Chapter III: Part 3

FLYNN. Make 'em believe. I wish Stanton'd ask waivers on me. (_With a laugh._) I oughter gain a ton to-day. I ate enough spuds for breakfast to plant a farm.

STANTON. Flynn!

FLYNN. Me to the plate! (_He strides to the scales._)

MURRAY. Good luck!

(_He starts to join_ Eileen, _but_ Miss Bailey, _who has finished
her talk with_ Mrs. Turner, _who goes out to the hall,
approaches_ Eileen _at just this moment._ Murray _stops in his
tracks, fuming. He and_ Eileen _exchange a glance of helpless
annoyance._)

MISS BAILEY (_her thin face full of the satisfaction of misery finding company--plucks at_ Eileen's _sleeve_). Say, Carmody, she sent you back to bed, too, didn't she?

EILEEN (_absent-mindedly_). I suppose----

MISS BAILEY. You suppose? Don't you know? Of course she did. I got to go, too. (_Pulling_ Eileen's _sleeve._) Come on. Let's get out of here. I hate this place, don't you?

STANTON (_calling the next_). Hopper!

FLYNN (_shouts to_ Murray _as he is going out to the hall_). I hit 'er for a two-bagger, Steve. Come on now, Bo, and bring me home! 'Atta, boy! (_Grinning gleefully, he slouches out._ Doctor Stanton _and all the patients laugh._)

MISS BAILEY (_with irritating persistence_). Come on, Carmody. You've got to go to bed, too.

EILEEN (_at the end of her patience--releasing her arm from the other's grasp_). Let me alone, will you? I don't have to go to bed now--not till to-morrow morning.

MISS BAILEY (_despairingly, as if she couldn't believe her ears_). You don't have to go to bed?

EILEEN. Not now--no.

MISS BAILEY (_in a whining rage_). Why not? You've been running a temp, too, and I haven't. You must have a pull, that's what! It isn't fair. I'll bet you lost more than I did, too! What right have you got---- Well, I'm not going to bed if you don't. Wait 'n' see!

EILEEN (_turning away, revolted_). Go away! Leave me alone, please.

STANTON. Lowenstein!

MISS BAILEY (_turns to the hall door, whining_). All right for you! I'm going to find out. It isn't square. I'll write home.

(_She disappears in the hallway._ Murray _strides over to_
Eileen, _whose strength seems to have left her and who is leaning
weakly against the table._)

MURRAY. Thank God--at last! Isn't it hell--all these fools! I couldn't get to you. What did Old Lady Grundy have to say to you? I saw her giving me a hard look. Was it about us--the old stuff? (Eileen _nods with downcast eyes._) What did she say? Never mind now. You can tell me in a minute. It's my turn next. (_His eyes glance towards the scales._)

EILEEN (_intensely_). Oh, Stephen, I wish you weren't going away!

MURRAY (_excitedly_). Maybe I'm not. It's exciting--like gambling--if I win----

STANTON. Murray!

MURRAY. Wait here, Eileen.

(_He goes to the scales._ Eileen _keeps her back turned. Her body
stiffens rigidly in the intensity of her conflicting emotions.
She stares straight ahead, her eyes full of anguish._ Murray
_steps on the scales nervously. The balance rod hits the top
smartly. He has gained. His face lights up and he heaves a great
sigh of relief._ Eileen _seems to sense this outcome and her head
sinks, her body sags weakly and seems to shrink to a smaller
size._ Murray _gets off the scales, his face beaming with a
triumphant smile._ Doctor Stanton _smiles and murmurs something
to him in a low voice._ Murray _nods brightly; then turns back
to_ Eileen.)

STANTON. Nathan! (_Another patient advances to the scales._)

MURRAY (_trying to appear casual_). Well--three rousing cheers! Stanton told me to come to his office at eleven. That means a final exam--and release!

EILEEN (_dully_). So you gained?

MURRAY. Three pounds.

EILEEN. Funny--I lost three. (_With a pitiful effort at a smile_.) I hope you gained the ones I lost. (_Her lips tremble._) So you're surely going away.

MURRAY (_his joy fleeing as he is confronted with her sorrow--slowly_). It looks that way, Eileen.

EILEEN (_in a trembling whisper broken by rising sobs_). Oh--I'm so glad--you gained--the ones I lost, Stephen---- So glad! (_She breaks down, covering her face with her hands, stifling her sobs._)

MURRAY (_alarmed_). Eileen! What's the matter? (_Desperately._) Stop it! Stanton'll see you!

THE CURTAIN FALLS

Act Two: Scene Two

_Midnight of the same day. A cross-road near the sanatorium. The
main road comes down forward from the right. A smaller road,
leading down from the left, joins it towards left centre._

_Dense woods rise sheer from the grass and bramble-grown ditches at
the roadsides. At the junction of the two roads there is a
signpost, its arms pointing towards the right and the left, rear. A
pile of round stones is at the road corner, left forward. A full
moon, riding high overhead, throws the roads into white, shadowless
relief and masses the woods into walls of compact blackness. The
trees lean heavily together, their branches motionless, unstirred
by any trace of wind._

_As the curtain rises,_ Eileen _is discovered standing in the
middle of the road, front centre. Her face shows white and clear in
the bright moonlight as she stares with anxious expectancy up the
road to the left. Her body is fixed in an attitude of rigid
immobility as if she were afraid the slightest movement would break
the spell of silence and awaken the unknown. She has shrunk
instinctively as far away as she can from the mysterious darkness
which rises at the roadsides like an imprisoning wall. A sound of
hurried footfalls, muffled by the dust, comes from the road she is
watching. She gives a startled gasp. Her eyes strain to identify
the oncomer. Uncertain, trembling with fright, she hesitates a
second; then darts to the side of the road and crouches down in the
shadow._

Stephen Murray _comes down the road from the left. He stops by the
signpost and peers about him. He wears a cap, the peak of which
casts his face into shadow. Finally he calls in a low voice._

MURRAY. Eileen!

EILEEN (_coming out quickly from her hiding-place--with a glad little cry_). Stephen! At last! (_She runs to him as if she were going to fling her arms about him, but stops abashed. He reaches out and takes her hands._)

MURRAY. At last? It can't be twelve yet. (_He leads her to the pile of stones on the left._) I haven't heard the village clock.

EILEEN. I must have come early. It seemed as if I'd been waiting for ages. I was so anxious----

MURRAY. How your hands tremble! Were you frightened?

EILEEN (_forcing a smile_). A little. The woods are so black--and queer-looking. I'm all right now.

MURRAY. Sit down. You must rest. (_In a tone of annoyed reproof._) I'm going to read you a lecture, young lady. You shouldn't ever have done this--running a temp and---- Good heavens, don't you want to get well?

EILEEN (_dully_). I don't know----

MURRAY (_irritably_). You make me ill when you talk that way, Eileen. It doesn't sound like you at all. What's come over you lately? Get a grip on yourself, for God's sake. I was--knocked out--when I read the note you slipped me after supper. I didn't get a chance to read it until late, I was so busy packing, and by that time you'd gone to your cottage. If I could have reached you any way I'd have refused to come here, I tell you straight. But I couldn't--and I knew you'd be here waiting--and--still, I feel guilty. Damn it, this isn't the thing for you! You ought to be in bed asleep. Can't you look out for yourself?

EILEEN (_humbly_). Please, Stephen, don't scold me.

MURRAY. How the devil did you ever get the idea--meeting me here at this ungodly hour?

EILEEN. You'd told me about your sneaking out that night to go to the village, and I thought there'd be no harm this one night--the last night.

MURRAY. But I'm well. I've been well. It's different. You---- Honest, Eileen, you shouldn't lose sleep and tax your strength.

EILEEN. Don't scold me, please. I'll make up for it. I'll rest all the time--after you're gone. I just had to see you some way--somewhere where there weren't eyes and ears on all sides--when you told me after dinner that Doctor Stanton had examined you and said you could go to-morrow---- (_A clock in the distant village begins striking._) Sssh! Listen.

MURRAY. That's twelve now. You see I was early.

(_In a pause of silence they wait motionlessly until the last
mournful note dies in the hushed woods._)

EILEEN (_in a stifled voice_). It isn't to-morrow now, is it? It's to-day--the day you're going.

MURRAY (_something in her voice making him avert his face and kick at the heap of stones on which she is sitting--brusquely_). Well, I hope you took precautions so you wouldn't be caught sneaking out.

EILEEN. I did just what you'd told me you did--stuffed the pillows under the clothes so the watchman would think I was there.

MURRAY. None of the patients on your porch saw you leave, did they?

EILEEN. No. They were all asleep.

MURRAY. That's all right, then. I wouldn't trust any of that bunch of women. They'd be only too glad to squeal on you. (_There is an uncomfortable pause._ Murray _seems waiting for her to speak. He looks about him at the trees, up into the moonlit sky, breathing in the fresh air with a healthy delight._ Eileen _remains with downcast head, staring at the road._) It's beautiful to-night, isn't it? Worth losing sleep for.

EILEEN (_dully_). Yes. (_Another pause--finally she murmurs faintly._) Are you leaving early?

MURRAY. The ten-forty. Leave the San at ten, I guess.

EILEEN. You're going home?

MURRAY. Home? You mean to the town? No. But I'm going to see my sisters--just to say hello. I've got to, I suppose. I won't stay more than a few days, if I can help it.

EILEEN. I'm sure--I've often felt--you're unjust to your sisters. (_With conviction._) I'm sure they must both love you.

MURRAY (_frowning_). Maybe, in their own way. But what's love without a glimmer of understanding--a nuisance! They have never seen the real me and never have wanted to--that's all.

EILEEN (_as if to herself_). What is--the real you? (Murray _kicks at the stones impatiently without answering._ Eileen _hastens to change the subject._) And then you'll go to New York?

MURRAY (_interested, at once_). Yes. You bet.

EILEEN. And write more?

MURRAY. Not in New York, no. I'm going there to take a vacation, and live, really enjoy myself for a while. I've enough money for that as it is, and if the other stories you typed sell--I'll be as rich as Rockefeller. I might even travel---- No, I've got to make good with my best stuff first. I'll save the travelling as a reward, a prize to gain. That'll keep me at it. I know what I'll do. When I've had enough of New York, I'll rent a place in the country--some old farmhouse--and live alone there and work. (_Lost in his own plans--with pleasure._) That's the right idea, isn't it?

EILEEN (_trying to appear enthused_). It ought to be fine for your work. (_After a pause._) They're fine, those stories you wrote here. They're--so much like you. I'd know it was you wrote them even if--I didn't know.

MURRAY (_pleased_). Wait till you read the others I'm going to do! (_After a slight pause--with a good-natured grin._) Here I am talking about myself again! Why don't you call me down when I start that drivel? But you don't know how good it is to have your dreams coming true. It'd make an egotist out of anyone.

EILEEN (_sadly_). No. I don't know. But I love to hear you talk of yours.

MURRAY (_with an embarrassed laugh_). Thanks. Well, I've certainly told you all of them. You're the only one---- (_He stops and abruptly changes the subject._) You said in your note that you had something important to tell me. (_He sits down beside her, crossing his legs._) Is it about your interview with Old Mrs. Grundy this afternoon?

EILEEN. No, that didn't amount to anything. She seemed mad because I told her so little. I think she guessed I only told her what I did so she'd let me stay up, maybe--your last day,--and to keep her from thinking what she did--about us.

MURRAY (_quickly, as if he wishes to avoid this subject_). What is it you wanted to tell me, then?

EILEEN (_sadly_). It doesn't seem so important now, somehow. I suppose it was silly of me to drag you out here, just for that. It can't mean anything to you--much.

MURRAY (_encouragingly_). How do you know it can't?

EILEEN (_slowly_). I only thought--you might like to know.

MURRAY (_interestedly_). Know what? What is it? If I can help----

EILEEN. No. (_After a moment's hesitation._) I wrote to him this afternoon.

MURRAY. Him?

EILEEN. The letter you've been advising me to write.

MURRAY (_as if the knowledge of this alarmed him--haltingly_). You mean--Fred Nicholls?

EILEEN. Yes.

MURRAY (_after a pause--uncomfortably_). You mean--you broke it all off?

EILEEN. Yes--for good. (_She looks up at his averted face. He remains silent. She continues apprehensively._) You don't say anything. I thought--you'd be glad. You've always told me it was the honourable thing to do.

MURRAY (_gruffly_). I know. I say more than my prayers, damn it! (_With sudden eagerness._) Have you mailed the letter yet?

EILEEN. Yes. Why?

MURRAY (_shortly_). Humph. Oh--nothing.

EILEEN (_with pained disappointment_). Oh, Stephen, you don't think I did wrong, do you--now--after all you've said?

MURRAY (_hurriedly_). Wrong? No, not if you were convinced it was the right thing to do yourself--if you know you don't love him. But I'd hate to think you did it just on my advice. I shouldn't---- I didn't mean to interfere. I don't know enough about your relations for my opinion to count.

EILEEN (_hurt_). You know all there is to know.

MURRAY. I didn't mean--anything like that. I know you've been frank. But him--I don't know him. How could I, just meeting him once? He may be quite different from my idea. That's what I'm getting at. I don't want to be unfair to him.

EILEEN (_bitterly scornful_). You needn't worry. You weren't unfair. And you needn't be afraid you were responsible for my writing. I'd been going to for a long time before you ever spoke.

MURRAY (_with a relieved sigh_). I'm glad of that--honestly, Eileen. I felt guilty. I shouldn't have knocked him behind his back without knowing him at all.

EILEEN. You said you could read him like a book from his letters I showed you.

MURRAY (_apologetically_). I know. I'm a fool.

EILEEN (_angrily_). What makes you so considerate of Fred Nicholls all of a sudden? What you thought about him was right.

MURRAY (_vaguely_). I don't know. One makes mistakes.

EILEEN (_assertively_). Well, I know! You needn't waste pity on him. He'll be only too glad to get my letter. He's been anxious to be free of me ever since I was sent here, only he thought it wouldn't be decent to break it off himself while I was sick. He was afraid of what people would say about him when they found it out. So he's just gradually stopped writing and coming for visits, and waited for me to realise. And if I didn't, I know he'd have broken it off himself the first day I got home. I've kept persuading myself that, in spite of the way he's acted, he did love me as much as he could love anyone, and that it would hurt him if I---- But now I know that he never loved me, that he couldn't love anyone but himself. Oh, I don't hate him for it. He can't help being what he is. And all people seem to be--like that, mostly. I'm only going to remember that he and I grew up together, and that he was kind to me then when he thought he liked me--and forget all the rest. (_With agitated impatience._) Oh, Stephen, you know all this I've said about him. Why don't you admit it? You've read his letters.

MURRAY (_haltingly_). Yes, I'll admit that was my opinion--only I wanted to be sure you'd found out for yourself.

EILEEN (_defiantly_). Well, I have! You see that now, don't you?

MURRAY. Yes; and I'm glad you're free of him, for your own sake. I knew he wasn't the person. (_With an attempt at a joking tone._) You must get one of the right sort--next time.

EILEEN (_springing to her feet with a cry of pain_). Stephen!

(_He avoids her eyes, which search his face pleadingly._)

MURRAY (_mumbling_). He wasn't good enough--to lace your shoes--nor anyone else, either.

EILEEN (_with a nervous laugh_). Don't be silly. (_After a pause, during which she waits hungrily for some word from him--with a sigh of despair--faintly._) Well, I've told you--all there is. I might as well go back.

MURRAY (_not looking at her--indistinctly_). Yes. You mustn't lose too much sleep. I'll come to your cottage in the morning to say good-bye. They'll permit that, I guess.

EILEEN (_stands looking at him imploringly, her face convulsed with anguish, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the rocks at his feet. Finally she seems to give up and takes a few uncertain steps up the road towards the right--in an exhausted whisper_). Good night, Stephen.

MURRAY (_his voice choked and husky_). Good night, Eileen.

EILEEN (_walks weakly up the road, but, as she passes the signpost, she suddenly stops and turns to look again at_ Murray, _who has not moved or lifted his eyes. A great shuddering sob shatters her pent-up emotions. She runs back to_ Murray, _her arms outstretched, with a choking cry_). Stephen!

MURRAY (_startled, whirls to face her and finds her arms thrown around his neck--in a terrified tone_). Eileen!

EILEEN (_brokenly_). I love you, Stephen--you! That's what I wanted to tell!

(_She gazes up into his eyes, her face transfigured by the joy
and pain of this abject confession._)

MURRAY (_wincing as if this were the thing he had feared to hear_). Eileen!

EILEEN (_pulling down his head with fierce strength and kissing him passionately on the lips_). I love you! I will say it! There! (_With sudden horror._) Oh, I know I shouldn't kiss you! I mustn't! You're all well--and I----

MURRAY (_protesting frenziedly_). Eileen! Damn it! Don't say that! What do you think I am!

(_He kisses her fiercely two or three times until she forces a
hand over her mouth._)

EILEEN (_with a hysterically happy laugh_). No! Just hold me in your arms--just a little while--before----

MURRAY (_his voice trembling_). Eileen! Don't talk that way! You're--it's killing me. I can't stand it!

EILEEN (_with soothing tenderness_). Listen, dear--listen--and you won't say a word--I've so much to say--till I get through--please, will you promise?

MURRAY (_between clinched teeth_). Yes--anything, Eileen!

EILEEN. Then I want to say--I know your secret. You don't love me--Isn't that it? (Murray _groans._) Sssh! It's all right, dear. You can't help what you don't feel. I've guessed you didn't--right along. And I've loved you--such a long time now--always, it seems. And you've sort of guessed--that I did--didn't you? No, don't speak! I'm sure you've guessed--only you didn't want to know--that--did you?--when you didn't love me. That's why you were lying--but I saw, I knew! Oh, I'm not blaming you, darling. How could I--never! You mustn't look so--so frightened. I know how you felt, dear. I've--I've watched you. It was just a flirtation for you at first. Wasn't it? Oh, I know. It was just fun, and---- Please don't look at me so. I'm not hurting you, am I? I wouldn't for worlds, dear--you know--hurt you! And then afterwards--you found we could be such good friends--helping each other--and you wanted it to stay just like that always, didn't you?--I know--and then I had to spoil it all--and fall in love with you--didn't I? Oh, it was stupid--I shouldn't--I couldn't help it, you were so kind and--and different--and I wanted to share in your work and--and everything. I knew you wouldn't want to know I loved you--when you didn't--and I tried hard to be fair and hide my love so you wouldn't see--and I did, didn't I, dear? You never knew till just lately--maybe not till just to-day--did you?--when I knew you were going away so soon--and couldn't help showing it. You never knew before, did you? Did you?

MURRAY (_miserably_). No. Oh, Eileen--Eileen, I'm so sorry!

EILEEN (_in heart-broken protest_). Sorry? Oh, no, Stephen, you mustn't be! It's been beautiful--all of it--for me! That's what makes your going--so hard. I had to see you to-night--I'd have gone--crazy--if I didn't know you knew, if I hadn't made you guess. And I thought--if you knew about my writing to Fred--that--maybe--it'd make some difference. (Murray _groans--and she laughs hysterically._) I must have been crazy--to think that--mustn't I? As if that could--when you don't love me. Sshh! Please! Let me finish. You mustn't feel sad--or anything. It's made me happier than I've ever been--loving you--even when I did know--you didn't. Only now--you'll forgive me telling you all this, won't you, dear? Now, it's so terrible to think I won't see you any more. I'll feel so--without anybody.

MURRAY (_brokenly_). But I'll--come back. And you'll be out soon--and then----

EILEEN (_brokenly_). Sshh! Let me finish. You don't know how alone I am now. Father--he'll marry that housekeeper--and the children--they've forgotten me. None of them need me any more. They've found out how to get on without me--and I'm a drag--dead to them--no place for me home any more--and they'll be afraid to have me back--afraid of catching--I know she won't want me back. And Fred--he's gone--he never mattered, anyway. Forgive me, dear--worrying you--only I want you to know how much you've meant to me--so you won't forget--ever--after you've gone.

MURRAY (_in grief-stricken tones_). Forget? Eileen! I'll do anything in God's world----

EILEEN. I know--you like me a lot even if you can't love me--don't you? (_His arms tighten about her as he bends down and forces a kiss on her lips again._) Oh, Stephen! That was for good-bye. You mustn't come to-morrow morning. I couldn't bear having you--with people watching. But you'll write after--often--won't you? (_Heart-brokenly._) Oh, please do that, Stephen!

MURRAY. I will! I swear! And when you get out I'll--we'll--I'll find something. (_He kisses her again._)

EILEEN (_breaking away from him with a quick movement and stepping back a few feet_). Good-bye, darling. Remember me--and perhaps--you'll find out after a time--I'll pray God to make it so! Oh, what am I saying? Only--I'll hope--I'll hope--till I die!

MURRAY (_in anguish_). Eileen!

EILEEN (_her breath coming in tremulous heaves of her bosom_). Remember, Stephen--if ever you want--I'll do anything--anything you want--no matter what--I don't care--there's just you and--don't hate me, dear. I love you--love you--remember! (_She suddenly turns and runs away up the road._)

MURRAY. Eileen! (_He starts to run after her, but stops by the signpost and stamps on the ground furiously, his fists clenched in impotent rage at himself and at fate. He curses hoarsely._) Christ!

THE CURTAIN FALLS

Act Three

_Four months later. An isolation room at the Infirmary with a
sleeping porch at the right of it. Late afternoon of a Sunday
towards the end of October. The room, extending two-thirds of the
distance from left to right, is, for reasons of space economy,
scantily furnished with the bare necessities--a bureau with mirror
in the left corner, rear--two straight-backed chairs--a table with
a glass top in the centre. The floor is varnished hardwood. The
walls and furniture are painted white. On the left, forward, a door
to the hall. On the right, rear, a double glass door opening on the
porch. Farther front two windows. The porch, a screened-in
continuation of the room, contains only a single iron bed, painted
white, and a small table placed beside the bed._

_The woods, the leaves of the trees rich in their autumn colouring,
rise close about this side of the Infirmary. Their branches almost
touch the porch on the right. In the rear of the porch they have
been cleared away from the building for a narrow space, and through
this opening the distant hills can be seen with the tree tops
glowing in the sunlight._

_As the curtain rises,_ Eileen _is discovered lying in the bed on
the porch, propped up into a half-sitting position by pillows under
her back and head. She seems to have grown much thinner. Her face
is pale and drawn, with deep hollows under her cheek-bones. Her
eyes are dull and lustreless. She gazes straight before her into
the wood with the unseeing stare of apathetic indifference. The
door from the hall in the room behind her is opened, and_ Miss
Howard _enters, followed by_ Bill Carmody, Mrs. Brennan, _and_
Mary. Carmody's _manner is unwontedly sober and subdued. This air
of respectable sobriety is further enhanced by a black suit,
glaringly new and stiffly pressed, a new black derby hat, and shoes
polished like a mirror. His expression is full of a bitter, if
suppressed, resentment. His gentility is evidently forced upon him
in spite of himself and correspondingly irksome._ Mrs. Brennan _is
a tall, stout woman of fifty, lusty and loud-voiced, with a broad,
snub-nosed, florid face, a large mouth, the upper lip darkened by a
suggestion of moustache, and little round blue eyes, hard and
restless with a continual fuming irritation. She is got up
regardless in her ridiculous Sunday-best._ Mary _appears tall and
skinny-legged in a starched, outgrown frock. The sweetness of her
face has disappeared, giving way to a hang-dog sullenness, a
stubborn silence, with sulky, furtive glances of rebellion directed
at her step-mother._

MISS HOWARD (_pointing to the porch_). She's out there on the porch.

MRS. BRENNAN (_with dignity_). Thank you, ma'am.

MISS HOWARD (_with a searching glance at the visitors as if to appraise their intentions_). Eileen's been very sick lately, you know, so be careful not to worry her about anything. Do your best to cheer her up.

CARMODY (_mournfully_). We'll try to put life in her spirits, God help her. (_With an uncertain look at_ Mrs. Brennan.) Won't we, Maggie?

MRS. BRENNAN (_turning sharply on_ Mary, _who has gone over to examine the things on the bureau_). Come away from that, Mary. Curiosity killed a cat. Don't be touchin' her things. Remember what I told you. Or is it admirin' your mug in the mirror you are? (_Turning to_ Miss Howard _as_ Mary _moves away from the bureau, hanging her head--shortly._) Don't you worry, ma'am. We won't trouble Eileen at all.

MISS HOWARD. Another thing. You mustn't say anything to her of what Miss Gilpin just told you about her being sent away to the State Farm in a few days. Eileen isn't to know till the very last minute. It would only disturb her.

CARMODY (_hastily_). We'll not say a word of it.

MISS HOWARD (_turning to the hall door_). Thank you.

(_She goes out, shutting the door._)

MRS. BRENNAN (_angrily_). She has a lot of impudent gab, that one, with her don't do this and don't do that! It's a wonder you wouldn't speak up to her and shut her mouth, you great fool, and you payin' money to give her her job. (_Disgustedly._) You've no guts in you.

CARMODY (_placatingly_). Would you have me raisin' a shindy when Eileen's leavin' here in a day or more? What'd be the use?

MRS. BRENNAN. In the new place she's goin' you'll not have to pay a cent, and that's a blessing! It's small good they've done her here for all the money they've taken. (_Gazing about the room critically._) It's neat and clean enough; and why shouldn't it, a tiny room and the lot of them nothing to do all day but scrub. (_Scornfully._) Two sticks of chairs and a table! They don't give much for the money.

CARMODY. Catch them! It's a good thing she's clearin' out of this, and her worse off after them curin' her eight months than she was when she came. She'll maybe get well in the new place.

MRS. BRENNAN (_indifferently_). It's God's will, what'll happen. (_Irritably._) And I'm thinkin' it's His punishment she's under now for having no heart in her and never writin' home a word to you or the children in two months or more. If the doctor hadn't wrote us himself to come see her, she was sick, we'd have been no wiser.

CARMODY. Whisht! Don't be blamin' a sick girl.

MARY (_who has drifted to one of the windows at right--curiously_). There's somebody in bed out there. I can't see her face. Is it Eileen?

MRS. BRENNAN. Don't be goin' out there till I tell you, you imp! I must speak to your father first. (_Coming closer to him and lowering her voice._) Are you going to tell her about it?

CARMODY (_pretending ignorance_). About what?

MRS. BRENNAN. About what, indeed! Don't pretend you don't know. About our marryin' two weeks back, of course. What else?

CARMODY (_uncertainly_). Yes--I disremembered she didn't know. I'll have to tell her, surely.

MRS. BRENNAN (_flaring up_). You speak like you wouldn't. Is it shamed of me you are? Are you afraid of a slip of a girl? Well, then, I'm not! I'll tell her to her face soon enough.

CARMODY (_angry in his turn--assertively_). You'll not, now! Keep your mouth out of this and your rough tongue! I tell you I'll tell her.

MRS. BRENNAN (_satisfied_). Let's be going out to her, then. (_They move towards the door to the porch._) And keep your eye on your watch. We mustn't miss the train. Come with us, Mary, and remember to keep your mouth shut.

(_They go out on the porch and stand just outside the door
waiting for_ Eileen _to notice them; but the girl in bed
continues to stare into the woods, oblivious to their presence._)

MRS. BRENNAN (_nudging_ Carmody _with her elbow--in a harsh whisper_). She don't see us. It's a dream she's in with her eyes open. Glory be, it's bad she's lookin'. The look on her face'd frighten you. Speak to her, you!

(Eileen _stirs uneasily as if this whisper had disturbed her
unconsciously._)

CARMODY (_wetting his lips and clearing his throat huskily_). Eileen.

EILEEN (_startled, turns and stares at them with frightened eyes. After a pause she ventures uncertainly, as if she were not sure hut what these figures might be creatures of her dream_). Father. (_Her eyes shift to_ Mrs. Brennan's _face and she shudders._) Mrs. Brennan.

MRS. BRENNAN (_quickly--in a voice meant to be kindly_). Here we are, all of us, come to see you. How is it you're feelin' now, Eileen?

(_While she is talking she advances to the bedside, followed by_
Carmody, _and takes one of the sick girl's hands in hers._ Eileen
_withdraws it as if stung and holds it out to her father._ Mrs.
Brennan's _face flushes angrily and she draws back from the
bedside._)

CARMODY (_moved--with rough tenderness patting her hand_). Ah, Eileen, sure it's a sight for sore eyes to see you again! (_He bends down as if to kiss her, but, struck by a sudden fear, hesitates, straightens himself, and shamed by the understanding in_ Eileen's _eyes, grows red and stammers confusedly._) How are you now? Sure it's the picture of health you're lookin'.

(Eileen _sighs and turns her eyes away from him with a resigned
sadness._)

MRS. BRENNAN. What are you standin' there for like a stick, Mary? Haven't you a word to say to your sister?

EILEEN (_twisting her head around and seeing_ Mary _for the first time--with a glad cry_). Mary! I--why, I didn't see you before! Come here.

(Mary _approaches gingerly with apprehensive side glances at_
Mrs. Brennan, _who watches her grimly._ Eileen's _arms reach out
for her hungrily. She grasps her about the waist and seems trying
to press the unwilling child to her breast._)

MARY (_fidgeting nervously--suddenly in a frightened whine_). Let me go! (Eileen _releases her, looks at her face dazedly for a second, then falls back limply with a little moan and shuts her eyes._ Mary, _who has stepped back a pace, remains fixed there as if fascinated with fright by her sister's face. She stammers._) Eileen--you look so--so funny.

EILEEN (_without opening her eyes--in a dead voice_). You, too! I never thought you---- Go away, please.

MRS. BRENNAN (_with satisfaction_). Come here to me, Mary, and don't be botherin' your sister.

(Mary _avoids her step-mother, but retreats to the far end of the
porch where she stands shrunk back against the wall, her eyes
fixed on_ Eileen _with the same fascinated horror._)

CARMODY (_after an uncomfortable pause, forcing himself to speak_). Is the pain bad, Eileen?

EILEEN (_dully--without opening her eyes_). There's no pain. (_There is another pause--then she murmurs indifferently._) There are chairs in the room you can bring out if you want to sit down.

MRS. BRENNAN (_sharply_). We've not time to be sittin'. We've the train back to catch.

EILEEN (_in the same lifeless voice_). It's a disagreeable trip. I'm sorry you had to come.

CARMODY (_fighting against an oppression he cannot understand, bursts into a flood of words_). Don't be talking of the trip. Sure we're glad to take it to get a sight of you. It's three months since I've had a look at you, and I was anxious. Why haven't you written a line to us? You could do that without trouble, surely. Don't you ever think of us at all any more? (_He waits for an answer, but_ Eileen _remains silent with her eyes closed._ Carmody _starts to walk up and down, talking with an air of desperation._) You're not asking a bit of news from home. I'm thinkin' the people out here have taken all the thought of us out of your head. We're all well, thank God. I've another good job on the streets from Murphy and one that'll last a long time, praise be! I'm needin' it surely, with all the expenses--but no matter. Billy had a raise from his old skinflint of a boss a month back. He's gettin' seven a week now and proud as a turkey. He was comin' out with us to-day, but he'd a date with his girl. Sure, he's got a girl now, the young bucko! What d'you think of him? It's old Malloy's girl he's after--the pop-eyed one with glasses, you remember--as ugly as a blind sheep, only he don't think so. He said to give you his love. (Eileen _stirs and sighs wearily, a frown appearing for an instant on her forehead._) And Tom and Nora was comin' out too, but Father Fitz had some doin's or other up to the school, and he told them to be there, so they wouldn't come with us, but they sent their love to you, too. They're growin' so big you'd not know them. Tom's no good at the school. He's like Billy was. I've had to take the strap to him often. He's always playin' hooky and roamin' the streets. And Nora. (_With pride._) There's the divil for you! Up to everything she is and no holdin' her high spirits. As pretty as a picture, and the smartest girl in her school, Father Fitz says. Am I lyin', Maggie?

MRS. BRENNAN (_grudgingly_). She's smart enough--and too free with her smartness.

CARMODY (_pleased_). Ah, don't be talkin'! She'll know more than the lot of us before she's grown even. (_He pauses in his walk and stares down at_ Eileen, _frowning._) Are you sick, Eileen, that you're keepin' your eyes shut without a word out of you?

EILEEN (_wearily_). No. I'm tired, that's all.

CARMODY (_resuming his walk_). And who else is there, let me think? Oh, Mary--she's the same as ever, you can see for yourself.

EILEEN (_bitterly_). The same? Oh, no!

CARMODY. She's grown, you mean? I suppose. You'd notice, not seeing her so long?

(_He can think of nothing else to say, but walks up and down with
a restless, uneasy expression._)

MRS. BRENNAN (_sharply_). What time is it gettin'?

CARMODY (_fumbles for his watch_). Half-past four, a bit after.

MRS. BRENNAN. We'll have to leave soon. It's a long jaunt down that hill in that buggy.

(_She catches his eye and makes violent signs to him to tell_
Eileen _what he has come to tell._)

CARMODY (_after an uncertain pause--clenching his fists and clearing his throat_). Eileen.

EILEEN. Yes.

CARMODY (_irritably_). Can't you open your eyes on me? It's like talkin' to myself I am.

EILEEN (_looking at him--dully_). What is it?

CARMODY (_stammering--avoiding her glance_). It's this, Eileen--me and Maggie--Mrs. Brennan, that is--we----

EILEEN (_without surprise_). You're going to marry her?

CARMODY (_with an effort_). Not goin' to. It's done.

EILEEN (_without a trace of feeling_). Oh, so you've been married already?

(_Without further comment, she closes her eyes._)

CARMODY. Two weeks back we were, by Father Fitz.

(_He stands staring down at his daughter, irritated, perplexed
and confounded by her silence, looking as if he longed to shake
her._)

MRS. BRENNAN (_angry at the lack of enthusiasm shown by_ Eileen). Let us get out of this, Bill. We're not wanted, that's plain as the nose on your face. It's little she's caring about you, and little thanks she has for all you've done for her and the money you've spent.

CARMODY (_with a note of pleading_). Is that a proper way to be treatin' your father, Eileen, after what I've told you? Have you no heart in you at all? Is it nothin' to you you've a good, kind woman now for mother?

EILEEN (_fiercely, her eyes flashing open on him_). No, no! Never!

MRS. BRENNAN (_plucking at_ Carmody's _elbow. He stands looking at_ Eileen _helplessly, his mouth open, a guilty flush spreading over his face_). Come out of here, you big fool, you! Is it to listen to insults to your livin' wife you're waiting? Am I to be tormented and you never raise a hand to stop her?

CARMODY (_turning on her threateningly_). Will you shut your gab?

EILEEN (_with a moan_). Oh, go away, Father! Please! Take her away!

MRS. BRENNAN (_pulling at his arm_). Take me away this second or I'll go on without you and never speak again to you till the day I die!

CARMODY (_pushes her violently away from him--his fist uplifted_). Shut your gab, I'm saying!

MRS. BRENNAN. The divil mend you and yours then! I'm leavin' you. (_She starts for the door._)

CARMODY (_hastily_). Wait a bit, Maggie. I'm comin'. (_She goes into the room, slamming the door, but once inside she stands still, trying to listen._ Carmody _glares down at his daughter's pale twitching face with the closed eyes. Finally he croaks in a whining tone of fear._) Is your last word a cruel one to me this day, Eileen?

(_She remains silent. His face darkens. He turns and strides out
of the door._ Mary _darts after him with a frightened cry of
"Papa."_ Eileen _covers her face with her hands and a shudder of
relief runs over her body._)

MRS. BRENNAN (_as_ Carmody _enters the room--in a mollified tone_). So you've come, have you? Let's go, then? (Carmody _stands looking at her in silence, his expression full of gloomy rage. She bursts out impatiently._) Are you comin' or are you goin' back to her? (_She grabs_ Mary's _arm and pushes her towards, the door to the hall._) Are you comin' or not, I'm askin'?

CARMODY (_sombrely--as if to himself_). There's something wrong in the whole of this--that I can't make out. (_With sudden fury he brandishes his fists as though defying someone and growls threateningly._) And I'll get drunk this night--dead, rotten drunk! (_He seems to detect disapproval in_ Mrs. Brennan's _face, for he shakes his fist at her and repeats like a solemn oath._) I'll get drunk this night, I'm sayin'! I'll get drunk if my soul roasts for it--and no one in the whole world is strong enough to stop me!

(Mrs. Brennan _turns from him with a disgusted shrug of her
shoulders and hustles_ Mary _out of the door._ Carmody, _after a
second's pause, follows them._ Eileen _lies still, looking out
into the woods with empty, desolate eyes._ Miss Howard _comes
into the room from the hall and goes to the porch, carrying a
glass of milk in her hand._)

MISS HOWARD. Here's your diet, Eileen. I forgot it until just now. Sundays are awful days, aren't they? They get me all mixed up in my work, with all these visitors around. Did you have a nice visit with your folks?

EILEEN (_forcing a smile_). Yes.

MISS HOWARD. You look worn out. I hope they didn't worry you over home affairs?

EILEEN. No.

(_She sips her milk and sets it back on the table with a shudder
of disgust._)

MISS HOWARD (_with a smile_). What a face! You'd think you were taking poison.

EILEEN. I hate it! (_With deep passion._) I wish it was poison!

MISS HOWARD (_jokingly_). Oh, come now! That isn't a nice way to feel on the Sabbath. (_With a meaning smile._) I've some news that'll cheer you up, I bet. (_Archly._) Guess who's here on a visit?

EILEEN (_startled--in a frightened whisper_). Who?

MISS HOWARD. Mr. Murray. (Eileen _closes her eyes wincingly for a moment and a shadow of pain comes over her face._) He just came about the time your folks did. I saw him for a moment, not to speak to. He was going to the main building--to see Doctor Stanton, I suppose. (_Beaming--with a certain curiosity._) What do you think of that for news?

EILEEN (_trying to conceal her agitation and assume a casual tone_). He must have come to be examined.

MISS HOWARD (_with a meaning laugh_). Oh, I'd hardly say that was his main reason. He does look much thinner and very tired, though. I suppose he's been working too hard. (_In business-like tones._) Well, I've got to get back on the job. (_She turns to the door calling back jokingly._) He'll be in to see you, of course, so look your prettiest.

(_She goes out and shuts the door to the porch._ Eileen _gives a
frightened gasp and struggles up in bed as if she wanted to call
the nurse to return. Then she lies back in a state of great
nervous excitement, twisting her head with eager, fearful glances
towards the door, listening, clasping and unclasping her thin
fingers on the white spread. As_ Miss Howard _walks across the
room to the hall door, it is opened and_ Stephen Murray _enters.
A great change is visible in his face. It is much thinner and the
former healthy tan has faded to a sallow pallor. Puffy shadows of
sleeplessness and dissipation are marked under his heavy-lidded
eyes. He is dressed in a well-fitting, expensive dark suit, a
white shirt with a soft collar and bright-coloured tie._)

MISS HOWARD (_with pleased surprise, holding out her hand_). Hello, Mr. Murray.

MURRAY (_shaking her hand--with a forced pleasantness_). How are you, Miss Howard?

MISS HOWARD. Fine as ever. It certainly looks natural to see you around here again--not that I hope you're here to stay, though. (_With a smile._) I suppose you're on your way to Eileen now. Well, I won't keep you. I've stacks of work to do. (_She opens the hall door. He starts for the porch._) Oh, I was forgetting--Congratulations! I've read those stories--all of us have. They're great. We're all so proud of you. You're one of our graduates, you know.

MURRAY (_indifferently_). Oh,--that stuff.

MISS HOWARD (_gaily_). Don't be so modest. Well, see you later, I hope.

MURRAY. Yes. Doctor Stanton invited me to stay for supper and I may----

MISS HOWARD. Fine! Be sure to!

(_She goes out._ Murray _walks to porch door and steps out. He
finds_ Eileen's _eyes waiting for him. As their eyes meet she
gasps involuntarily and he stops short in his tracks. For a
moment they remain looking at each other in silence._)

EILEEN (_dropping her eyes--faintly_). Stephen.

MURRAY (_much moved, strides to her bedside and takes her hands awkwardly_). Eileen. (_Then after a second's pause, in which he searches her face and is shocked by the change illness has made--anxiously._) How are you feeling, Eileen? (_He grows confused by her gaze and his eyes shift from hers, which search his face with wild yearning._)

EILEEN (_forcing a smile_). Oh, I'm all right. (_Eagerly._) But you, Stephen? How are you? (_Excitedly._) Oh, it's good to see you again! (_Her eyes continue fixed on his face pleadingly, questioningly._)

MURRAY (_haltingly_). And it's sure great to see you again, Eileen. (_He releases her hand and turns away._) And I'm fine and dandy. I look a little done up, I guess, but that's only the result of too much New York.

(Eileen, _sensing from his manner that whatever she has hoped for
from his visit is not to be, sinks back on the pillows, shutting
her eyes hopelessly, and cannot control a sigh of pain._)

MURRAY (_turning to her anxiously_). What's the matter, Eileen? You're not in pain, are you?

EILEEN (_wearily_). No.

MURRAY. You haven't been feeling badly lately, have you? Your letters suddenly stopped--not a line for the past three weeks--and I----

EILEEN (_bitterly_). I got tired of writing and never getting any answer, Stephen.

MURRAY (_shame-faced_). Come, Eileen, it wasn't as bad as that. You'd think I never--and I did write, didn't I?

EILEEN. Right after you left here, you did, Stephen. Lately----

MURRAY. I'm sorry, Eileen. It wasn't that I didn't mean to--but--in New York it's so hard. You start to do one thing and something else interrupts you. You never seem to get any one thing done when it ought to be. You can understand that, can't you, Eileen?

EILEEN (_sadly_). Yes. I understand everything now.

MURRAY (_offended_). What do you mean by everything? You said that so strangely. You mean you don't believe---- (_But she remains silent with her eyes shut. He frowns and takes to pacing up and down beside the bed._) Why have they got you stuck out here on this isolation porch, Eileen?

EILEEN (_dully_). There was no room on the main porch, I suppose.

MURRAY. You never mentioned in any of your letters----

EILEEN. It's not very cheerful to get letters full of sickness. I wouldn't like to, I know.

MURRAY (_hurt_). That isn't fair, Eileen. You know I---- How long have you been back in the Infirmary?

EILEEN. About a month.

MURRAY (_shocked_). A month! But you were up and about--on exercise, weren't you--before that?

EILEEN. No. I had to stay in bed while I was at the cottage.

MURRAY. You mean--ever since that time they sent you back--the day before I left?

EILEEN. Yes.

MURRAY. But I thought from the cheery tone of your letters that you were----

EILEEN (_uneasily_). Getting better? I am, Stephen. I'm strong enough to be up now, but Doctor Stanton wants me to take a good long rest this time so that when I do get up again I'll be sure---- (_She breaks off impatiently._) But don't let's talk about it. I'm all right. (Murray _glances down at her face worriedly. She changes the subject._) You've been over to see Doctor Stanton, haven't you?

MURRAY. Yes.

EILEEN. Did he examine you?

MURRAY. Yes. (_Carelessly._) Oh, he found me O.K. I'm fine and dandy, as I said before.

EILEEN. I'm glad, Stephen. (_After a pause._) Tell about yourself--what you've been doing. You've written a lot lately, haven't you?

MURRAY (_frowning_). No. I haven't been able to get down to it--somehow. There's so little time to yourself once you get to know people in New York. The sale of the stories you typed put me on easy street as far as money goes, so I've felt no need---- (_He laughs weakly._) I guess I'm one of those who have to get down to hard pan before they get the kick to drive them to hard work.

EILEEN (_surprised_). Was it hard work writing them up here? You used to seem so happy just in doing them.

MURRAY. I was--happier than I've been before or afterwards. (_Cynically._) But--I don't know--it was a new game to me then and I was chuck full of illusions about the glory of it. (_He laughs half-heartedly._) Now I'm hardly a bit more enthusiastic over it than I used to be over newspaper work. It's like everything else, I guess. When you've got it, you find you don't want it.

EILEEN (_looking at him wonderingly--disturbed_). But isn't just the writing itself worth while?

MURRAY (_as if suddenly ashamed of himself--quickly_). Yes. Of course it is. I'm talking like a fool. I'm sore at everything because I'm dissatisfied with my own cussedness and laziness--and I want to pass the buck. (_With a smile of cheerful confidence._) It's only a fit. I'll come out of it all right and get down to brass tacks again.

EILEEN (_with an encouraging smile_). That's the way you ought to feel. It'd be wrong--I've read the two stories that have come out so far over and over. They're fine, I think. Every line in them sounds like you, and at the same time sounds natural and like people and things you see every day. Everybody thinks they're fine, Stephen.

MURRAY (_pleased, but pretending cynicism_). Then they must be rotten. (_Then with self-assurance._) Well, I've plenty more of those stories in my head. Every time I think of my home town there seems to be a new story in someone I've known there. (_Spiritedly._) Oh, I'll pound them out some time when the spirit moves; and I'll make them so much better than what I've done so far, you won't recognise them. I feel it's in me to do it. (_Smiling._) Darn it, do you know just talking about it makes me feel as if I could sit right down now and start in on one. Is it the fact I've worked here before--or is it seeing you, Eileen. (_Gratefully._) I really believe it's you. I haven't forgotten how you helped me before.

EILEEN (_in a tone of pain_). Don't, Stephen. I didn't do anything.

MURRAY (_eagerly_). Yes, you did. You made it possible. I can't tell you what a help you were. And since I've left the San, I've looked forward to your letters to boost up my spirits. When I felt down in the mouth over my own idiocy, I used to re-read them, and they always were good medicine. I can't tell you how grateful I've felt, honestly!

EILEEN (_faintly_). You're kind to say so, Stephen--but it was nothing, really.

MURRAY. And I can't tell you how I've missed those letters for the past three weeks. They left a big hole in things. I was worried about you--not having heard a word. (_With a smile._) So I came to look you up.

EILEEN (_faintly. Forcing an answering smile_). Well, you see now I'm all right.

MURRAY (_concealing his doubt_). Yes, of course you are. Only I'd a darn sight rather see you up and about. We could take a walk, then--through the woods. (_A wince of pain shadows_ Eileen's _face. She closes her eyes_. Murray _continues softly, after a pause._) You haven't forgotten that last night--out there--Eileen?

EILEEN (_her lips trembling--trying to force a laugh_). Please don't remind me of that, Stephen. I was so silly and so sick, too. My temp was so high it must have made me--completely crazy--or I'd never dreamed of doing such a stupid thing. My head must have been full of wheels because I don't remember anything I did or said, hardly.

MURRAY (_his pride taken down a peg by this--in a hurt tone_). Oh! Well--I haven't forgotten and I never will, Eileen. (_Then his face clears up as if a weight had been taken off his conscience._) Well--I rather thought you wouldn't take it seriously--afterwards. You were all up in the air that night. And you never mentioned it in your letters----

EILEEN (_pleadingly_). Don't talk about it! Forget it ever happened. It makes me feel--(_with a half-hysterical laugh_)--like a fool!

MURRAY (_worried_). All right, Eileen. I won't. Don't get worked up over nothing. That isn't resting, you know. (_Looking down at her closed eyes--solicitously._) Perhaps all my talking has tired you out? Do you feel done up? Why don't you try and take a nap now?

EILEEN (_dully_). Yes, I'd like to sleep.

MURRAY (_clasps her hands gently_). I'll leave you then, I'll drop back to say good-bye and stay awhile before I go. I won't leave until the last train. (_As she doesn't answer._) Do you hear, Eileen?

EILEEN (_weakly_). Yes. You'll come back--to say good-bye.

MURRAY. Yes. I'll be back sure.

(_He presses her hand and after a kindly glance of sympathy down
at her face, tiptoes to the door and goes into the room, shutting
the door behind him. When she hears the door shut Eileen
struggles up in bed and stretches her arms after him with an
agonised sob "Stephen!" She hides her face in her hands and sobs
brokenly._ Murray _walks across to the hall door and is about to
go out when the door is opened and_ Miss Gilpin _enters._)

MISS GILPIN (_hurriedly_). How do you do, Mr. Murray. Doctor Stanton just told me you were here.

MURRAY (_as they shake hands--smiling_). How are you, Miss Gilpin?

MISS GILPIN. He said he'd examined you, and that you were O.K. I'm glad. (_Glancing at him keenly._) You've been talking to Eileen?

MURRAY. Just left her this second. She wanted to sleep for a while.