Chapter III: Act II

SCENE:--The same as last, except that the room is tidied, the window doors at back are closed, vases of flowers stand on the tables from which the papers, &c., have been removed and replaced by sundry drawing-room ornaments. It is the afternoon of the following day.

MRS GRACE TYRRELL opens the door at right for LADY SHRULE, a plain, fashionable-looking woman of about five-and-thirty, in a riding habit and straw hat which fit her to perfection. She enters somewhat jauntily.

GR. (_following her_). I thought we might as well sit here after lunch instead of in the drawing-room. I know Lord Shrule is not very fond of going upstairs.

LADY S. No; my husband, dear old man, finds it trying after his attack of gout. Well, upon my word, Grace, this is quite a pretty room. What a pity not to turn all these frowzy books out of it.

GR. (_sighing_). Oh, of course, it ought to be a drawing-room.

LADY S. Then why don’t you make it one?

GR. My goodness, Lilian, you know I can do nothing in this house.

LADY S. I know you have a wretched time of it, dear, with that husband of yours. Still I cannot help thinking that if, at the beginning, you had really tried, you might have made him more amenable.

GR. That sounds very easy. You have no idea what he is.

LADY S. Oh, nonsense, Grace. Most men have notions before they marry: but they are soon brought to their senses, if their wives are clever. And you are clever: so that is why I say you cannot have tried.

GR. I have tried everything, Lilian, although you won’t believe it.

LADY S. What--everything?

GR. Yes.

LADY S. There is one thing I am sure you have never tried.

GR. (_eagerly_). What is that?

LADY S. Flattery.

GR. Lilian, don’t be silly. As if there was anything I could flatter him about.

LADY S. Well, you know, in spite of all, people _do_ say he is clever.

GR. (_impatiently_). I must say I have never found him so.

LADY S. I confess I never have either. But then I don’t see very much of him. To tell you the truth he always seemed to me odd and ridiculous: for he never cared for society, never went to races, dances, or tennis parties, you know, like other people. Still it might be worth your while to do as I advised. You can hardly imagine what effect it has even on the most unpromising men.

GR. That may be, that may be, when they are really superior to one; but to flatter him--ugh--never (_half to herself as she turns away_). Besides it is impossible after yesterday.

LADY S. (_pricking up her ears_). Yesterday? What happened yesterday, Grace?

[_Grace is silent._

LADY S. (_goes up to her_). What is the matter, dear?

GR. (_petulantly_). Oh, nothing, Lilian. I did not mean you to hear.

LADY S. Oh, but there _is_ something, Grace. I see it by your troubled look. He must have done something dreadful yesterday. Perhaps I might be of help to you. What was it?

GR. Well this. Yesterday I discovered that he has embarked on a new folly which must end in our ruin; and when I tried to remonstrate with him he would not listen to a word I said.--Just think, he--he----

LADY S. He must be a great savage. But what else can you expect from the life he leads?

GR. Quite true. You are perfectly right, Lilian.

LADY S. What is this new folly you say he has embarked on, Grace?

GR. Oh, a monstrous plan of draining another immense morass. As if our means were not already sufficiently crippled by his extravagance in this way.

LADY S. I should think so, indeed. What a misfortune for you that you ever married him.

GR. Yes--what a misfortune!

LADY S. I have always wondered why you did, Grace. You know you never cared for him. How, indeed, could any girl care for such a man--least of all the Grace Desmond I remember in those days, when we used to meet at every party and ball in the county.

GR. Yes, yes, Lilian, I know that. But you see he was a good match at the time; and I thought I would be able to make him sensible, and to lead him;--for he _was_ so much in love with me.

LADY S. Was he ever really, do you think?

GR. Oh, I think so: he must have been at first; for then it seemed to me that I used to monopolise all his attention.

LADY S. How came he to change? Some other woman, I suppose--

GR. No--no. There is no one else. I am sure of that. I have watched him closely now for some years.

LADY S. Nonsense, dear--just as if _you_ could watch him. I tell you it is impossible that a man can exist without loving some woman.

GR. Yes--I know we women all think so. But this is quite a case in itself. He is such a queer creature. You cannot imagine how strange his ideas are. (_With a certain relief and confidence._) Oh, no--there is no one else; and it is very wicked of you, Lilian, to suggest such a thing.

LADY S. (_a little nettled_). How then, do you account for his behaviour?

GR. I cannot think, for I have always been most amiable to him and patient with his eccentricities, which are dreadfully irritating. Gracious, I remember when he first began to weary me with his strange ideas that I could not make head or tail of. (So you may be sure, dear, they were sheer nonsense.) It was then, when I tried to draw him from such folly, and to centre his interest upon myself, that I noticed a curious change in him. It seemed all at once that I became as nothing to him--that what he loved was something mysterious--beyond me.

LADY S. Ah, he never loved you, Grace. I am certain, now, he never did.

GR. Oh, yes, he must have at first. You should have seen how I made him do almost anything for me. Why, he settled down, entertained, shot, even farmed. Imagine that for him.

LADY S. (_composedly_). Well--what was the result? What about the farming, for instance?

GR. (_crestfallen_). Indeed--the only result of the farming has been--the heather field.

LADY S. Ah, Grace, for all you made him do, you were not able to make him give up the heather field--my poor Grace!

GR. (_with violent emotion_). Oh, that folly! That abominable work! With the beginning of it I noticed his first change towards me.

LADY S. He never loved you, Grace. He is a terrible man. These Tyrrells were always a queer lot. You know the father was very eccentric; and the mother--well, Shrule tells me she went quite out of her mind before she died, at the birth of the young brother. What kind is he, by the way? He is very good-looking, don’t you think?

GR. Oh, Miles is all right. He is a harmless creature,--wonderfully clever at college, I hear. He is certainly amiable, but vexes me occasionally with his foolish admiration for my husband.

LADY S. Yes, I can imagine how annoying that must be.

GR. Yes, and to have that fellow Ussher, too, dropping in to complete the mutual admiration society! Oh, I always disliked him.

LADY S. I don’t think much of him either, with his sad, lonely way of living there in that great place of his. I believe he has it filled with such strange things.

GR. Yes, books and hideous pictures. I have not been there for years. I avoid him as much as possible; for he was always my enemy, and does his best to destroy whatever influence I might have with my husband.

LADY S. My poor Grace, what a strange crew you have fallen among! This dreadful husband! So at last he is going selfishly to sacrifice you for the gratification of his theories and whims.

GR. (_with determination_). He shall not sacrifice me, Lilian. I am certain of that now.

LADY S. Why, dear, what are you thinking of?

GR. All those facts you have mentioned about the Tyrrells only confirm a suspicion that has haunted me for some time.

LADY S. (_with increasing curiosity_). What suspicion, Grace?

GR. That my husband is not in his right senses.

LADY S. Do you mean you think him mad?

GR. Yes--mad.

LADY S. Oh!

GR. Yes, Lilian; I feel there can be no doubt about it now. You know his monstrous extravagance, his wild manner of talking--and then what you tell me about his father and mother.--Oh, he must certainly be mad.

LADY S. I suppose you are right.

GR. Of course--that is what it is--poor man! Measures ought therefore to be taken at once to prevent him from ruining his family.

LADY S. What measures can you take, Grace?

GR. I don’t see why I should not commence a legal suit to deprive him of control over the property.

LADY S. But that would mean placing him under restraint, wouldn’t it?

GR. I suppose so, if necessary. All I know is that I am determined to prevent this new burden from being put on the estate.

LADY S. Wouldn’t it be well, Grace, if you were first to have medical advice as to the state of your husband’s mind?

GR. I have already thought of that, Lilian. I have been in communication with Doctor Dowling and Doctor Roche.

LADY S. What--really?

GR. Yes. I believe two doctors are required, are they not, in cases of this sort?

LADY S. I don’t know: but we can ask Shrule.

GR. Of course: he is sure to know. How lucky I have you both here.

LADY S. When do you think of sending for the doctors?

GR. Well, Lilian, the sooner the better, if this government loan is to be stopped. (_Hesitating_) Well, the fact is I--I have sent for them to-day.

LADY S. To-day?

GR. Yes. Was I not right?

LADY S. But your husband suspects nothing of this?

GR. Good heavens, no! Neither do the doctors as yet. No--I have sent for them upon the plea of their holding a consultation about Kit. As Doctor Roche has been attending him lately off and on for little attacks of feverishness and nausea, their visit will not look in any way suspicious. I will then take care they have conversation with my husband. You see?

LADY S. What energy and resource you have, dear, to be sure.

GR. Ah, when a woman is reduced to such desperate straits as I am at present, it sharpens her wits. But the doctors may arrive now at any moment, and as I must see and prepare them beforehand for this task, let us go out to the end of the shrubbery where we can meet them on their way.

LADY S. Very well--and you can bring Shrule to join in our consultation afterwards, when he comes from the dining-room.

GR. What a comfort, Lilian, to have you both to consult. (_Vehemently_) You must help me. I tell you I must succeed in this undertaking. It means the very existence of my child and me.

_CARDEN TYRRELL enters hastily at the back._

TYR. Oh, have you finished lunch so soon? How do you do, Lady Shrule? (_They shake hands_). I hope you will excuse my absence. I was very busy all the morning with the Board of Works inspector.

LADY S. Oh, not at all. Have you finished your business?

TYR. No--but I expect to by to-night. The inspector has gone in before me to lunch--so, with your permission, I will leave you to look after him.

LADY S. Of course, Mr Tyrrell--we will excuse you. Grace and I were just about to take a stroll around the garden. You will find Shrule in the dining-room.

[_Exeunt LADY SHRULE and MRS GRACE TYRRELL at back. CARDEN
TYRRELL gazes after them as they disappear in the
garden, then goes to writing table where he searches for
something which he cannot find, while he grumbles
indistinctly. He looks around the room with an
expression of annoyance at its altered condition, then
exit by door at right._

_Enter at back BARRY USSHER and KIT TYRRELL, a rather wild
though pensive-looking boy with short, fair hair, and
dressed in a sailor suit. He has a daisy chain swung
across his shoulder, and holds a bunch of wild flowers
in his hand._

KIT. (_dragging USSHER by the sleeve_). Come in, Barry, come in. I missed you yesterday. Have you brought me anything this time?

USS. I am afraid nothing this time, Kit. You see, when I left home I did not intend to come here; but on the road I met by chance Doctor Roche, who told me he had been sent for by your mother. So I thought I would just turn in, and see if anything was the matter. There is no one ill, is there?

KIT. No, of course not. They are only bringing him to bother me again. I have nothing the matter with me; and still he is always saying I must not eat this and I must not eat that.

USS. What a nasty old fellow!

KIT. Yes--isn’t he horrid? He says, too, I mustn’t lie on the grass. I suppose he’ll soon want to prevent me hunting for wild flowers.

USS. That _would_ be a privation, Kit. You love them so much, don’t you? What nice ones you have brought in to-day. Where did you get them--so late, too, in the year?

KIT. Oh, you can’t think how I had to search for them here and there through the long grass in the heather field. It is the only place now where any wild flowers are left. How I love being there with father.

USS. So you, Kit, have also caught the sickness of the heather field.

KIT. What is this sickness you are all saying I have? I tell you I am quite well. (_With impatience_) Oh, how I wish I were a man.

USS. Alas, are you not much better as you are? Why do you want to be a man?

KIT. Because then they could not prevent me doing what I like. I should be a sailor and find out what is beyond that great sea father and I are always looking at from the heather field.

USS. Be a sailor, Kit, and give up the wild flowers?

KIT. Oh, I forgot. But should I have to, do you think?

USS. I fear you could not gather flowers on the sea, except, perhaps, a few poor crushed ones, torn from its depths by the storms.

KIT. Then there _are_ some, after all?

USS. Yes--down under the sea grow numberless fair flowers whose leaves close softly around many a poor sailor.

KIT. (_dreamily_). What beautiful flowers!

USS. I hope you will never be such a sailor, Kit. No, you are far better as you are! Do not wish to be a man.

KIT. Why, Barry?

USS. Because you understand so many things now you never could then. How much nicer to be always a little wildflower elf! In the lives of dream children such as you it is beautiful to think of a heather field.

KIT. Oh, but can they prevent me from going there?

USS. They cannot. I will see that old Roche attempts no such tyranny.

KIT. Oh, thank you, Barry. How good you always are!

_LORD SHRULE, an elderly benevolent-looking man dressed in a
somewhat old-fashioned riding costume, MILES TYRRELL,
and CARDEN TYRRELL enter by the door at right._

LORD S. Now that the inspector has gone out again to his work, I must say, my dear Carden, I am astounded at hearing of this new expenditure you contemplate. I did not like to speak before him--Ah, Ussher, how do you do? (_To KIT_) And how is my little man?

KIT. (_holding out his hand_). Very well, thanks.

LORD S. That’s right, that’s right. I was saying, my dear Carden, your fresh project of expenditure fills me with amazement. Have you heard about it, Ussher?

USS. I have indeed.

LORD S. Well, does it not seem to you extremely imprudent--nay, reckless?

USS. Oh, you must not ask me, Lord Shrule. Carden seems determined. And, after all, he is the best judge of his own affairs.

TYR. Yes, Barry, that is just it.

LORD S. Come, come, Carden, you will not mind the advice of an old man who has a long experience in the management of land. Your father and I were always fast friends, and I naturally take a great interest in you and your family.

TYR. I know you have always been very kind, Lord Shrule. Forgive me if I have spoken hastily. I did not mean--

LORD S. Of course not, my dear Carden. I quite understand you. I fear indeed you must think it rather impertinent of your friends to interfere in your business. But then, as I have said, I consider myself privileged.

TYR. You may be quite sure, Lord Shrule, I could not take anything from you except in good part.

LORD S. I thought so. Well, let me implore of you, if only for the sake of your family, to desist. This is certainly the wildest scheme I ever heard of, and couldn’t pay, even if the drainage were to turn out a success.

TYR. But you forget it is necessary now that the drainage of the heather field falls into this land. I _must_ make a cutting for the water to get to the sea. And then, what is easier than to reclaim the land through which this cutting goes?

LORD S. My dear Carden, don’t mind the cutting--don’t mind the heather field. What you have only got to think of is to cease altogether from loading your estate with an ever-growing burden of debt. For goodness’ sake leave these works alone. If you continue them you will simply beggar yourself.

TYR. (_uneasily_). I do not see that at all. The work will be very remunerative. It will double the value of the estate.

LORD S. Oh, Carden, listen to me. I know well the nature of such works as you are carrying on. I have tried them myself--on a far smaller scale, of course. They never repay their expenditure.

TYR. That is a mere assertion unsupported by argument. On the other hand, I have excellent reasons why I should believe that what I am about to undertake must have the best results. Look at the rich pasture now in the heather field. And am I to suppose that I shall not have the same in the valley when it is reclaimed? Until you can prove logically that I am mistaken, I must continue those works, which I clearly see are so profitable. Am I not right, Barry?

USS. I have said I shall never again discourage you, Carden.

LORD S. Ussher, upon my word I thought you knew better. But I suppose it is useless remonstrating on these experiments, which amount with him to absolute mania.

_MRS GRACE TYRRELL enters at back._

GR. (_after bowing to USSHER_). Oh, Lord Shrule, we have been waiting for you in the garden. Won’t you come? I want to show you my little greenhouse. The plants you gave me are doing so well in it.

LORD S. I am delighted to hear you say so, Mrs Tyrrell. Let us go and see them. But I hope you will not make me walk much, as I have barely recovered from that last attack of gout, and can only get about as yet quietly on my pony. Let me see, I left my hat in the hall.

GR. We can go through there, just as well.

[_Exeunt LORD SHRULE and MRS GRACE TYRRELL by door at
right._

TYR. It is really too bad that I should be molested thus perpetually with unsolicited advice. All my acquaintances seem to consider it incumbent upon them to interfere in and direct my affairs just like their own. One would think I had no right to do anything. That old fellow, you know, means well; but it is very annoying to be taken to task by a person who has really no right to meddle. Ha!--it is too absurd indeed that I should have to defend what I have a perfect right to do.

MIL. I know it must be very trying, Carden.

TYR. I should think so, indeed. And I am not going to stand it any longer. I will live my life as I want, and will take dictation from nobody.

USS. But you must expect to be criticised, Carden. That is the penalty, you know, for attempting to do anything.

TYR. Oh, I don’t mind any amount of outside criticism--nor even the strictures of friends like Lord Shrule, as long as their remarks are not to my face. No, it is other criticism--nearer that leaves a sting.

MIL. Well, Carden, I am sure Barry and I are not in the habit of finding fault with you. At least we never mean to.

USS. Of that, at all events, I am certain.

TYR. No--not you two, kindest and best. It is even nearer home--this criticism and opposition--this hearing perpetually amidst the strain of labour, bitter and disheartening words. That is what is so unbearable.

MIL. Be patient with her, Carden. Grace cannot as yet understand. This is a period of trial. One day you will see her loyally helping and inspiring you.

TYR. (_impatiently_). Inspiring me! I wish, Miles, you would not use a sublime word in a vulgar sense. When you have more experience you will find that instead of inspiring they more often prevent us from doing anything.

MIL. Oh, Carden--how unlike you! That is more the style of the cynic philosopher, there--Barry. See how he is smiling. I am sure he regrets he missed saying such a thing himself instead.

USS. Well, really, Miles--

TYR. (_laughing_). Oh, you dear Miles. You were always the most wonderful body in the world for dispelling bitterness and gloom with that beautiful light you seem to carry about you! (_Hopefully_) Well, two friends such as you ought to compensate me for what I have to bear from others. Bah, I will not mind them. I will be merry while I work; and my work will be incessant, leaving no time for brooding over unpleasant things. And both of you will always be present with me, if difficulties should arise. Yes, with you I know I cannot suffer defeat from the rest.

_Enter at back MRS GRACE TYRRELL, DOCTOR DOWLING, a
thick-set man of about forty, dressed in a tweed suit,
and DOCTOR ROCHE, an elderly, lean and somewhat prim
man, wearing spectacles and black clothes. Looking a
little ill at ease, the DOCTORS exchange salutations
with TYRRELL, MILES, USSHER, and KIT._

KIT. Mother!

GR. Yes, my dear?

KIT. Who is that with Doctor Roche?

GR. Doctor Dowling.

KIT. Is he coming to see me too?

GR. Just to look at you, Kit. That’s all.

KIT. But I have nothing the matter with me, mother.

GR. Never mind--neither will hurt you--only save you from possible peril--oh, my own sweet boy. (_She kisses him._)

TYR. (_to GRACE_). You cannot think there was cause for summoning these two physicians.

GR. (_vaguely_). Cause?--well--I was a little anxious on the child’s account, and thought it best they should consult about him. But I expected to find you alone. (_She glances at USSHER_).

USS. (_taking the hint_). Carden, I must go. I hope there is nothing really the matter with Kit. He doesn’t look as if there was.

KIT. Oh, Barry, don’t go. You know you promised--

USS. Hush, Kit.

TYR. Yes, stay where you are, Barry. There is no reason for making such a mystery of this business. Besides, I must soon go out to the inspector, and we can walk together. (_To GRACE_) By the way, what has become of the Shrules?

GR. (_uneasily_). Oh, Lord Shrule had to return home suddenly about some matter of importance. They both desired me to say “good-bye” to you.

TYR. So much the better.--Well, doctors, I certainly cannot understand the necessity of this consultation. The boy seems to me perfectly well.

GR. No, I assure you, Doctor Dowling, he is not so. He is often ill from eating all sorts of unwholesome sweets. How do you find him looking to-day, Doctor Roche?

ROC. He appears healthier, on the whole, I think, Mrs Tyrrell. (_To KIT_) Come here, and let me look well at you, my little man. There, put out your tongue.

KIT. Ah, I suppose, Barry, I must now expect the worst.

USS. Never fear, Kit. They don’t look as if they meant to do much to you.

GR. (_suspiciously_). I am afraid, Mr Ussher, you spoil him as much as his father, and I shall get no good of him while you are here. You and Miles ought to take a walk. It would be so nice on this fine day, wouldn’t it? But won’t you return to dinner? Do return to dinner, Mr Ussher.

USS. No, thank you, Mrs Tyrrell, I regret I cannot. I shall be going now in a minute with Carden. Kit must not expect any countenance from me.

KIT. But I thought you said you would not let Doctor Roche--

USS. Now, Kit, you must do as you are told. Have I not said you needn’t fear?

[_The DOCTORS look at KIT, feel his pulse, talk together,
&c._

USS. (_aside to MILES_). Your sister-in-law seems particularly anxious to get rid of us.

MIL. (_aside to USSHER, with an enquiring look_). Do you really think so? I wonder why?

USS. (_aside to MILES_). I am not certain yet.

TYR. How needless this consultation is, to be sure. There is nothing the matter with the boy.

GR. You do well to say so--you, who are the chief cause of his illness.

TYR. I, the cause?

GR. Of course you are. He is sick at night after those long days when you keep him out fasting on the mountain, and then feed him with sweets at dinner afterwards. This must all cease.

KIT. Oh, mother, do not prevent me from going to the heather field. I don’t want these sweets--I was only sick once.

GR. Can you not see, Kit, that I am only acting for your good? (_Sadly_) It is I who fight for his interests, and he leaves me for his father.

TYR. Only sick once, and all this fuss for that! Never mind, Kit, you shall not be prevented. I will take care in future that you get plenty to eat and at proper times. So there will be no danger of sickness again.

KIT. Then you will not let anyone prevent me from going with you, father?

TYR. Ah, you see, Kit, I never could get on without _you_ in the heather field. We should feel so lonely--both of us, shouldn’t we?

[_GRACE looks significantly at the DOCTORS, who now begin to
observe TYRRELL closely._

KIT. Yes, father, dear.

USS. (_aside to MILES_). The doctors seem strangely inattentive now to Kit and his ailments.

MIL. (_aside to USSHER, with a puzzled expression_). So it seems. What do you think they mean?

USS. (_aside to MILES_). Wait. I have an uncomfortable suspicion. It is well we stayed here.

GR. Alas, the child’s health must be sacrificed like everything else, I suppose.

TYR. How sacrificed?

GR. Oh, to add zest to your infatuation for that mountain.

TYR. Nothing of the kind. If I had known he had ever been ill, I would have taken every precaution, in spite of my infatuation as you choose to call the interest I take in my work.

DOW. Is that your land work, Mr Tyrrell?

TYR. Yes.

DOW. You are an extensive reclaimer of waste land?

TYR. Yes; I fancy there are few in Ireland more extensive.

ROC. You are certainly most enterprising.

TYR. Ay--it is a grand work.

DOW. And you believe in the possibility of its paying?

TYR. Of course. Wait till you see the profits I shall make. With these I shall extend my works; and with the further profits I shall embark on such a scale of business as in time will enable me to start a company for buying up and reclaiming or reafforesting every inch of waste land in Ireland.

USS. That is truly a gigantic scheme, Carden. Look here, I must really be going; and your inspector, too, must be waiting for you. Let us be off. Come along.

TYR. Oh, wait a moment, Barry. I want to explain. I will go with you directly. (_To the DOCTORS_) With the far-reaching usefulness of my projects I must become a real benefactor to the country, and in a time, too, when so many quack remedies in the way of legislation are being offered to the public.

ROC. True, true. How very interesting.

DOW. Upon my word, most interesting.

TYR. Oh, the work is a glorious one. There is something creative about it--this changing the face of a whole country! None of the humdrum, barn-door work of ordinary farming, with its sordid accompaniment of the cattle fair! When from the ideal world of my books those people forced me to such a business, I was bound to find the extreme of its idealisation.

DOW. (_aside to DOCTOR ROCHE_). What the dickens does he mean by that?

ROC. You mean you have idealised farming, Mr Tyrrell?

TYR. Of course, what else? Do you think I could go on doing the dull drudgery they forced upon me? No--I considered how I could elevate it. I pondered and pondered and never rested, until at last there came to me the master-thought of the heather-field.

ROC. (_slowly nodding assent_). Oh,--indeed. Dear me.

TYR. (_with evident pleasure at the surprise he is creating_). Yes; was it not a discovery? And what contentment it brought after the previous life-drudgery. I felt like returning to my youth’s ideals in that free mountain air. Oh! there is magic in those mountain breezes!

DOW. All I know, sir, is, that the Faculty consider sea air blowing over a mountain bog to be the finest remedy in the world for bile or dyspepsia. (_He looks around him facetiously._)

TRY. (_with an expression of disgust_). So that is the only thought suggested to you by the ethereal mountain breeze! There are some people who can never recognize a beautiful meaning in anything.

DOW. Maybe so, Mr Tyrrell. (_As of struck with an idea_) Do you find any meaning yourself, though, in this mountain air?

TRY. (_disdainfully_). Do I? Why, of course I do. I find in it a medium between the beauty of the past and myself.

DOW. Indeed.

TRY. Yes; nature’s ethereal phonograph, as it might be, treasuring for my delight past ecstasies of sound. I hear in its waves those voices floating back to me from--

USS. (_with alarm, aside to MILES_). You must take your brother away at once.

DOW. What is that you are saying, Mr Tyrrell?

ROC. Voices--you don’t mean to say you hear voices?

TRY. I do mean to say it.

DOW. Whose voices do you hear?

TRY. Choristers singing of youth in an eternal sunrise!

ROC. But you must know that this is all imagination.

TRY. (_irritably_). Imagination--always imagination. How wearisome that word sounds to me. I tell you there is no such thing as imagination.

DOW. That is a bold statement, sir.

TRY. No--you either perceive or you don’t perceive. Therefore it vexes me, when I perceive anything, to be told that it is only imagination.

GR. Wouldn’t it be more accurate, then, to call it hallucination?

TYR. (_hastily to her_). That’s always how you enter into the spirit of my ideas.

DOW. You can hardly expect her to agree with them.

TYR. (_resignedly_). No--I suppose there must always be distortion of my meaning.

DOW. Then would you mind explaining your meaning?

ROC. You told us you hear voices?

TYR. Yes, of course.

ROC. Do you ever remember anything they say?

TYR. (_thinking_). Yes.

DOW. Well, would you let us know?

TYR. They keep telling me I am not what I am.

ROC. How very strange!

DOW. Humph! do they say anything else, sir?

TYR. They often call me back to my real life.

ROC. What do you mean by your real life?

TYR. That life before I wandered into this dream.

DOW. And so you think you are only dreaming now?

TYR. How can you tell that _you_ also are not now in a dream?

USS. Answer that, if you are able, doctor.

DOW. A man ought to know very well whether he is asleep or awake.

TYR. That is just it; and I know I am in a dream.

USS. (_impatiently_). Really, Carden, I don’t see what you gain by discussing your ideas with people who can neither understand nor sympathize with them. Come, come away. I cannot wait any longer.

TYR. (_rather dejected_). Yes, Barry, I suppose you are right. It was stupid of me. Let us go out. Good evening, doctors.

USS. (_to TYRRELL_). You walk on with Miles and Kit. I just remember I have something to consult Doctor Roche about.

MIL. Come, Carden.

[_Exeunt at back CARDEN, MILES, and KIT TYRRELL._

USS. (_very gravely_). Doctor Dowling and Doctor Roche, you were sent for by Mrs Tyrrell to-day to consult on a matter altogether different from the health of the little boy.

GR. (_defiantly_). Well, then, and if they were!

USS. Your husband fortunately suspects nothing; and I have warned Miles against saying anything to enlighten him.

GR. If you consider me in your power, you are greatly mistaken.

USS. (_austerely_). I consider nothing of the sort, Mrs Tyrrell. You have strangely misunderstood me.

GR. I don’t know. Anyhow, I have nothing to fear from you. The opinions of Doctor Dowling and Doctor Roche will ensure the success of the measures I have decided upon for the security of the child’s interests and mine.

USS. You seem very sure as to the conclusions these gentlemen are to arrive at.

GR. Well, they know all about my poor husband’s reckless expenditure, his inability to act like other people, his futile disputes with the tenantry, and to-day they have seen how he has conducted himself, and have heard him speak. I hardly think they can have any doubt as to the condition of his mind. What do you say, Doctor Dowling and Doctor Roche?

DOW. I am of opinion, ma’am, it is a case of dementia--but curable with proper treatment.

USS. Indeed. And what are your reasons for considering it dementia?

DOW. The general tenor, Mr Ussher, of the patient’s behaviour; his reckless expenditure of his means, as Mrs Tyrrell says; his queer deranged enthusiasm; and, above all, his talk about hearing voices. There is no more common sign of insanity than for persons to believe that they hear voices.

ROC. Quite so. That is by far the most serious symptom in the case.

USS. But surely you must see that a highly-gifted man like Carden Tyrrell is not to be judged by your everyday rules. These voices you speak of he heard long ago in happier days. They are only memories made vivid by the force of imagination. Why, he told you as much. Did he not?

DOW. That was not the impression conveyed to me.

USS. Doctor Roche, you cannot agree with this, I am sure.

ROC. Well, really, Mr Ussher, I fear I must--that is to say, with certain reservations. Our responsibility in certifying to madness is no doubt grave; but then, on the other hand, we would incur a graver responsibility if, by our indulgence, the patient afterwards were to harm himself or anyone else.

GR. If he is not restrained he will surely bring the child and me to irreparable ruin. You see he has almost done so already. Oh, think of that, Doctor Roche. You know he is not fit to have the control of anything.

ROC. I know there might be some doubt as to the question of madness, if we had nothing more to go upon than these extravagant land improvements of his.

USS. (_eagerly_). Yes.

ROC. But then I am confronted by this unpleasant symptom of his hearing voices that have no existence--a most common sign, as you say rightly, Dowling, of insanity.

USS. Did not Joan of Arc declare she heard voices calling on her to accomplish a work which proved to be one of the most wonderful and practical in history? Was not Socrates firmly convinced that he was in the habit of receiving admonitions from his dæmon? I might quote you several other instances of celebrated personages whose imaginations led them to believe they heard voices. Yet no one has ever thought of calling them insane. Come now, Doctor Roche, a man of your experience and culture must admit the truth of what I say.

ROC. Ah, Mr Ussher, I fear all forms of madness might be explained away by your arguments.

GR. Of course, Doctor Roche. Pray don’t listen to him.

ROC. But, at the same time, Mrs Tyrrell, I am bound to admit that madness partakes more of an infirmity whereby the natural sequence of ideas is disconnected.

USS. Quite so, quite so. If you talk with a lunatic you find that you can never keep him to any consecutive line of thought. He is perpetually off here, off there, on some new and irrelevant tangent. You can never obtain a direct answer to a question. His mental process resembles a chain, at intervals unlinked. These are the real symptoms of that pitiful and uninteresting malady. Are they not?

ROC. Yes, Mr Ussher, on the whole you are fairly right.

USS. Very well then, are any such symptoms discoverable in Carden Tyrrell? Who is more clearly consecutive in his ideas than he? Discuss any question with him--politics or books--what you will--I am bound he acquits himself ably.

GR. And land improvement too, Mr Ussher, you forget that.

DOW. There you just have it, ma’am.

USS. His reasons for making these improvements are quite consecutive and rational. (_DOCTOR DOWLING and GRACE laugh._) Oh, but I assure you they are so. His work may or may not be practical. Who knows? Personally I agree with you in thinking it is not. Still, that is no plea for trying to deprive him of his liberty and rights. If it were, I fear that many, and those too in responsible positions, might have their freedom of action endangered. It is only common-place and unimaginative people who consider the poetic and original temperament to be a mark of madness.

ROC. There is a great deal in what you say, Mr Ussher. I--

GR. (_alarmed_). Doctor Roche, you cannot be serious? You are not giving in to such arguments?

ROC. (_apologetically_). No--no, Mrs Tyrrell. I merely admit their truth in a general way. That is all.

USS. You are far too clever a man, Doctor, not to see their truth. Then again, think of the gravity and danger of what you propose doing. You know, of course, gentlemen, that you will be asked to confirm on oath before a Commission of Lunacy the opinion you now so rashly form of my friend.

DOW. I am quite prepared, Sir, to swear before any Commission.

USS. That may be, Doctor Dowling. However, Doctor Roche, the matter doubtless appears in another light to you. You may be quite certain that when Carden Tyrrell is forewarned, he will be particularly careful not to compromise himself at his private examination by the Commission, who will then, of course, ridicule the idea of preventing him from managing his estate. The defeated parties afterwards will be open to an action by their victim for damages, of which action the law costs, whether he succeeds or not, are sure to be considerable on all sides. When this conspiracy--

GR. Mr Ussher, you forget yourself. How dare you--?

USS. Yes, Mrs Tyrrell, it is an unpleasant word, but excusable in my resentment of this cruel injustice to my old and best friend. You may be sure, too, it is the word the world will use. Why did the Shrules leave here so suddenly to-day?

GR. (_haughtily_). You have already heard the reason.

USS. I am bound to accept it. But I cannot help thinking that Lord Shrule invented his excuse.

GR. I think we have heard quite enough from you, Mr Ussher. You are not likely to intimidate us by your threats. (_To the DOCTORS_) Isn’t that so?

DOW. Oh, I am prepared to stand by my opinion, ma’am.

GR. And you, Doctor Roche--?

ROC. (_nervously_). Well, you see, Mrs Tyrrell, I never held so decided an opinion of the case as my friend Doctor Dowling. I think--for the present--that is to say--perhaps--

GR. For the present? Surely you must know that if we do not act at once we shall be too late to prevent the raising of this ruinous loan.

ROC. Ah, yes, yes, but I am afraid I cannot make up my mind about the patient as yet. I could not undertake to swear on oath that he is now insane.

GR. It is quite clear that you are intimidated, Doctor Roche.

ROC. (_indignantly_). I allow no one to intimidate me, Mrs Tyrrell.

GR. And you will leave the child and me to be ruined?

ROC. What can I do? Have I not told you my difficulties?

GR. Oh, Doctor Roche, we are in your hands. Our fate lies upon your decision. I implore of you not to fail us.

ROC. (_very confused_). You must excuse me, Mrs Tyrrell; but on consideration I would not venture to grant your request. I have an appointment just now. Pray excuse me. Good afternoon, Mrs Tyrrell. Good afternoon, good afternoon.

[_Exit, bowing to all, at back._

DOW. Well, I suppose after this I am not much use here, so I may as well also be on my way. I am sorry, ma’am, the Doctor was persuaded to change his mind; but he is a nervous, timid man. To me the case seems a pretty clear one. However, perhaps it is better to do nothing just at present.

[_He bows, and exit by door at back._

GR. (_to USSHER, with suppressed anger._) I suppose you are prepared to bear the responsibility you have incurred.

USS. Yes--I am prepared to bear it. But did you fully consider the responsibility you were so eager to take upon yourself, Mrs Tyrrell? I can only hope that you had not considered the question.

GR. I do not understand you.

USS. I am sorry for it. Is it then so light a matter to imprison a man,--and above all such a man as your husband? It would practically mean his death. To take him away from all that he loves,--his free life on the mountains, his intimate delight in nature, his interests and occupations, without which life would become for him meaningless--can you not understand the cruelty of this?

GR. I have no wish to be cruel. I must only protect myself.

USS. Yes--but it seems to me in attempting this protection you are very inexorable--very cruel. And the worst of it is, you appear not to realise the cruelty which you are so ready to inflict. Have you forgotten that he is your husband, that he once loved you very dearly? Have you forgotten everything except yourself?

GR. I have not forgotten my child--

USS. You are, of course, bound to think of him, but not, I am sure, to the detriment of your husband. Carden has his rights as well as Kit. Is the father to be wholly sacrificed for the child? (_Pause._) But, Mrs Tyrrell, were you only thinking of your child?

GR. What do you mean?

USS. Was there not another reason besides the child which caused you to be so resolute? That personal dislike--Remember you and Carden have not been living very amicably for some time.

GR. Oh--you consider that ill-feeling has actuated me in this matter?

USS. I don’t say so--I only suggest the probability. Are you sure that it is not so?

GR. (_indignantly_). What a base insinuation. No--I am sure it is not so--of course it is not so. I may no longer care for my husband. Perhaps I never cared much for him. But I know that now I am only thinking of my child. It was for little Kit’s sake that I wished--

USS. Yes--to imprison his father in a madhouse.

GR. I was willing to accept the responsibility. Are you still willing to accept yours? It is a heavy one. There was a chance of saving our fortune; and you have wrecked it. What will you now do to save the child and me from this madman who is devouring our substance?

USS. Hush--hush. For heaven’s sake do not talk in this manner.

GR. Oh, why did you do me this cruel wrong to-day?

USS. I only prevented your doing a cruel wrong.

GR. You have done us all a cruel wrong.

USS. No--I feel I have done you all a good deed to-day.

GR. (_scornfully_). A good deed truly--a deed giving power to carry out those projects which are our ruin!

USS. Who can tell but that his projects may succeed? Be patient. Be gentle with him. I believe you might win him yet by gentleness from very great extravagance. Try.

GR. (_gloomily_). Too late.

USS. Why too late?

GR. It was too late from the moment his thoughts first turned to the heather field.

USS. (_starts and looks at her for a moment with vague alarm. Then says very gently_) There is no reason why he should ever learn the part you have played against him to-day. Henceforth you will be different to him, will you not?

GR. (_gazing steadfastly before her_). Too late--

USS. Ah--well--

[_Exit quietly at back._

[_Pause. There is a noise as of some one approaching. GRACE
looks out at back, then recedes to door at right. CARDEN
TYRRELL enters hurriedly, carrying a sheet of the
ordnance map, which he lays upon the writing-table at
left and studies, unaware of his wife’s presence. She
watches him with an expression of gathering anger, then
exit sobbing by door at right. He starts and turns to
see her just disappear, then sighing he shrugs his
shoulders, and resumes his eager study of the map._

(_End of Act II._)