Chapter II: Act I: , Scene I

A library in a city house. A dining-room opens beyond a portière.
The dinner-table is set. The library is furnished in red leather
and dark wood. Books run to the ceiling. The carpet is
indeterminate in tone. The heavy curtains are of a rich, dark
crimson. A window is to be seen. The library is littered a little
with the signs of feminine occupation. At one of the tables sits
Mrs. Thorne. She is a young and beautiful woman, of stately
presence and modest, high-bred manner. She is well-dressed--but not
over-dressed--in a tea-gown such as a lady might wear in her own
home when guests are not expected. The dress is cream-white; it
falls open over a crimson skirt. The lamps are shaded with lace of
red or of white. One with a white shade is on the table by which
she sits. Her sewing materials are lying about, among books and
magazines half-cut. She tries to sew upon a little boy’s lace
collar, but throws her work down restlessly. Her face wears a
troubled expression.

(_She rises and crosses the room nervously; goes to the window, and stands between the long lace curtains, looking out. She consults her watch; speaks._)

MRS. THORNE. It is not so very late! Hardly past six o’clock yet. What can be the matter with me? I must not become a worrier. A doctor’s wife can never afford to be that.

_Enter_ MAGGIE.

MAGGIE. Shall I serve dinner, ma’am?

MRS. THORNE. The Doctor has not come, Maggie. We must wait--Jane will be careful not to burn the soup.

(_Rises and looks again restlessly out of the window; calls_:)

Maggie!

MAGGIE. Ma’am?

MRS. THORNE. When you went up to light the Doctor’s candles, how did Laddie seem? Did Molly say?

MAGGIE. Just the same, she said. He does seem sort of miser’ble.

[_Exit_ MAGGIE.

MRS. THORNE. (_takes up a magazine and tries, in vain, to read; sighs, and lays it down; takes up the little lace collar and tries to sew; lays that down; rises_). I’ll run up again and look at the child for myself.

_Enter_ MAGGIE.

MAGGIE. Mrs. Fayth, ma’am.

_Enter_ MRS. FAYTH (_pale, sweet-faced, delicate, with the languorous step of the half-cured invalid. She is in carriage dress, with a long, dove-colored opera cape--rich, but plain in design. She throws off the cape at once_).

[_Exit_ MAGGIE.

MRS. THORNE (_warmly embracing her friend_). Why, Mary Fayth! _You?_ At this time of night!

MRS. FAYTH. Yes. I--Mary Fayth--isn’t it wonderful? I haven’t been out after sundown before for six years.... Is the Doctor in?

MRS. THORNE. He hasn’t come yet. I am waiting for him. We never can tell.

MRS. FAYTH. Doesn’t the dinner get cold?

MRS. THORNE. The dinner is subject to chronic bronchitis and acute pneumonia.

MRS. FAYTH. (_laughs merrily_). Acute pneu-mo-nia is good.... You were always clever.

MRS. THORNE. But I don’t fret. A doctor’s wife can never do that.... Give me your cape, dear. You’ll wait for him.

MRS. FAYTH. I did want to surprise him. He would be so pleased. My husband calls me Doctor Thorne’s miracle. But never mind. I can’t wait for him. I’m on my way to the Hospital Fair.... Think of that! I’m to be let stay till half-past eight o’clock. Fred is to meet me there, and we’re to dine at the café with the crowd and see the tableaux.... Think of it!--like common, vulgar, healthy people. Isn’t it wonderful? To be half alive! I have been half dead so long! Kiss me, Helen.

MRS. THORNE. (_anxiously_). I hope you won’t pay for it to-morrow, dear. (_Kisses her affectionately._)

MRS. FAYTH (_cheerily_). Oh, I expect to be flat to-morrow. But it’s worth it--to go somewhere with one’s husband ... after six years. I’m going to the Fifteen Cent Museum next--when I get a little farther along--some big, noisy, healthy, shabby place. Fred has promised to take me. He dotes on the gorillas.... Well, I only ran in. The horses are getting cold. I must go. Give my love to the Doctor--Helen! I’m going to church when I get well. I want to hear the _Te Deum_.... It’s a good while since I did that. They won’t let me. They put it off till the last. Fred said I must begin with the Hospital Fair and work up through the gorillas to re-li-gious dis-si-pa-tion. The Doctor says I’m to get well in a sci-en-ti-fic manner; on the Law of Ev-o-lution. Poor dear Doctor! He doesn’t care about the _Te Deum_.--Helen, I wish your husband believed. He is so good--so kind. He ought to be a re-li-gious man.

MRS. THORNE (_sadly, with almost imperceptible bitterness_). He is a doctor.

MRS. FAYTH. He is so great, you see. He is almighty to so many miserable people.... I can understand that. His mind stops there. He is so strong, so powerful; he works the miracles himself.

MRS. THORNE. My husband has no time to study these questions, Mary. All his life is given up to science, you know. I thought--when we were first married--I could influence him in these ways. But a doctor’s wife learns better than that.

MRS. FAYTH. What he needs is to be half-dead. Then he would _have_ to believe. He is too much alive, poor Doctor.... It is such a joy to be alive, Helen! I thought I must run in and tell you.

MRS. THORNE (_smiling affectionately_). I’ll tell him to be sure and see you to-morrow. You’ll need it.

MRS. FAYTH. Well, Fred can tel-e-phone. I dare say I shall be sick enough. Good-by, dear--Helen? What ails _you_? You don’t look right to-night.

MRS. THORNE (_arousing_). Laddie doesn’t seem well at all. I can’t make Esmerald believe that anything ails him. But that’s the way, you know.... I am not allowed to be anxious. The mother of a doctor’s child can never be that.

MRS. FAYTH (_with quick sympathy_). Oh, I am so sorry! I know just how you feel--

MRS. THORNE. You never had a child, Mary.

MRS. FAYTH. But sick people understand everything. Oh, we know!

MRS. THORNE. Yes. I suppose you have so much time to think.

MRS. FAYTH. We have so much time to feel. (_Rises to leave._)

(MRS. THORNE _puts the opera cape over her friend’s shoulders_.)

MRS. FAYTH (_abruptly_). Helen, I was thinking to-day about Cleo. I don’t often.

MRS. THORNE (_pityingly_). Poor girl! I do, very often. She must have led a cruel life with her husband. And she was so young when he died! She really hated him--I think as much after he was dead as when he was alive.

MRS. FAYTH. She did not hate yours.

MRS. THORNE (_gravely_). She was a patient. I have nothing to say.

MRS. FAYTH. But of course she hardly made a secret of it, that she loved the Doctor--half wrongly, half rightly.

MRS. THORNE. Like the woman she was--half fiend, half angel--

MRS. FAYTH (_interrupting_). There are people who still talk about her; they are equally divided whether she died of love or morphine. It is said she had the opium habit. It is three years ago to-day that she killed herself.

MRS. THORNE. I had forgotten.... Poor Cleo!

MRS. FAYTH. I’ve been thinking about her all day--I don’t know why. She never liked me very well--perhaps because I _didn’t_ love the Doctor; and so he could do so much more for me. You know how those things go.... And you never gave her the satisfaction of one hour’s jealousy?

MRS. THORNE (_peacefully_). How could I? I never had the materials.... But, as you say, these things are complicated. We never know where the end of the skein is.

MRS. FAYTH. I will send over to-morrow and see how Laddie is. Good-night--good-night.

MRS. THORNE (_kisses her warmly_). I wish you would stay--I wish you need not go. Don’t go! Mary--_don’t go_!

[_Exit_ MRS. FAYTH (_slowly, with a sweet, mysterious smile_).

(MRS. THORNE _relapses into her anxious attitude and manner. Moves to the window, and looks out again, between the curtains. While she stands there with her back to the door, suddenly and noisily striding in._)

_Enter_ DR. THORNE.

DR. THORNE (_at once_). Isn’t dinner ready?

MRS. THORNE (_turning delightedly_). Oh! At last!

DR. THORNE. Well. You might have met me, then.

MRS. THORNE. Why, I have been watching for you--and listening--till I’m half blind and deaf. I have been to the window--

DR. THORNE. Don’t complain. I hate a complaining woman.

MRS. THORNE (_has advanced towards him, and impulsively put up her arms! Drops them at this and turns sadly_). I did not know I was complaining, Esmerald.

DR. THORNE. Most people don’t know when they are disagreeable. (_He does not offer to kiss her; pulls off his overcoat nervously._) Isn’t dinner ready? I am starved out.

(MAGGIE _is seen in the dining-room hastily serving dinner_.)

MRS. THORNE (_ringing_). Maggie had orders to put it on as soon as she heard your wheels.... Yes. There! You poor, hungry fellow!

_Enter_ MAGGIE.

MAGGIE. Dinner is served, Mrs. Thorne.

DR. THORNE. I must run up and change my coat, first--no, I won’t. I haven’t time. I am driven to death. Come along, Helen. (_Strides out before her; then recalls himself from his discourtesy, and steps back._ DR. THORNE _is a tall, well-built, handsome man, of distinguished bearing, but with a slight limp; his face is disfigured by a frown, as he looks at his wife. He repeats_) I am driven to death! I haven’t time to call my soul my own.

MRS. THORNE (_archly_). I thought you hadn’t any soul, dear. Or I thought you thought you hadn’t.

DR. THORNE (_crossly_). Soul? Rubbish! It is more than I can do to manage bodies. Soul? Stuff! What have you got for dinner?

(_They seat themselves at the table._)

MRS. THORNE. You poor boy! You poor, tired, hungry fellow! I hope the dinner will please you? (_Timidly._)

DR. THORNE (_testily_). Really, I hadn’t time to come at all. I’ve got to go again in ten minutes. But I supposed you would worry if I didn’t show myself. It’s a foolish waste of time. I wish I hadn’t come.

MRS. THORNE (_speaking in a low, controlled, articulate voice_). You need not. On my account. _You need never come again._

DR. THORNE (_irritably_). It is easier to come than to know you sit here making yourself miserable because I don’t.

MRS. THORNE (_gently_). Have I ever fretted you about coming, Esmerald? I did not know it.

DR. THORNE. It would be easier if you did fret. I’d rather you’d say a thing than look it. Any man would.... This soup is burned!

MRS. THORNE. Too bad! I gave special orders to Jane--that is really too bad. Let me send it away.

DR. THORNE (_excitedly_). No, I’ve got to get down something. Bring on the rest--if there is anything fit to eat. I’m due at the Hospital in twenty-two minutes. Gazell is behaving like the devil. If I’m not to handle him, nobody can. The whole staff is afraid of him--everybody but me. We sha’n’t get the new ward built these two years if he carries the day to-night. I’ve got a consultation at Decker’s. The old lady is dying. It’s no use dragging a tired man out there; I can’t do her any good. But they will have it. I’m at the beck and call of every whim. I wish I’d had time to change my boots! My feet are wet. My head aches horribly. I had an enormous office--sixty people; forty here--twenty down-town--besides my calls. I’ve seen eighty sick people to-day. I was a fool to agree to that noon office hour.--I’ve lost ten thousand dollars in this panic. Brake telephoned me to get down to Stock Street to save what I could. I couldn’t get off.... I lost a patient this morning--that little girl at the Harrohart’s. She was a poor little scrofulous thing, but they are terribly cut up about it.--I wish you’d had a good, clear soup. I hate these opaque things.

MRS. THORNE. But last time we had consommé, you said--

DR. THORNE. I said! I said! Who cares what he _says_?

MRS. THORNE (_in a low voice_). That seems to be quite true.

DR. THORNE. What did you say? Do speak louder. I hate to hear women mumble their words.--I hope you have some roast beef; better than the last. You mustn’t let Parsnip cheat you. Quail? There’s no nourishment in quail for a man in my state-- (_Pushes away his plate crossly._) Well, I suppose I’ve got to eat something. I was a fool not to dine at the club.--The gas leaks. Can’t you have it attended to? Pudding? No. I see enough of spoon food in sick rooms. I might have eaten a good, hearty pie.

MRS. THORNE. But the last pie we had, you said--

DR. THORNE (_again_). I said! I said! What does it signify what a man _says_? How many times must I say that? Hurry up the coffee. I must swallow it, and go. I’ve got more than ten men could do.

MRS. THORNE (_gently, but with perceptible dignity_). It seems to be more than one woman can do--

DR. THORNE. What’s that? Do speak so I can hear you.--If you’re going to speak at all.

MRS. THORNE. I said it seems to be more than one woman can do to rest you.

DR. THORNE (_carelessly_). Do ring for a decent cup of coffee. I can’t drink this.

MRS. THORNE. Esmerald--

DR. THORNE (_crossly_). Oh, what? I can’t stop to talk. There! I’ve burned my tongue now. If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s going to a consultation with a burned tongue.

MRS. THORNE (_tenderly_). How tired you are, Esmerald! It even gets into your poor foot.--You limp more to-night. I was only going to say that I am sorry. I can’t _let_ you go without saying that.

DR. THORNE (_rising, and walking irritably through the rooms_). I can’t see that that helps it any. I am so tired I don’t want to be touched. (_Mrs. Thorne brings his overcoat. He repulses her._) Never mind my coat. I’ll put it on myself. Tell Joe--No. I left the horse standing; I don’t want Joe. I suppose Donna is uneasy by this time. She won’t stand at night--_She’s got to._ I’ll get that whim out of her.--Now don’t look that way! The horse is safe enough.

MRS. THORNE. I haven’t bothered you about the horse, have I? But I don’t feel--quite--easy. She is such a nervous creature, and so--

DR. THORNE (_imperiously_). Don’t you suppose I know how to drive? You’re always having opinions of your own against mine. There! I must be off.--Where’s the boy, Helen? Where’s Laddie?

MRS. THORNE (_gently_). Laddie isn’t just right, somehow, Esmerald. I hated to bother you, for you never think it’s anything. Molly is with him. I’ve been a little troubled about him. He has cried all the afternoon.

DR. THORNE. He cries because you coddle him! It is all nonsense, Helen. Nothing ails the child. I won’t encourage this sort of thing. I’ll see him when I come home. I can’t possibly wait--I am driven to death--for every little whim. (_Rushes towards the door, but pauses, irresolute._) I suppose I shall have to go up--if you’ve got this fixed idea in your head. I’ll take a look at him on the way out.

MRS. THORNE (_more gently; without reproach, but regarding him steadily_). Good-by, Esmerald.

DR. THORNE. Oh, bother!--I can’t stop for fooling, now.

MRS. THORNE (_with sudden change of manner, breaks down, and hides her face in her arms. She weeps quietly_). He has always kissed me good-by--before--ever since we have been married. He never, never missed before!

_Re-enter_ DR. THORNE. (_He holds the child in his arms, and strides in impetuously, still limping; lays_ LADDIE, _wrapped in a silk robe, upon the sofa. Tries to make the child sit up; but the little fellow languidly falls back upon the pillows._)

(MRS. THORNE _moves quickly over, and supports the child_.)

DR. THORNE. Helen, I must have an end to this nonsense! Nothing ails Laddie. He is only a trifle feverish, with a little toothache--possibly there’s a slight cold. The child should be out of the nursery. He will sleep better for the change. Let him stay awhile--and don’t make a fool of yourself over him. It really is very unpleasant to me that you make such a fuss every time he is ailing. If you had married a green grocer, it might have been pardonable. Pray remember that you have married a physician who understands his business, and do leave me to manage it.... There! (_Consults his watch._) I’m eight minutes behindhand already, all for this senseless anxiety of yours. It’s a pity you can’t trust me, like other men’s wives. I wish I had married a woman with a little wifely spirit ... or else not married at all.

[_Exit_ DR. THORNE. (_He does not bid his wife good-by. At the threshold of the door he seems to hesitate, makes as if he would turn back, but goes out._)

MRS. THORNE. Oh-h-h me! (_Utters one long, low cry; she does not speak any words. She releases her hold of_ LADDIE, _who drops back sleepily upon the sofa pillow. She seems to forget the child. She stands still, in the middle of the library, with her face towards the window; her hands are crossed before her, and clenched tightly together. A solemn expression grows upon her face. Her tears dry upon her cheeks. Her eyes widen and darken. Her mouth quivers pitifully. Still she does not speak. She moves slowly to the window, and draws the curtains back. She stands there looking out; she shades her eyes with her hand. The hand trembles._)

THE CHILD (_cries_). Mamma! Mamma!

MRS. THORNE (_does not respond to the child. She moans_). Esmerald!--Es--mer--ald!

END OF SCENE I.

SCENE II.

A dwelling street in the city, seen in an almost deserted condition. The time is early evening. The wreck of a buggy lies crushed against a curbstone; the traces are broken, the horse having released herself and disappeared. The wreck lies in shadow, and the prostrate form of a man is but dimly discerned. After a few moments of suspense and silence, slowly crawling to his feet,

_Arises_ DR. THORNE. (_He is dressed for driving, as when he left home; his overcoat disarranged, muddy, and torn; his hat gone; his face has a singular pallor, and his whole appearance is agitated. As he rises, he throws a carriage robe back over the spot where he had been lying. He speaks._)

DR. THORNE. That dastardly brute has done it, now! I’ll sell Donna for this.--It will play the mischief with that old injury. I shall exchange an interesting limp for crutches, now.--Hil-loa! (_Walks to and fro with perfect ease._) The shock has acted like a battery on the nerve centres. Instead of a broken neck I have a cured leg. I’m a lucky fellow--as usual. (_Laughs lightly; turns to examine the condition of the ruined buggy; suddenly looks confused, and puts his hand to his head._) Curious cerebral symptoms I have! Queer, there isn’t a crowd round. They must have missed the trail when Donna bolted. She’ll be at the stable by this time.--She won’t go home. Helen won’t know.... I shouldn’t like to be the man that had to tell Helen!... I must get to her--I must get home as soon as I’ve been to the Hospital. I’m afraid I was a little short with Helen. I wish-- (_Presses both hands to his temples as if to command himself; looks more and more bewildered._) I must have been pretty well stunned--seems to me there was a collision. I ran down somebody. It was a landau--we crashed--I saw it overturn--there were people in it I knew--patients.... Who?... _Who?_ (_Stamps the pavement peremptorily, and impatiently strikes his own head._) Who was it?--Horrible! The brain cells do not obey me--_me!_ (_Walks about frenziedly._) ... Ach--ch! It is worse to remember than to forget. I have it now--the sweetest woman of them all--Helen’s friend--the gentlest, the most obedient, most trustful, the bravest patient I ever had--Mrs. Fayth. I saw her face as the carriage went over.... She stretched out her hands, and said: “Doctor!” It was Mary Fayth. (_His face falls into his hands. For a moment he sinks down on the wreck of the buggy; but springs up._) Now that accounts for it.--The crowd are all there. The accident was so bad nobody has thought of me. _She_ is the victim. _I_ have escaped. Dead or alive, she is done for. She never could recover from a shock like that. I must go and find her. I must find Mrs. Fayth. (_Starts and hurriedly walks down the street, peering everywhere._)

[_Exit_ DR. THORNE.

(_In his absence no person passes the street._)

_Re-enter_ DR. THORNE.

Strange! How strange! I cannot find her. I cannot find anything--nor anybody that a man would naturally meet under such circumstances. Not a trace of the accident--yet I’m _as sure of it as I am that I’m alive_. (_Pronounces these words slowly, and paces the sidewalk, irresolute._) It all came from my being overdue at the Hospital. I suppose I did drive Donna pretty fast. I wonder if I struck her? I am always in such an infernal hurry--I never have had time to live. _I am driven to death._ (_He says the last five words, not impatiently, but with a certain solemn deliberation._) I must go at once to Mrs. Fayth’s house. They must have carried Mary there--I wish I could spare time to see Helen!--I’ll go right home as soon as I’ve been to Fayth’s. Odd! How these brain symptoms last. I must have had quite a blow. I don’t--I can’t--it is mortifying to feel so confused.

[_Exit_ DR. THORNE.

(_In his absence the street remains deserted._)

_Re-enter_ DR. THORNE.

_Enter behind him a tall_ Woman. (_She is wrapped in a long ash-colored veil, or mantle, beneath which shows a gleaming gown of flame-color. She follows_ DR. THORNE _silently. She keeps at a distance from him. Her step is a gliding, stealthy one. The_ Woman _does not speak_.)

DR. THORNE. There must be serious cerebral congestion. I cannot find the street. I cannot find Fayth’s house. What part of this bewitched town am I in? I have lost my way--I, Esmerald Thorne, with a clientele of twenty years from end to end of the city--I cannot find my way.

_Enter a_ Suburban, _a_ Loafer, _and a_ Priest. (_The_ Woman _draws her veil, and looks solemnly at_ DR. THORNE _as she passes. Her face is pale and wretched, but possesses singular beauty._)

[_Exit the_ Woman.

(DR. THORNE _does not notice the_ Woman.)

(_The_ Loafer _leans against a post. He stares stupidly at the wreck._)

(_The_ Priest _walks slowly, reciting an Ave_.)

(_The_ Suburban _hurries on, making a wide circle to avoid the ruins of the carriage_.)

DR. THORNE (_addressing the_ Suburban). Can you tell me?--Here! Hold on a minute! Man, can’t you answer a civil question? Will you tell me--

THE SUBURBAN (_pays no attention to_ DR. THORNE, _but hurries on. Consults his watch; speaks._) I shall lose my train!

[_Exit_ Suburban, _running_.

DR. THORNE (_with puzzled impatience, addressing the_ Loafer). Here!--You! Why, it’s Jerry! Just tell me, will you, Jerry, where the accident was, and how much was the lady hurt?

(_The_ Loafer _stares stupidly at_ DR. THORNE, _but makes no answer_.)

[_Exit_ Loafer.

DR. THORNE (_with trouble on his face, more gently addresses the_ Priest, _whom he slightly touches on the arm_). Sir!--Oh, Father Sullivan! Look here, Father! I’m ashamed to confess, I have lost my way. Would you direct me to the house of the well-known merchant, Frederick Fayth? I am due there on an urgent professional errand, and--I cannot explain the phenomenon--but I have lost my way!

(_The_ Priest _repeats an Ave under his breath. He looks_ DR. THORNE _full in the face, but does not reply_.)

DR. THORNE. And will you be so kind as to tell me whether you have heard of a carriage accident down-town--and how much was the lady hurt? Did you--

PRIEST(_looks blindly over_ DR. THORNE’S _head; mutters_). Nay--Nay. I see nothing. (_He crosses himself_). Ave Sanctissima! Ora pro nobis! (_He lifts his arms and, with a troubled and confused expression, makes the sign of the cross in the air over_ DR. THORNE. _Priest passes on._)

DR. THORNE (_gently_). Thank you, Father.

[_Exit_ Priest.

DR. THORNE (_stands sunken in thought for a few moments; suddenly starts and knots his hands together, then separates them with the motion of one blind or of one feeling his way in the dark_). I must see Helen! I must go to Helen!--Helen! _Helen!_

(_Sudden darkness settles. When it passes, the wreck of the buggy is removed._)

_Enter_ DR. THORNE. (_Walks rapidly and perplexedly, still with the manner of a man who has lost his way._)

[_Exit._

_Re-enter._

[_Exit._

_Re-enter_ (_speaks_).

I must get home. I _will_ get home. I _will see_ Helen! (_Stops sharply, as if smitten by an unseen force; cannot take another step; contends, as if with an invisible power; droops, as if vanquished; turns, and retraces his way; his head hangs to his breast. He speaks._) _What_ thwarts me from my home? _Who_ constrains me from my wife? (_Lifts his face angrily to the sky._) Is this hypnotism? (_Laughs sarcastically._) Am I an infant--or a maniac? It must be anæsthesia passing off. Perhaps I was etherized by some blank fool after that shock.--The accident! That is it, of course, of course! It is the cerebral concussion--a simple case.... I shouldn’t like this to get out. I believe I’ll go into my office--if I can find my office--and wait till this passes off. It is a perfectly simple case. (_Walks feverishly up and down the street, searching for his own office; mutters._) Ever since I yielded to that demand for a noon office hour downtown for business men--it has crowded me without mercy. If they hadn’t been my old patients, I wouldn’t have succumbed to it. It’s just another strand in the whiplash that has driven me to death. Well (_draws a long breath_)--I seem to be out of sorts to-night. I shall get over all this nonsense when I see Helen. Helen will set me right. _Helen will make a live man of me again._

END OF SCENE II.

SCENE III.

The interior of a down-town office. DR. THORNE is seen in the consulting room; the door is closed into the reception room. One gas-jet burns over the desk; patient’s chair and physician’s chair are seen in the usual places; the desk is in order for the night; a movable telephone, of the kind in use in offices, stands upon the desk.

DR. THORNE (_throws himself heavily into his revolving chair_). What the devil am I here for? (_Violently. The light grows dim as he says this._) Why in--why in the name of all the laws of Nature cannot I get home? (_After a pause, brokenly._) Well--well! It’s something to be here; to get out of the street--in out of the night--it’s a good deal. I’d begun to understand how outcasts feel--felons, apparitions, fugitives. In the name of the laws of mystery, thank Heaven for so much! (_The light brightens. It reveals his face, which is haggard and pinched. He pushes his case books about, aimlessly. Suddenly his hand hits the receiver of the telephone. He springs and cries out_:) The telephone! The telephone! I must have gone stark mad not to think of it.--See! I’m not a drinking man, am I? (_Puts his hand to his head._) No. I do not drink. Helen would not like to have me.--No. And I’ve been all these hours without telephoning to Helen. She’ll think I did it on purpose--poor Helen--because of the words I said. _If a man could slay the words he says...._ They harry me--like ghosts. (_Rings the telephone violently._) Central? 48.4--48.4, I say. Why don’t you give me 48.4? I tell you I’m in a hurry. 48.4! And be quick with it! (_Rings again._) Why in--why don’t you attend to your business there? It is Dr. Thorne--Dr. Esmerald Thorne. My errand is most urgent. Give me my home, and make short work of it. 48.4! Do you hear? (_Rings again._)

(A MAN’S VOICE FROM THE EXCHANGE _comes faintly over the wire, reverberating through the transmitter, so as to be audible at a distance from the instrument_.) Why don’t you speak? We cannot make out a word you say.

DR. THORNE (_rings again, wildly_). I tell you I want my home--48.4! I must speak to my wife. Give me 48.4--Helen? Helen!

VOICE FROM THE TELEPHONE. Stop ringing your bell if you can’t use your tongue. Put your mouth close to the transmitter. Are you drunk? Or are you dead?

DR. THORNE (_still ringing_). I will report you for this. It shall cost you your place. 48.4, I say. Give me my house. I will not submit to this. Give me 48.4!

(_The telephone ceases to reply._)

DR. THORNE (_rises, hangs up the receiver, and paces the office tempestuously; speaks_). The very forces of Nature are in league against me.... My own nervous system--the night--the atmosphere--electricity--they are all gone foes to me. They are serried like an army between myself and her. Helen will be--Helen will suffer--oh, poor girl!

(_The telephone call bell rings suddenly._)

DR. THORNE (_leaping to the receiver_). Who calls? I am here. Who wants Dr. Thorne? (_He snatches the receiver greedily to his ear; listens a moment; cries wildly_:) Oh, Helen! Is that you, dear? Speak louder, darling.... Yes, I’m here--at my office down-town. I’ll be home soon. Don’t be frightened--but I met with a trifling accident. Helen? Helen! What’s the trouble? Don’t you hear me, Helen?

WOMAN’S VOICE FROM THE TELEPHONE. Is my husband there? Esmerald! Are you there?

DR. THORNE. Why, Helen! Don’t you hear me? What does ail this cursed telephone? Central! Give me a decent wire. My wife can’t hear a word I say.... Helen? I’m not at all hurt--only shaken up a little. I’ll get back just as soon as--_Helen? Helen!_

WOMAN’S VOICE FROM THE TRANSMITTER. Central? I cannot find my husband at his office. Please give me the Hospital.--I must communicate with my husband.

(VOICE FROM THE TRANSMITTER _dies away_.)

DR. THORNE (_rings madly_). Central, you’ve cut me off! You’ve cut me off from my home. Give me 48.4 again. Helen?--Helen! Can’t you hear me? Don’t you understand me, Helen? Oh, I could hear you--your own dear voice, my girl! I wanted to tell you--I can’t wait till I see you to say--Helen? She does not hear me.--Helen!

(_The transmitter is silent._)

(DR. THORNE _lays the receiver down. He hides his face in his hands._)

END OF SCENE III.

SCENE IV.

Morning in a business street down-town. Many people are passing, among them the PRIEST, the SUBURBAN, and the LOAFER. A crowd thickens before the bulletin boards of “The Earth,” a prominent daily newspaper. At the extreme left are the headquarters of “The Universe,” a rival paper. Not far from “The Earth” building can be seen the modest sign of the eminent physician:--

+------------------------------------+ | DR. ESMERALD THORNE. | | OFFICE HOUR 12-1 O’CLOCK. | +------------------------------------+

(_A door opens within._ DR. THORNE _appears in the entrance to the corridor_.)

_Enter_ DR. THORNE (_upon the sidewalk. Standing irresolute, he seems to wince from the daylight and the morning air; he mutters_).

Now it is light, I can find my way to Helen. (_Steps slowly along the sidewalk; shades his eyes from the sun. He wears no hat, and his pallor has increased. No person addresses him._)

(_On the bulletin boards of_ “The Earth” _can be seen the following announcement_:

WAR WITH THE ISLAND OF BORNEO.
BORNEO LAYS DOWN HER ULTIMATUM.
THE PRESIDENT HAS CALLED FOR VOLUNTEERS.
PANIC IN STOCK STREET.
SANTA MA FALLEN 30 POINTS SINCE YESTERDAY.
DISSENSION AT THE CITY HOSPITAL.
RUMORS OF ACCIDENT AT THE WEST END.)

_Enter_ DR. GAZELL (_a short, blond, thick-set, suave man of middle age_) _and_ DR. CARVER (_a very young man; the latter reading a fresh copy of_ “The Universe”).

DR. GAZELL (_with emotion_). Shocking! Shocking! I cannot express--I am overcome!

DR. CARVER (_without emotion_). Yes. It is very sad. You’ll be apt to find these things in “The Universe” before “The Earth” gets them. I wonder if he--

DR. GAZELL. No. Never. He was above reproach. A hard man to get along with--willful, but above reproach. I am greatly shocked!

DR. THORNE (_stepping out into the crowd_). Ah, Gazell! Good-morning. I am--I am very glad to see you, Dr. Gazell (_pathetically_).

(DR. GAZELL _continues reading his paper. He does not look up._)

DR. THORNE (_with embarrassment_). Gazell! (_He moves directly in front of the office of_ “The Earth.” _At that moment a new bulletin flashes in large letters, over the heads of the crowd, these words_:--

RUMOR CONFIRMED.
SHOCKING ACCIDENT!
TERRIBLE TRAGEDY.
RUNAWAY AT THE WEST END.
MRS. FREDERICK FAYTH DANGEROUSLY HURT.
THE EMINENT AND POPULAR PHYSICIAN,
DR. ESMERALD THORNE,
KILLED INSTANTLY.)

(DR. THORNE _reads, and reels; stares about him appealingly._)

(_Murmurs are heard from the crowd._)

_Enter two_ Office Girls.

(FIRST OFFICE GIRL _starts, and points to the bulletin_.)

SECOND OFFICE GIRL. Oh! Oh! (_She bursts into tears._)

SUBURBAN. Too bad! He was a clever fellow. He saved my little boy’s life last summer.

LOAFER. He took a t’orn out av me eye onct and divil a cint did he charrge for ’t.

PRIEST. Pater Noster in Cœlo--gone without absolution, poor soul! An attractive heretic--merciful to the poor of my parish.

DR. GAZELL. He drove too fast a horse. And he drove the horse too fast. I always told him so. But I am greatly agitated by this!

DR. CARVER (_reading aloud_). Now “The Universe” had it already in type: “Dr. Thorne was dragged for some distance before the horse broke free. He was found near the buggy, which was a wreck. The robe was over him, and his face was hidden. Life was extinct when he was discovered, which was not for an unaccountably long time. His watch had stopped at five minutes past seven o’clock. He was not immediately identified. By some unpardonable blunder the body of the distinguished and favorite physician was taken to the morgue.”

DR. GAZELL. That accounts for it.

DR. CARVER (_reads on_). “It was not until nearly midnight that the mistake was discovered. A message was dispatched to the elegant residence of the popular doctor. Mrs. Thorne is a young and beautiful woman, on whom, with their only child, an infant son, this blow falls with uncommon cruelty.”

DR. THORNE (_utters a long, heartrending moan. But no person hears the sound. He stretches out his hands. The crowd shrinks from but does not see him. Staring at the bulletin, he stands apart. He raises his clenched right hand in the air; speaks_). It is a dastardly lie! It is one of those cursed canards manufactured to harass men--and--break the hearts of women. God!--She has seen it by this time. Let me pass! Let me go to her! You may kill _her_ with this, but you can’t kill me. Gentlemen, make way for me! _I am Dr. Thorne!_

(_The crowd pays no attention to this outcry._)

_Enter_ NEWSBOY (_shrilly piping_).

NEWSBOY. “Earth!” “Universe!” Latest--8.30. All about the accident! Dr. Thorne killed instantly--Mrs. Fayth still breathin’--“Earth,” sir? Two cents, sir.

(DR. THORNE _clutches the newsboy by the arm, and would tear the paper from him_. DR. THORNE’S _fingers grope over it--touch it. He tries several times to obtain it. The paper remains in the hands of the boy._)

_Enter_ BRAKE, _the broker_.

(DR. THORNE _staggers against_ BRAKE, _who is reading_ “The Universe.”)

[_Exit the_ Suburban, _consulting his watch_.

DR. THORNE (_more gently; addresses the loafer_). Jerry! Is that you, Jerry! Tell these gentlemen, will you, that I am Dr. Thorne? I should take it--kindly--of you, Jerry.

LOAFER (_stares; mutters_). Divil a cint did he charrge me for ’t.

DR. THORNE (_addresses the broker_). Oh, Brake! I am glad to see you! I couldn’t get down to save my Santa Ma. But _that_ is of no consequence.... I’ve been hurt--an accident--and I am confused. I am suffering from hallucinations. They have got beyond my control. I wonder if you wouldn’t call a cab for me? I thought Dr. Gazell would take me home in his carriage,--but he didn’t seem to hear me when I spoke to him. If you’ll call a cab, I’ll get home--to my wife.

[_Exeunt_ DR. GAZELL, DR. CARVER, _and_ BRAKE, _without replying_.

(DR. THORNE _watches them with a piteous expression; stands back and apart from the crowd_.)

END OF ACT I.