Chapter VIII: Act II

SCENE 1. _A room in the earl of Kent's palace. An inner room rear,
cut off by curtains. Kent alone._

_Kent._ Now, Eleanor, wilt prove thee saint, or devil?
Wilt mend this breach, or must I perish in it?
Too well I know that soul's dark history
To think it may breed light. The moment globes
The years' full character; a whole life's face
Peeps out in smallest deeds. Yet wonders are.
And Eleanor may prove false to herself
To once keep faith with Heaven.
[_Listens_] Glaia? Ay!

[_Goes to curtains rear, parts them softly,
looks within and returns_]

She did not call. I'll watch all night. 'Twill be
No added task since there's no sleep for me.
My Margaret is safe. They dare not touch
A princess of the blood. But I am down.
'Tis said and sung there is no greater pain
Than wrenches Fortune's nurslings when she flies.
Not so. False lady of the wheel, take all!
But O, to see my king yield to the wolves
Now fang-close to his heart--there is my death!

[_Sits on a couch, his head bowed. Margaret enters, advances
softly and embraces him. He looks up, returning her caress_]

Now let the world go on, I'll rest me here.
Why should I keep my hand proud on the helm,
War with the unsated surge, nor know the pause
That is the spirit's silent growing time?
Ah, Margaret, how little will content thee?
No more nor less than love and poorest me?

_Mar._ No more, my lord. Nor will aught less make full
My greedy cup. Thou wert the king's, but now
Thou art all mine. All mine, my love? Or is
That little "all" my greatest flatterer?

_Kent._ You know my heart. Where have you been so long?

_Mar._ With Eleanor. I brought her home with me.

_Kent._ She's here?

_Mar._ Yes, Hubert. Ah, she loves you well.

_Kent._ She loves me?

_Mar._ Better than you thought.

_Kent._ [_In sudden hope_] Then ... Speak!
What has she told you?

_Mar._ Nothing. What, my lord,
Should she have told me?

_Kent._ [_Dully_] Nothing.

_Mar._ I have heard
So much of this--this nothing.

_Kent._ Margaret,
Thou hast my soul. Wilt keep it true for me?

_Mar._ I keep it? No, I doubt myself.

_Kent._ Thyself?
Then trust my trust in thee, which meets thy love
As swallows meet the waking winds of Spring
And know where life is.

_Mar._ Doubt or trust, I love thee!
O Hubert, let us go this night to lands
That know how to be kind and smile on lovers.

_Kent._ Dost hope by flying England to fly pain,
That everywhere encircles man as fire
To shape his soul in fashion of his God?

_Mar._ For love and life I beg! Why do I say
For love and life, since there's no life for me
Without thy love? O, you will go with me!
Leave thy ungrateful king to wed at will----

_Kent._ Leave Glaia to the king? The thought is flame!

_Mar._
[_Standing before him, suddenly tense_]
Who is this maiden that you guard as she
Were the one drop of blood that in your heart
Makes living centre? Who?

_Kent._ [_After a pause_] You heard my answer.

_Mar._ Ay, to the king, but not to me--thyself--
Nay more, for when thou takest away thyself,
Though in the smallest part, so much I die,--
And by this secret that divorces us
Am wholly slain. But tell it to me, Hubert,
And 'twill become another blessed bond,
To second union closer than the first
Re-sanctioning our souls.
[_He is silent. Her rage overcomes her_]

Unseal thy lips,
Or by the fires that flit now through my brain,
By the ancestral wrongs within my blood
That start suspicion where there is no foe,
I shall begin to doubt thee! Who is she
To thee who art my husband?

_Kent._ Margaret,
Go to the maiden lying yon and look
Once more upon her vestal face, then ask
If she know aught of guilt.
[_Margaret looks silently toward the curtains_]

_Mar._ [_In subdued tone_] She's there?

_Kent._ Poor child!
I thought you'd be her gentle, elder sister,
And help me still her woeful flutterings.
[_Turns away_]
Where's now the proud, sure strength that made discount
Of Heaven's arm? O, reed-propped vanities,
Swelling usurpful till ye seem our life,
Ye must come down that we may find ourselves
And God.

_Mar._ O, take me back! I did not know
This spirit dwelt in me. One of my race,
A woman, long ago, stabbed through a heart
That played her false, yet she was gentle too,
And died for what her hand had done. May be
The unquiet dead come back to live in us.
O, it was she stirred this strange passion in me.
Twas not myself. Speak to me, Hubert! Say
'Twas not myself.

_Kent._ [_Embracing her_] Sole angel of my love!

_Mar._ You'll take me back? Let Time begin his count
One minute past, and leave the last one out.
O, say a word will sponge it from the day,
Or all my future must turn back its face
And live with gazing on that minute's point.

_Kent._ It was not you, my heart. But say it were,
Should I pull down my heaven because a bird
Makes flying blot against it? 'Tis the doubts
That darkly flitting show love's constant sky
Forever radiant.

_Mar._ O me! O me!
And this is shame!

_Kent._ Nay, sweet! Weep, if you must,
But let thy tears be rain upon the soul
Making a fair new season.

_Mar._ Let me die!

_Kent._ So overwrought? Thou who hast been my strength?

_Mar._ If I were dead then you----

_Kent._ Should be as thou!
'Tis not thy death but Glaia's that would be
The sad solution of these woes.

_Mar._ Not her,
So fair ... and dear to us.

Kent. [_Kissing her_] My gentle love!
... 'Twere best she died, who now must drink the cup
That makes death sweet in coming. I myself
Almost could guide the knife unto her heart
And cut off ruder visitors.

_Mar._ O, veil
The thought. Its nakedness has chilled my soul.

_Kent._ Ay, she is God's, not mine. Leave her to him.
And now, my life, you, too, must go to rest.

_Mar._ You'll not to bed?

_Kent._ The king may send for me.
He will not sleep, for in his face was woe
Will quiet not to slumber.

_Mar._ O, my love,
How can I leave thee now? If thou wert held
By softest sleep on pillows of content
I could no less than weep to go from thee,
And yet these tears are all I have when thou
Art left to sad, despairing watch. I'll stay,
For I've no words to part with, none to tell
How breaks my heart in going.

_Kent._ Nay, I must work,
And you will call my wits to otherwheres;
Then in the morn these eyes, undewed with sleep,
Will show me not the light that must be mine.

_Mar._ Dost toy with words to me? Not in my eyes,
But in my heart burns thy unfailing torch,
And if you find it dim it is thy secret
Casts shade between us, not a lack in me.

_Kent._ If I should speak then oaths were straws in fire.

_Mar._ O, no, I would not have thee speak. That's past.
'Tis our misfortune that we are divided
In this most pitchy hour that in itself
Were nothing if our hearts could meet and melt
In unreserved touch. In every life
There comes a watch the soul must keep alone.
The hour has struck for thine. And mine I feel
Is not so far away. Now, now I go,
My lord. Because I help you best in going.
Our hearts would rush together, and the pain
Grows in them baffled. Dearer than life, good night.
I leave my prayers like candles set about you,
And as they fail think of me on my knees
Renewing them from Heaven. [_Exit, right_]

_Kent._ Margaret!

[_Pauses, slowly takes up the light and goes off, left, leaving
the room in darkness. Curtain_]

SCENE 2. _The same room in darkness. Margaret enters, right,
carrying a taper._

_Mar._ I'll look upon her. When sleep slips the rein
The soul plays in the face unguarded. Then
The conscious warder holding up the mask
Before the secret self bares all defence
Unheedful of approach. I'll look, and pray
To find the lineaments so pure by day
Still guileless fair. O, that 'twere yesterday--Sweet
yesterday--when I knew not nor guessed
The sad division 'tween my soul and Hubert's!
O, knowledge, rude defiler of our dreams,
How oft we'd give thy hard, substantial store
To build again with bright illusion's eye
Our happy towers on the inconstant clouds:
[_Sees a light through curtains_]
She's up! No ... who is there?

[_Veils her taper. Kent comes from the inner room. He carries a
candle_]

_Kent._ She does not move.
O, Eleanor, how could thy heart give blood
To one so pure that he who loves her best
Would send her back to Heaven?

_Mar._ [_Unheard by Kent_] Eleanor!
Her child! Her child!

_Kent._ Fair Glaia, may'st thou rest,
Not ever wake till angels call thee up.
[_Looking back_] Ay, ay, she sleeps.
[_Exit, left_]

_Mar._ How gracious art thou, God,
To bless me so! O, wicked Eleanor!
This was the fire that maddened thee to-night.
Not fear for Hubert. How couldst make his life
The priceless cloak of thy own worthless shame?
But I can save him! I will make thee speak,
Unsistered woman!

[_Draws back the curtains, leaving them open, showing
the inner room and bed on which Glaia lies_]

Glaia, now I'll look,
Nor all thy grace shall hide the lines that mark
Thy cruel mother. Can this be the face
That breeds such misery? Fair heaven-case
Of innocence!... My Hubert's niece, so mine.
How lily-cold in sleep! And still ... so still.
A kiss will not awake thee--one as light
As my own heart. So cold? O, cold as death!
[_Draws back the coverlet_]

Blood! Blood! A dagger here! O Heaven,
That this smooth coverlet should hide so much!
[_Stands a moment in silent horror_]

And Hubert thought she slept. "Rest well," he said,
"Nor ever wake till angels call thee up."
Nor wilt thou wake till then, poor Glaia. O,
How can I call him here to look on this!
[_Takes up the dagger_]
Strange that the slayer left his dagger here.
He in whose heart the thought of murder lives
Has more of cunning in him.
[_Drops dagger suddenly_]
Hubert's! O!

[_Staggers away from bed and holds herself up by the curtains.
Buries her face for an instant, then looks up blanched and
determined_]

I must act quickly. O, at once--at once!
One pause may be the grave of resolution.
[_Starts toward bed, but stops_]
"She does not move," he said ... and "ay, she sleeps,"
As though she slept eternally.
[_Goes to bed, and takes up the dagger_]
His dagger.
Oft has it pleased me to regard this hilt.
Pearls winding like a milky way about
A turquoise heaven. Even then my fate
Lurked in the blade. Why do I talk, and beg
A vile delay? Pain is sole merchant here,
And with each moment amplifies his profit.
... I will not pray, for prayer is softening,
And I must be too stern to pity self.
I was a princess. I'll not think of that,
For now I am a wife. And for my lord
Must die. They'll find me here, and say the deed
Was mine. My jealous hand avenged my wrong.
... O gentle Heaven, he is not worthy this!
Nay, nor no man, and yet for every man
There lives a woman who would die for him.
[_Lifts the dagger_]
I can not strike. [_Drops her arm_] I must ... ere I go mad
And leave the event to chance.

[_Lifts dagger, grows faint and falls with a cry to the floor.
Kent enters, left_]

_Kent._ Twas Margaret's voice. My love?
[_Advances and sees Margaret on the floor_]
O, life of mine!
[_Looks toward bed_]
Glaia! Uncovered--bleeding--dead! Put out
My eyes! Out ... out. What cruelty yet lives
In Heaven to show me this? O, Eleanor,
Come, come and see how thy one sin has grown
To widest hell! Thy Glaia dead ... even cold ...
And Margaret ... not dead ... but would she were!
[_Bends over her_]
Yea, I could love thee then. My Margaret,
Couldst do this thing? Thy hand was ever tender,
And oft thou coveredst even guilt with mercy.
... She could not do it.... Ay, she could ... she could.
For her ancestral steps are marked with blood,
And but to-night her eye flashed with a look
That like an evil star did point to this.
[_Knocking without, and opening of gates_]
My summons from the king. Ho, Rufus?
[_Draws coverlet
over Glaia's form_] Glaia,
Thou wert the bud of earth; infinity
Shall wear thy blossom and be proud.

[_Enter attendant_]

_Att._ My lord?

_Kent._ Your mistress faints. Call up her women. Haste!

[_Exit attendant. Kent takes Margaret in his arms and_ _bears her
off, right. Re-enters, goes to curtains and draws them, concealing
Glaia's bed_]

O, Henry, _now_ thy heart is struck.

[_Enter an attendant_]

Who comes?

_Att._ Your grace, I do not know. Strange men who give
No name, but say that they must see you.

_Kent._ Must?
Admit them.

_Att._ Here, your grace?

_Kent._ Ay, here.

[_Exit attendant. Kent picks up dagger from the
floor_] 'Tis mine.
I'll wear my own. [_Hangs dagger at his belt_]
Now is the earl of Kent
A murderer. How feels it with you, sir?

[_Enter officers and attendants_]

_Officer._ My lord of Kent, you are our prisoner.

_Kent._ By whose command?

_Off._ The king's.

_Kent._ O, April heart,
Dost think 'twill ne'er be winter? What the crime?

_Off._ You're charged, on pain of death, to show the son
Of Adelais, of France.

_Kent._ That sin is old
And faded now. I know another blots
O'er that. I'll burn your ears with 't as we go.

[_Exeunt. Curtain_]