surprise and fear, Lady Camilla starts 
 back, and lews for support against couch. 
 
 Mau. [in.] It jS at your request, madam, I am here. 
 
 Lady C. [S/ie speaks u-ith difficulty .] I was not aware— 
 
 Mau. [Bitterly.] To whom your message was addressed, or donbless, 
 gratitude would have given way to prudence, and the service been 
 forgotten in seeking to forget the man. 
 
 LadyC. Sir! I— 
 
 Miu. You have no cause for alarm, madam. I come to return 
 you the ring. [Crossing to table on ichich he places ring.] My promise was 
 that, save at your request, you should not look upon my face again. 
 At that request I now stand here. [Coming a little down stage.] I read 
 my welcome in that quivering lip, in those averted eyes, and bow 
 before your wish, though not expressed in words. [Going to door, B. 3 
 E.] Farewell. 
 
 Lady C. [Faintly.] Stay ! oh ? stay ! [Maurice pauses by door, his 
 hand ujxm lock.] You must not leave me thus ! I would — [she hesitates.] 
 And yet I dare not speak of reward to you. 
 
 Mau. [Indignantly .] Reward! [ With sudden change of lone and manner, 
 he comes down stage.] And yet there is one reward tnat I would dare 
 to claim, a reward so vast to me, so slight to you that to grant it 
 would be a charity beyond my poor desert, while to refuse it would 
 be a cruelty of which even your cold heart should bo incapable. 
 
 L'tdy C. [After a pause.] Name it. 
 
 Mau. Let me stand thus, and gaze upon your beauty, and while 
 with greedy ears I drink in the music of your voice, give fresh color 
 to that unfading image which you have stamped upon my heart. 
 
 Lady C. [Draicing back with hauteur.] This is madness ! 
 
 Mau, Believe it so ! and, in the passing visions of his fancy, per- 
 mit the madman to forget his chain. 
 
 Lady C. [Coldly.] You must forget. 
 
 Mau. Ah ! if you did but know how I have sought forgetfulness — 
 sought it in the wild debauch, in the dull oblivion of the brain, till 
 fired with a higher, nobler resolve, I cast aside the brutish husk, 
 and out of the very inspiration of my dream, took a more human 
 shape. Born I know not where, living I know not how, I cursed 
 the partial fortune which had condemned me to such a fate : unlov- 
 ing and unloved, despising all around, incredulous of all beyond, I 
 was content to end as I'd begun. You came, a passing sunbeam 
 shot across the thickening gloom. An idler no longer, I faced with 
 desperate energy the stern realities of a poor man's life, and in the 
 presence of unceasing toil, again sought, but sought in vain, forget- 
 fulness of you. 
 
 Lady C. [ Whose cold hauteur increases, as in the energy of his speech he 
 has approached nearer and nearer to her.] What is the claim you would 
 urge ? for by this strange preface I must fear — 
 
 3fau. [Sadly.] I have said, fear nothing, madam — nothing at least 
 from me. Between this and our first meeting, more than twelve 
 long months have passed — happy months to you. 
 
 Lady C. [With Anger.] Have you forgotten, sir, the pledge you
 
 26 Camilla's husband. 
 
 have given me ? must I remind you that I am naught to you as you 
 must ever be naught to me. I will not discuss with you the cruel 
 persecution that drove a wild, wilful, and unprotected girl to an act 
 which — [her voice is broken with irrepressible emotion.] Sufficient, that in 
 atonement for tne folly of an hour, I shall offer the repentanoeof a life 
 
 Mau. Persecution ! who 
 
 Lady C. [Drawing herself proudly up.] I will never answer ques- 
 tions ; my wrongs such as they are, I best know how to right. I 
 am ignorant, whether it is accident or design which led you to this 
 place. [Movement on part of Maurice.] Your power to harm is great; 
 at present you have only used your power to save. I owe my life 
 to you. Place your own value on the gift, it shall be paid. 
 
 Mau. The wealth of a world could not reach it. [She is again 
 drawing haughtily back, when advancing, he seizes her hand.] This meeting 
 was of your seeking — by your invitation I am here. 
 
 Jjady C. Release me, sir, I 
 
 Mau. [With firmness.] Nay! This is our last meeting. For once, 
 and for once only, I will use the authority of a husband. 
 
 Lady C. Husband! [She sinks into chair, L., — covering face with hands.] 
 
 Mau. Your husband, cruel woman — yes, your husband ! From 
 the hour we met at the wayside inn, when you scarcely allowed 
 your scornful eyes to rest on one whom yet you stooped to use as 
 the degraded instrument for some unknown end — from that hour 
 I loved you ! [Lady Camilla half rises from chair — he firmly but gently 
 detains her.] I marked your averted eyes — your disdainful lip, and 
 the bright flush that crimsoned your cheek when first you touched 
 my hand. I saw, and saw with bitter shame, the money cast at my 
 feet. I knew you could never be mine ; but. in the indignation of 
 my heart, I registered a vow that you should never be another's. 
 
 Lady C. [Rising.] Alas ! the evil I have done ! 
 
 Mau. [Stilt retaining her hand — sinks at her feet.] A minute — one little 
 minute more, and I take my shadow from the brightness of your 
 life. Do not hide your face — I would gaze for the last time on its 
 proud beauty, and drink in, once more, the poison of your glance. 
 [Her face is still averted — he releases her hand, and rises to his fed, j Have 
 you no word ?— not one ! Dumb — frozen — nothing living in the 
 heart ? [He turns to go upxstage, when Lady Camilla turns with a gesture 
 of entreaty. 
 
 Lady C. You will not leave me thus— you shall not ! Mauricb 
 pauses a little up stage, his eyes fixed upon her face, which exhibits a strong 
 emotion.] You must not deem me entirely without excuse for what 
 I did. Oh, think, sir, a woman without a friend — woman did I say ? 
 — a child — a self-willed wayward child, left suddenly without de- 
 fense amongst those who recognised no other tie but that of s'elfish 
 
 gain ! Persecuted — cruelly persecuted, and a prisoner ; I — I 
 
 [Her voice sinks into plaintive tenderness.] Alas! I lacked the clasp of a 
 mother's arms — the safeguard of a mother's heart ; what marvel, 
 sir, if I paused not to enquire the wisdom of the means, so that I 
 broke for ever an intolerable chain ? 
 
 Mau. [Sadly.] I am not here to reproach ; nor have you now or 
 ever, aught to fear from me. The promise I gave I will keep ! — 
 [inoving up stage till lie stands at table] and standing in this house that
 
 Camilla's husband. 27 
 
 might be mine, of all its rich contents, I claim but this. [Taking mi~ 
 
 niature from table.] 
 
 Lady C. My portrait ! 
 
 Mau. I have a man's heart, but I have also a man's honor, and 
 
 depart friendless— penniless — owner of estates that I disdain to claim. 
 
 Music, piano — he has crossed stage to door, R. 1 e. , there he pauses and gazes 
 proudly but sadly upon Lady Camilla, who overcome by conflicting emo- 
 tions, leans for support against clmir. 
 Mau. Farewell forever ! 
 
 She sinks into chair covering her face with her hands, at the same moment Sir 
 Philip and Dogbriar appear at back from the lawn — the latter pointing 
 exuUingly to Maurice Warner, who, without perceiving them has made a 
 step forward as about to rush to Lady Camilla — he checks himself as by 
 a powerful effort — presses the portrait to his lips, and exits. 
 
 ACT III— SCENE I. 
 
 Room in the House of Sir Phil. Hailstone, [1st grooves] . Park Lane, Lon- 
 don, doors R. and l. French windows at back — three half length portraits 
 
 arranged so as to form a prominent feature in the scene. The centre portrait 
 
 is, however, hidden in part by the window curtain Furniture modern and 
 
 tasteful. This scene must depend more upon the painter' s brush than the 
 
 upholsterer, requiring a quick change. Sir Philip is leaning against one 
 
 of the windows, R. 
 
 Sir Phil. A blow ! A blow given by the hand of Maurice War- 
 ner, that lowborn, strolling vagabond, who has contrived by the 
 tricks of trade to push himself into the company of his betters. — 
 He has made a great reputation certainly — a great name ! he has 
 brought a blight and scandal upon mine. He is the one obstacle 
 between me and fortune, and this day shall remove it ! 
 Enter Servant, l , announcing Major Lumley. Enter Major Lumley, l. 
 Servant retires. 
 
 Sir Phil. [Advancing upon him eagerly.] You have seen him ? 
 
 Lumley. I have ; our interview was a short one, all mention of 
 apology was at once discarded. 
 
 Sir Phil. Good ! and his weapons ? 
 
 Lumley. He left the choice to me. I chose swords. 
 
 Sir Phil. [Striking his hands together with fierce delight.] It is to rush 
 upon his fate ! he's mad, he must be mad ! 
 
 Lumley. [Coldly, and as much shocked by Sir Philip's manner.] I never 
 6aw a man more cool. 
 
 fiftr Phil. [ With some anxiety.] Did he allude to the cause of quarrel ? 
 
 Lumley. Not a word. [Enter Servant, l. 
 
 Ser. A man desires to speak to you, sir. 
 
 Sir Phil. [Testily.] A man — what man ? 
 
 Ser. His name, he says, is Dogbriar. 
 
 Sir Phil. Dogbriar! 
 
 Ser. He has come a long way, and he says his business is important. 
 
 Sir Phil. Show him in here. I will return in a few minutes. [He 
 it crossing to Lumley, but again turns to Servant. Give him some re- 
 freshment, and remain with him till I come. [Servant exits, l. 
 
 Sir Phil. Come Lumley, luncheon waits. [They exeunt r. as Servant 
 re-enters l., followed by Dogbriar. The latter halls in the doorway, pull- 
 ing forelock, and scraping with leg.
 
 28 Camilla's husband. 
 
 Servant. {Sharply. ~\ Come in. Sir Philip will be with you directly. 
 Dog. [Advancing leisurely. .] That's werry kind on him, but I say, 
 young man, if he has anything like a dook or a markis with him, 
 don't let him hurry 'em away on my accout. 
 Servant. You're a rum 'un. 
 
 Dog Am I? Well, I ain't one of your specious anyhow. [To the 
 servant's uell-bred horror, he begins to whistle in a reflective way as he scats 
 himself on extreme edge of chair, placing his hat beneath it.] Since you are so 
 pressin' , I don't care if I do. [Pointing to bottle on table.] Thaiik'ee. Takes 
 glass of wine which servant offers, tastes it and makes a face.] What's this ? 
 Servant. Claret, don't you like it? 
 
 Dog. [Setting down glass.] Not at present, [with another grimace.] I say, 
 young feller, I'm afeard you've been robbin' the cruets. It may be 
 werry good over a letuce, but when I wants my teeth filed, I goes to 
 a dentist, [pointing to table.] What's that? 
 Servant. — dee — dee. 
 
 Dog. Co'ney Hatch ! I'll take a little. [As Servant pours spirits 
 into glass.] I always delude it with water, [empties glass. 
 Ser. You're a temperate one, you are. 
 
 Dog. It's a family failin ! [Taking up bottle and refilling glass, 
 Ser. What are you about ? 
 
 Dog. [Severely] Always finish what you begin, young man, it's mo 
 — rality and it's fee— losophy. 
 
 Enter Sir Philip, r. 
 Ser. Here's Sir Philip, [Crossing quickly at back to L.] 
 Dog. [Rising quickly and putting bottle into pocket.] And so there is. 
 Servant exits l. at a sign from Sir Philip, xcho, advancing directs upon 
 Dogbriar a keen, searching glance. That gentleman' s eyes, however, are bent 
 modestly upon the ground — he twirls his hat in hands, and looks the picture of 
 unruffled innocence. 
 
 Sir Phil. [After a pause.] Your news? 
 Dog. [Apologetically.] None in particular— not at present. 
 Sir Phil. [Angrily.] That has been your reply for this many a 
 month, during which I've paid }'ou — and paid you well. [Dogbriar 
 sighs heavily.] You promised to find out all about this fellow, yet, ex- 
 cepting where he was born — 
 
 Dog. In Jupiter Jonquil's the — ay — ter. 
 Sir Phil. And that he was nursed by your wife ? 
 Dog. Who was also connected with the boards. [Aside.] She used 
 to scrub 'em. 
 
 Sir Phil. I have learnt nothing. You say his mother was a lady ? 
 Dog. Nothing less, bonnet, silk gownd, and weddin' ring, complete. 
 Sir Phil. [ With a contemptuous impatience.] And the father was a gen- 
 tleman, I suppose? 
 
 Dog. I ain't come across many speciments of the harticle, but I 
 seen some as look it less. 
 
 Sir Phil. [Haughtily.] What do you mean, fellow? 
 
 Dog. Well, I never says eggzactly what I means or what I wants. 
 
 [Sir Philip turns away, and paces room impatiently.] I let folks guess 
 
 the one, [emptying quickly glass on table,] and 'elps myself to the other. 
 
 Sir Phil. [Again halting before him.] You were to bring your wife. 
 
 Where is she ?
 
 CAMILLA' 9 HUSBAND. 29 
 
 Dog. Gone. Just as I begun to draw her out on the •whole bisnesi, 
 she took a perplexity fit, and went hoff like the snuff of a candle. 
 
 Sir Fhil. Dead! 
 
 Dog. Nipped in her bud. [Taking out handkerchief as about to weep. 
 
 Sir Phil. Poor follow ! 
 
 Dog. Yes, we all has our trials. 
 
 Sir Phil. Did she leave nothing ? 
 
 Dog. She left a momentum, as is usual, a portrut — a minetur. 
 
 Sir Phil. Of herself! [Carelessly. 
 
 Dog. I should rayther think not ; her feeturs weren't of that sort 
 which requires momeutums. It was a picture of Maurice's father. 
 
 Sir Phil. Indeed ! come, we may get some clue here. [Aside.] That 
 may lower my lady cousin's pride still more. 
 
 Dog. ^[Feeling in pockets.] " Give it to Maurice," says she, " I prom- 
 ised his mother that I'd keep it for him." "An' you've kep' it a 
 precious long time," says I. "I never know'd what might turn 
 
 up" says she, quite brisk, " I was always a careful woman, and " 
 
 [He pauses a?id shakes hood. 
 
 Sir Phil. Why don't you go on ? 
 
 Dog. Becos, at that werry iuterestin'-pint of her story, Judy went 
 off. She took the fit, and the fit took her. She were always a agra- 
 wating woman and acted up to the karacter. 
 
 Sir Phil. [Talcing miniature, which Dogbiuar 1ms drawn from his pocket.] 
 Give it to me. 
 
 Dog. [Contemptuously.] 'Taint worth much — the case is on'y wash- 
 ed, and as thin as a wafer. — hopens with a spring. 
 
 Sir Phil. We will see what this strolling gentleman is like. [As he 
 moves up skige to window, Dogbriar seizes the opportunity to draw bottle from 
 pocket, and is in the act of raising it to his lips, when his eyes rest upon the half 
 length portrait on the wall, which, owing to a movement of Sir Philip's 
 against wi/uloiu curtains, is for the first time fully exposed. The bottle drops 
 from Dogbriar's hands; he utters a cry of intense astonishment and points to the 
 portrait on wall. 
 
 Dog. Heart alive ! but it can't be ! 
 
 Sir. Phil. [In much .surprise and moving from window.] What can't be ? 
 
 Dog. [Still pointing.] But it is ! it's him ! that poi trait ! 
 
 Sir Phil. [Angrily.] Him ! Is the man mad ? lhat is the portrait 
 of George Hailstone, my uncle. 
 
 Dog. lour uncle ? 
 
 Sir Phil. Who, marrying against his father's will, was disinherited 
 and died an outcast and a beggar. 
 
 Dog. [By a quick movement, opening the spring of minature.] Look ! 
 
 Sir Phil. My uncle George ! impossible ! 
 
 Dog. [ With wild exultation.] Not a bit of it ! see — [examining case of 
 minature] — here's a court of armsandamotter — the same as I seed on 
 the cheers below — Judy always said that Gentleman Warner would 
 turn up trumps at last. [He is performing a kind of triumphal dance, when 
 Sir Philip, as one awakening from a lethargy of astonishment, places his hand 
 on Dogbriar's shoulder. 
 
 Sir Phil. Give me the minature — I must be satisfied. 
 
 Dog. [Shaking off hand, and with lightning quickness thrusting portrait into 
 his pocket.] And so must I.
 
 30 CAMILLA S HUSBAND. 
 
 Sir Phil. How, fellow ! of what do you suspect me ?. 
 Dog. [WAose mannci is now full of sly reserve.] When I ain't sure of a 
 thing I always suspect the wust — it's fee losoph'y. 
 Sir Phil. You refuse to give me that miniature ? 
 Dog. Give ! 
 
 Sir Phil. [Impatiently.] Sell then ? 
 
 Dog. That's another pair o' shoes — why you don't think I'd go an' 
 rob a poor import' nit orphan for uothin. [Crosses to r. 
 
 Sir Phil. Your price ? 
 
 Dog. [Quietly. Will depend upon the market. [He is moving towards 
 the door when Sir Philip, stepping between him and door, again motions as 
 about to put his hand upon shoulder. 
 Sir Phil. You rascal ! 
 
 Dog. [Starting back, his face and attitude changing from its former oily 
 slyness, into one of lowering menace] None o' that! 'Rasperate me an' 
 I'll show you a trick or two. [Buttoning Ids coat determinedly ] I'm come 
 of a porkypine breed, and hurts when roughly handled. [Taking c. of 
 stage.] Look'ee here, Sir Philip ; let's play cards on the table ; they 
 ain't werry clean one's on either side, but the color o' the pasteboard 
 won't take off from the skilt o' the game. You hired me to find out 
 all about Maurice, that is, all that was bad about him, becos, thinks 
 you, it's easier to pint out a smut on a chap's face than for him to 
 wipe it off. But things have taken quite another aspic', an' unless I 
 see powerful — wery powerful reasons to the contrary, the minitur' of 
 the father will find its way into the hands of the son. 
 
 Sir. Phil. [Who forces an appearance of indifference.] And you think 
 this wild story will be believed ? 
 
 Dog. There are plenty o' people who know Gentleman Warner 
 and his wife, and with such a clue as this — [slapping pocket, which con- 
 tains minudure] — the scent won't be hard to foller. 
 
 [Servant' enters with card, l. 
 Sir. Philp. [Looking at card.] Captain Shrimpton — show him into 
 the library. [Servant exits l. d ; Sir Philip turns and surveys Dogbri- 
 ar, who is seemingly lost in admiration of himself before mirror. 
 
 Sir Phil. [Aside.] A few hours and this new discovery may have no 
 power to harm — this duel will decide all. [He approaches Dogbriar 
 and speaks with a hearty bonhomie,] Dogbriar ! | Dogbriar turns briskly] — 
 upon reflection, the picture may as well be in your hands as mine. 
 Dog. [Drily.] Quite as well. 
 
 Sir Phil. 1 have little doubt we shall come to such terms as will pre- 
 vent this double disgrace from falling on my family; I have pressing 
 business with some visitors, which, however, will not detain me long. 
 [He crosses stage to r. door.] In the meantime — [oj.xms door, R.] — wait in 
 my private room ; eat, drink and amuse yourself till my return. 
 
 Dog. Then make haste, Sir Philip — I was born unde; the hedge 
 like the wiolets, an' couldn't breathe 'tween four stone walls. 
 Sir Phil. Ah ! we none of us know what's in store foi us. 
 Dog. [ Who is entering room, u., turns and darts a keen glance at Sir Phil- 
 ip.] That's very true. [Aside.] But it isn't me as will go to the wall. 
 [Aloud, and with meaning.] Don't 'urry yourself, Sir Philip — I can wait 
 [He passes to room, r., his face wearing a puzzled, doubtful look — Silt Philip 
 closes door, turns key softly, and places it in his pocket.
 
 Camilla's husband. 31 
 
 Sir Phil. Safe for an hour or two at least. [Going to table he strikes 
 on bell. Enter Servant, l. d. 
 
 Sir Phil. The man who entered just now is there. [Points to room.] 
 The door is locked, the key in my pocket. Let no one have speech 
 with him till my return. [Sir Philip crossing stage while speaking, and 
 matching up hat and gloves exits l.; as he passes out he raises, hi* clenched 
 hand and speaks aside.] And now for you ! rival ! enemy and cousin ! 
 [He exits, Servant following, lifting t rug, wine, Sfc, from table, follows as 
 Scene opens upon a grand interior of artist' s studio — statues on pedestals and 
 pictures tastefully arranged on easels, Src — armor a7id arms adorn walls—fold- 
 ing doors at back — doors r. 1 and 3 entrances, these latter covered xoith velvet 
 curtains which run on rod — entire effect, half drawing room, half studio, like 
 tlie fashional'le Continental ateliers. Maurice Warner, r. 3 e., before 
 easel, painting — on opposite side of stage, a slightly raised dais or platform 
 covered with crimson or green baize, l., upon which Sloeberry, in costume of 
 a Spanish girl, is standing, tambourine in hand — at her feet reclines Hyacinth 
 Jonquil in the dress of a Spanish Matador, holding guitar — tlwy form tableau 
 for the pictures which Maurice is painting, r. c. 
 
 Mau. Thank you, Hyacinth, that will do. 
 
 Jon. [Springing up, crossing stage, R.,retfs hands on Maurice's shoulder 
 and examines picture.] Life, color, expression! and, above all, nature 
 who so rarely shows her honest face upon the canvas. Ah ! you're 
 a great painter, Maurice — a giant ! and I but a dwarf who ever 
 comes halting behind. 
 
 Mau. [Smiling.] Your's is a bark that sails lightly on life's stream. 
 
 Jon. [Laughing.] With Pleasure at the prow, and Youth at the 
 helm. [Clapping Maurice gailg on the shoulder.] Men so rich in talent 
 as yourself can afford to throw an alms to the poor. [.4 Domestic at 
 livery enters r. 3 e. , delivering letter to Maurice, and exits. 
 
 Mau. [Glancing carelessly at address.] From Linnet, the dealer. [Toss- 
 ing letter to Jonquil. Open it, Hyacinth ! [Still seated in chair, his man- 
 ner that of one laboring tinder a profound mental dejection. 
 
 Jon. [Glancing at letter.] As usual he bids for your picture before 
 finished. 
 
 Sloe. [ Who descends from platform and now stands L. 1 E. , she speaks 
 mournfully aside.] It is she who buys — I pierced that mystery long 
 ago. [Maurice still seated, his eyes bent on the ground, seems in a reverie 
 Jonquil crosses to Sloeberry who has moved a little up stage. 
 
 Jon. [Aside to Sloeberry.] He'll work no more to-day. He has 
 his dark fit on him. 
 
 Sloe. [Same tone.] Poor Maurice. 
 
 Jon. Poor Maurice indeed : victim alike to love and pride, his is a 
 disease without a cure. [As Sloeberry is moving away.] To-morrow, 
 Sloeberry, at the same hour ! 
 
 Sloe. Of course, I shall bring my work with me. [Going. 
 
 Jon. [Catching her hind.] And take away my heart with you. 
 
 Sloe. Nonsense ! [Withdrawing hand.] I leave that behind me with 
 the other rubbish of the studio. [Crosses stage and exits, r. 2 e. 
 
 Jon. [Aside.] Now I'm in earnest, in sober, right down, sedous 
 earnest, yet the moment I mention love she laughs, and if I speak 
 of marriage, she runs away. [Coming down stage he touches Maurice 
 lightly on shoulder.] Maurice ! [Maurice looks zip] about this challenge ?
 
 32 CAMILLA'S HUSBAND. 
 
 Mau. [Calmly. ] I have accepted it. 
 
 Jon. [Mcvement of astonishment.'] Surely some arrangement. 
 
 Mau. None is possible — the apology demanded I refused, [rising] 
 we fight within the hour. 
 
 Jon. [Agitated.'] Reflect, Maurice ? Sir Philip Hailstone has served 
 abroad ; his skill with every kind of weapon, is notorious — and 
 
 Mau. I have no fear. 
 
 Jon. Fear! No, but — [Sloeberrv re-enters r. 3 e. She crosses L. , 
 and remains up stage unperceived. 
 
 Mau. [Interrupting Jonquil.] You know the cruel use Sir Philip has 
 made of the knowledge of his cousin's secret, at the clubs, in the 
 salons, no matter where, this man is ever by me, with covert taunt 
 and coward sneer, at my beggar origin, or as he terms it, gipsy birth. 
 
 Jon. [Indignantly.] And you bore this, Maurice? 
 
 Mau. I bore it, with rage at my heart, and the flush of shame upon 
 my cheek, I bore it all, and all for her. To guard her name from 
 calumny I suffered this man's insolence, till bold from impunity, he 
 dared to attack the son by reflections on the mother, to sting the 
 husband by innuendoes, as base as they were false, upon the wife. 
 
 Jon. And you ? 
 
 Mau. Before the sneer had faded from his lips, my answer was 
 written on his cheek. [Points to clock.] As I have said we fight within 
 the hour. [Crossing to door, R. 2. e.] Come, there is but scant time 
 to prepare. They exunt R. 2 e. 
 
 Sloe. Maurice fight, and fight for her ! [Looking at clock.] She alone 
 can prevent this, I know Maurice. One word, one look, one smile 
 of her's, and this calm, strong man is as a child. Her house is but 
 a step from here, I will fly to her, and say, Lady Camilla, a danger, 
 a great danger, threatens Maurice Warner. I implore, I entreat, 
 [site stops and laughs bitterly] small need of entreaty when Love and 
 Fear lend wings. 'Twas but yesterday I saw her at the gallery be- 
 fore his great picture. She thought herself alone, but [her voice 
 sinks into a despaii-ing tendernessi] I was there — watched with aching 
 heart the slow tears creeping down her cheeks. [ With energy.] Tears, 
 I cannot weep like her but I would die for him. [She goes tip stage 
 and exits hurriedly by folding doors, c, as Maurice and Jonquil re-enter, 
 E. 2 e., both in walking costume, hats and gloves, &fc, in hand. 
 
 Mau. [Speaking as he enters, resting on Jonquil's shoulder.] If I fall, 
 tell her that her name was to me as some sacred thing — tell her that 
 I loved her to the last. 
 
 Jonquil. [ With forced gaiety.] Never play the raven to your own 
 fortunes. Maurice — the dice have yet to be thrown, 
 
 Mau. [Smiling.] True ; when such game is a foot, we should be 
 first in the field. 
 
 Jon. [All is prepared— a moment, and I am with you ! Exit R. 3 B. 
 
 Mau. [Crossing to the veiled picture on easel, L.] Yet once again, and 
 perhaps for the last time, I will gaze upon that loved face. [Drawing 
 aside the curtain, he reveals the portrait of Camilla -he speaks after pause, 
 during which he attentively regards portrait.] And is there no other end in 
 life but love— no higher aim than winning thee, proud woman ? [As 
 he speaks, the folding doors at back are opened noiselessly, and Lady C. appears
 
 Camilla's husband. S3 
 
 on threshhold, C. She enters hurriedly, closing doors behind her, then stands B. 
 without moving, contemplating Maurice, whdse eyes are fixed on picture.] 
 
 Mau. [l. c] No ; there is no life without thee— none ! the voice 
 ©f praise sounds idly in my ears — for thy lips are silent ! 'The works 
 of my hands, the creation of my brain, are as dead things to me — 
 for thy face is ever there-*-between me and the canvas ! Alas ! this, 
 thy pictured image, is not more cold to me than thou art. [lie drops 
 curtain and, as overcome by emotion, covers his face with his hands. Lady 
 C, who has come a little down stage, now stands r. 3 e., leaning against chair. 
 
 Lady C. [Speaking with a half sob, up c] Maurice ! Maurice ! [War- 
 ■ ner turns, and with a cry, recoils against picture — his hand grasping curtain 
 — his eyes fixed as one who sees a spectre.} 
 
 Mau. Lady Camilla ! 
 
 Lady C. [Advancing slowly.] I have come, Maurice Warner, to hin- 
 der an act of folly, and to prevent the commission of a crime. [Mau- 
 rice's eyes stilll fixed upon her in a doubting amazement.'] I know all— the 
 challenge and the provocation — all. The cruel insult — the coward 
 insult, that aroused your anger. I also know the motive which has 
 induced my cousin to seek this quarrel. 
 
 Mau. [Coldly ] May I ask the name of your informant, madam ? 
 
 Lady C. It matters not. My cousin seeks a duel, and I, throwing 
 aside reserve, and trampling pride beneath my feet, am here to pre- 
 vent it — at all hazards to prevent it — [with a quick, impulsive movement 
 she approaches him] — Maurice Warner, you must avoid this meeting. 
 
 Mau. [With same marble coldness.] It cannot be avoided. 
 
 Lady C. You do not know Sir Philip. Bethink you, he has been 
 a soldier, trained to arms, and 
 
 Mau. [Smiling.] Madam, you insult me ! 
 
 Lady (J. [ With change of manner.] 1 ! Oh, heaven ! If you but 
 knew Sir Philip's motive. 
 
 Mau. It is not difficult to guess. He loves you. 
 
 Lady C. [Indignantly.] Loves me ! Loves me ! He loves my for- 
 tune, Maurice Warner. Half that fortune will be his on your death. 
 Do you not hear ? It is on your death this bad man builds his hopes. 
 
 Mau. And in that death lies there not also a hope for you? Re- 
 flect ! between you and happiness stands but one barrier— [indicating, 
 himself by gesture] — but one ! 
 
 Lady C. [As moved by a sudden resolve.] Listen, Maurice Warner! 
 [Movement on part of Maurice.] Nay, you must listen, for I have much 
 to say. Four years have passed — four long years since we stood thus 
 face to face, the gloomy past casting its blighting shadows on us 
 both ; you, and you alone, gazed into the future with unshrinking 
 eyes, and saw a dawning light through the darkness. [Maurice is 
 about to speak, she checks him by an imploring gesture, and continues in tones 
 of much feeling.] Months, years flew by, and, desolate and alone, I 
 heard, at first with wonder, and then almost with fear, of the grow- 
 ing greatness of your name — this by the public mouth. Then came 
 youT friends— for a great success makes many — and I heard of days 
 of toil and nights of study, while they all, unwitting of the pain 
 they gave, hinted at some secret sorrow which weighed upon your heart 
 
 Mau. Is sorrow in this world, so rare as to be worthy of remark ? 
 
 Lady C. He who climbs high, challenges remark from all ; we met
 
 34 Camilla's husband. 
 
 C 
 
 in Londo.i, again and again we met, as strangers in that vast and 
 ever changing crowd, with silent lips and eyes averted we passed 
 each other, yet the flush that rose upon my cheek at every mention 
 of your name, was one of pride, of honest pride in you. 
 
 Mau. [Eagerly.] Is it possible ? [ With rapid change of manner.'] You 
 mock me, madam ? 
 
 Lady C I have said T am here to avert a danger — a great one. 
 This meeting must not take place. 
 
 Mau. [Coldly.] My honor is engaged. I — what would you have me 
 do? Society has its laws; it is but justice to 
 
 Lady C [With scornful energy.] Law ! justice! what words when the 
 act you would commit outrages both. [Crosses to l. 
 
 Mau. What I have not sought I shall not shrink from — life has not 
 so many gifts to offer that I should swerve from the path I have chosen 
 — even by a step. To be in love with life one link is wanting. 
 
 Lady C. And that. 
 
 Mau. The blessed link which binds two human hearts. [His voice 
 sinks, as overcome with emotion, which he in vain endeavors to restrain; he is 
 turning away when Lady C, u>ho by a quick movement, has placed herself by 
 his side, lays her hand upon his arm. 
 
 Lady C. Live ! Maurice ! live for me ! [He turns, gazes on her with a 
 startled, wild expression, full of wonder and incredulity .] For me — [her hand 
 still resting on hit arm] — how shall I speak to you ? Alas ! I have yet to 
 learn the words that will soonest reach your heart — I know not what 
 to say — what plea to urge ! I can only kneel and weep. [Is about to 
 kneel, when Maurice catches her in his arms, but suddenly draws back, though 
 still holding her ; gazes with wild earnestness into her face. 
 
 Mau. This is the very mockery of my dream ! [Averting his face.] 
 There is a fascination in your gaze — a magic in your voice — I dare 
 not listen ! 
 
 Lady C. [She detains hint as he is about to move up stage.] Do not leave 
 me — have I not also some claim to pity ? I entreat— nay I implore — 
 at your feet— you will stay ! 
 
 Mau. [As one who by an overpowering effort of will shakes off a spell.] No ! 
 [He breaks from her.] You have robbed me of my heait ! You shall 
 not rob me of my honor ! [Moves as to go up stage, but suddenly rising to 
 her feet, Lady Camilla flies past him,, and her back against folding doors, 
 her arms extended across them, she bars his way, her face and action expressive 
 of Iier old imperious energy.] 
 
 Lady C. You shall not pass ! you shall not ! What is the madness 
 you would do ! to risk all your happiness and mine in a foolish brawl, 
 and in this desperate game to stake two lives. 
 
 Mau. Two lives ! 
 
 Lady C. Mine ! — mine is hound up in yours. This is no time either 
 for reserve or pride ; I tear aside the veil, and lay my heart wide open 
 to you. I, alas ! I know not what to say. [Her voice suddenly sinks 
 into one of plaintive tenderness.] I love you ! [Shecomes down stage a few paces 
 — pauses, overcome by emotion, and covers her face ivith her hands.] 
 
 Mau. [With a cry.] You love me ! 
 
 Lady C. [She looks upprowlli/ and speaks in a voice full and firm.] Yes, I 
 love you ! [Coming doivn stage.] You will not meet this man ? What 
 I begged as the woman, I claim as the wife.
 
 Camilla's husband. 35 
 
 Mau. As you will — ever as you will. Honor, wealth, friends, I 
 cast them all aside — a word — a glance of yours, and each settled pur- 
 pose of my soul, as I would grasp it, melts like a snow flake in my 
 coward hands. Well let them go ; in this cold world, a little love is 
 worth them all. 
 
 Lady C. [ With joy and glancing at clock.] Thank heaven ! the hour is 
 past. [Goes up, l., the door R. 2e., opens and J onquil enters quickly, with- 
 out perceiving Lady Camilla, who is a little up stage. As Jonquil crosses 
 to Maurice, she glides behind statue, l. , uhere site remains concealed, but visi- 
 ble to the audience. 
 
 Jon. [Down r., speaking as he enters.] Quick ! Maurice ; we haven't 
 a moment to lose. 
 
 Mau. [Rising hastily, glances nervously round, then approaches Jonquil, 
 speaking with a feverish quickness.] I have reflected this appointment — I 
 — I shall not keep. [Giving letter.] This will explain. 
 
 Jon. [Glancing at address.] An apology ! [He regards Maurice steadily 
 in the face.] An apology, and to him ? 
 
 Mau. [Averting his face for a moment, crossing to r.] Do not question 
 me — at least not now. As my friend you will act for me, and place 
 
 that in the hands of [The folding doors, C, are thrown open, and the 
 
 Servant announces Sir Philip Hailstone. Sir P., Capt. Shrimpton, 
 and Major Lumley enter. Two former remain at bick; latter comes down to 
 where Maurice is standing. Jonquil still holding letter in hi? hand, stands 
 by statute, behind which Lady C. Iuis disappeared. She not visible to audience. 
 
 Major, [a] Pardon this intrusion. Mr. Warner, your non-appearance? 
 
 Mau. [With strong effort at sdf-control.]>imce our interview this morn- 
 ing much has occurred to alter my intention — [with strong effort] — I 
 am prepared to apologize. This meeting will not take place, 
 
 Sir Philip, with an angry exclamation, is springing forward, l., but 
 Shrimpton, l., restrains him. 
 
 Mau. [ With hauteur.] Sir, I tender an apology. 
 
 Sir. Phil. [Fashing Shrimpton roughly aside, and advancing.] Which 
 is refused — [facing Maurice] — vagabond and stroller. 
 
 Major and Shrimp. [Inleiposing .] Sir Philip ! Gentlemen ! 
 
 Sir Phil. Gentlemen ! [lie laughs scornfully.] Is it that you include 
 this hedgeboru fellow in the category ? Enough — [as they again inter- 
 pose] — I will have no tardy apology — the insult was public — such a 
 mark blood alone can obliterate ! [He moves to go up stage.] Follow ! 
 [Maurice wlw has nutde a quick movement as about to obey, checks himself— 
 glances ivildlg arouud room as seeking some one, then with a stifled groan 
 draws himself again coldly up. 
 
 Mau. I cannot. 
 
 Jon. [Down r.] Maurice! [There is a general movement of astonishment, 
 and Sib Philip, trembling icith passion, again places himself before Wak- 
 ner — good contrast here between the high, cold, agonised restraint of War- 
 neb and the hot rage of Sib Philip — they occupy centre of stage.'} 
 
 Sir Phil, [a] Coward! It shall at least be blow for blow. [With 
 a movement fierce and sudden, Maubice Wabneb has grasped Sm Phil- 
 lip's upraised arm, and before it can descend, hurls him violent! g some 
 paces back— before the latter can renew the attack, Lady Camilla stands 
 between them — her face is very pale, but high and proud— she holds in 
 hand Maurice's letter, which she has snatched from Jonquil, and which 
 she now tears into fragments.]
 
 36 Camilla's husband. 
 
 Lady C. Maurice ? Maurice Warner ! I release you from your oath. 
 [Pointing to Sir Piiilip.] FIGHT THAT MAN! [ With a cry, a " ru- 
 gissement'" of joy, W arnek snatches from the wall a pair of swords and 
 casts one at the feel of Sir Philip, who, no less eager, clutches up the wea- 
 pon, and they prepare to engage— a great noise as of footsteps and sound 
 of voice* heard outside door, c., at back, at which a knocking continues.} 
 
 Mau. Keep the door. Jonquil — let no one enter. 
 
 Major. [Who with Shrimpton, endeavors to interfere.'] Gentlemen, I en- 
 treat you. 
 
 Mau. Back, sir ! We have had enough of words. To Sir Pfiilip.] 
 On your guard. [They enyage. The seconds draw back. Lady Camilla 
 stands, the torn letter in her hands : her figure erect — immoveable; her 
 eyes rivetted upon the crossing of the swords. Jonquil at back, las hands 
 upon the lock of closed doors, at which the knocking slill continues, his 
 figure bent eagerly forward, watching the combatants. A cry, and Sir 
 Philip staggers back, and leans as for support on Shrimpton, l. Crash 
 heard, xohen sword falls, and at the same moment, doors at back are burst 
 open, and Sloeberry and Dogbriar enter, and come hastily down stage, 
 us Lady Camilla sinks, xcith a low sob, as of a great relief, into the arms 
 of Maurice Warner.] 
 
 Bog. [To Sir Philip.] How are you getting on ? Tours was a 
 clever trick, Sir Philip, but never turn the key of a door till you've 
 seen there's a bar to the window — that's my fee-losophy. 
 
 Sloe. [Giving miniature to Lady Camilla.] This portrait, madam, 
 we entrust to you 
 
 Lady C. [Glancing at portrait.] George Hailstone ! my uncle. 
 
 Dog. [Crossing to centre.] And Maurice Warner's father. 
 
 Mau. [ Who has taken portrait.] My father ! Speak, Sloeberry ! Dog- 
 berry ! explain. 
 
 Dog. Explain ? Why, don't it explain itself. You want to know 
 who's done'd it all— why in coorse you do, that's morality and phee- 
 losophy. Well, it's me. Ah, you may shake your head, Sir Philip, 
 but you can't aggravate me. J. say again, it's me. I aint picked 
 'oles in people's saucepans all my life, without a seein' one in their 
 coats, 'specially when it's big enough to shove your 'ed through. 
 I done it, and as the cove used to say at Jonquil's theatre, " Alone, 
 I done it." 
 
 Mau. You ? 
 
 Dog. Why, in coorse. Besides didn't I find the picture ? Didn't I 
 find the ring ? Didn't I find the scarf? And didn't I stick to em all, 
 and ain't virtue its own reward ? Ugh ! I say agin— alone I did it — 
 and what do you want more. 
 
 Lady C. [Staying Dogbriar.] Nothing, Oh, nothing now ! [Press- 
 ing her hand on bosom, she turns to Maurice.] My heart has no room for 
 further happiness — sufficient that you are Camilla's Husband ! [Her 
 head sinks upon his breast, as, with a radiant look, she faces audience.] 
 
 Sloeberry. Major and Shrimpton. 
 Sir Philip. 
 Jonquil Maurice. Camilla. Doobriab. 
 
 b. L. 
 
 THE END.
 
 J 
 
 NDER 
 
 e, N. Y. 
 n, Colil. 
 
 3 1205 02089 5486 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A A 001 423 337 
 
 63 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Santa Barbara 
 
 STACK COLLECTION 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW.