Chapter IV: Act III

SCENE:--The same as last, only that the place, by the absence of all drawing-room ornaments, has assumed once more its aspect of a library. A fire of fresh ashwood in the large fire-place burns cheerfully, while sunlight streams in through the window-doors at back. A sheet of the ordnance map lies on writing table. Several months have passed; and it is now Spring.

KIT TYRRELL runs in by door at right carrying a child’s kite, which he examines as he kneels down in front of the fire. Measuring out the string at arm’s length, he appears dissatisfied. Then, as if suddenly remembering, he runs over to the book-case at back, and climbing up on its ledge he takes from behind the books on an upper row a mass of cord. He returns, and disentangling it ties its end to the cord attached to the kite, which he then carries to the window-doors at back. These he opens, and stands in a flood of sunlight. Outside is heard the singing of birds.

CARDEN TYRRELL, somewhat aged and careworn, enters by door at right.

TYR. (_half to himself as he watches KIT_). Oh, memories--

KIT. (_after a short pause, perceiving TYRRELL and running to him_). Father.

TYR. The little birds are singing in the sunlight to my little bird. Where are you going, Kit?

KIT. I am going to fly the kite. Oh, come out, father, with me to the heather field. There is sure to be a splendid breeze there to-day.

TYR. (_sadly_). Ah, the heather field. No, Kit, I cannot.

KIT. You have not been there for such a long time. Why can’t you come?

TYR. I can’t; it is unbearable to be always followed and watched--and in that place above all others.

KIT. But, father, why don’t you tell those policemen to go away?

TYR. I have done so over and over again. They will not go.

KIT. But why must they watch you, father, dear?

TYR. (_looks at KIT for a moment, then in an unsteady voice as he turns away_). Do not ask me, boy. You would not understand.

KIT. (_catching TYRRELL by the arm_). Really? Yet Barry says that I understand so many things better than if I were a man.

TYR. (_thoughtfully_). He is right. Only those who become as you are, can know the rarest joys of life.

KIT. Then why do you think, father, I would not understand the reason they are watching you.

TYR. Because--because it would appear--well, something incredible to you. There, do not ask, boy. (_He flings himself moodily into the chair on the outside of the writing table. A short pause._)

KIT. (_coming near_). Father, dear, you are not angry with me?

TYR. No, Kit. Only a bit worried by things in general.

KIT. I am sorry if I have ever worried you. I will try not to do it again. I love you. Oh, you don’t know how I love you, father.

TYR. (_throwing his arms around KIT_). My darling, you have never worried me. I could not live without you.

KIT. (_hiding his face on TYRRELL’S neck_). Oh, father, father!

TYR. Yes, Kit, you are the little elf that calls up for me the magic of the heather field. Henceforth we must never be divided--you and I.

KIT. Never, oh never, father dear. You don’t know how lonely I feel away from you. I have not been to the heather field for ever so long. It seemed such a sad place when you were not there.

TYR. Even in spite of its wild flowers, Kit? It is time for them now to be coming out again.

KIT. Yes, the heather field will be beginning to look lovely now.

TYR. How I wish I were free to walk among its flowers on this soft spring day.

KIT. Poor father!--but would you like me to fetch you some of them. Shall I go?

TYR. Yes, do, Kit. I should like some flowers from the heather field.

_BARRY USSHER enters at back._

KIT. Oh, there’s Barry.

TYR. What--Barry! It is an event when I see anyone now.

USS. As if it were not your own doing.

TYR. (_somewhat ruffled_). You may say what you like for all I care.

USS. (_shrugging his shoulders_). Heigh-ho! Well, Kit, are you glad the winter is over?

KIT. Oh, yes, how horrid and dark it was.

USS. I wonder how you ever managed to exist through it. And you never got the pony, after all?

KIT. No--you see when father promised me one he thought he could afford it. But now he cannot, until he lets the heather field. I must wait a while longer. Is not that so, father?

TYR. Yes, Kit, we must wait.

KIT. You know, Barry, I could not think of worrying him any more about the pony.

USS. You good little son, there is no need to wait any longer. I have just brought you such a nice pony.

TYR. What is this, Barry? what is this?

KIT. Oh, where is he, Barry?

USS. Out in the yard waiting for you--bridle, saddle and all.

KIT. Oh, thank you, Barry. Father, is he not nice and kind?

TYR. (_looking at USSHER_). Yes, always the kind friend--always the same.

KIT. Father, I shall ride the pony off to the heather-field at once, and get you those flowers.

[_Exit at back._

USS. How happy the little fellow is.

TYR. You have indeed made him so by your kindness, Barry.

USS. Bah--a selfish kindness at most. I tell you, I have not felt for a long time such real happiness as just now when I saw myself looked at like some good spirit by that little face.

TYR. And to think that you who are so lucky, to whom most things come so easily, should say this! Why, even I, with all my troubles, could hardly speak more despondingly. What would you do if you were imprisoned as I am here since those evictions?

USS. Your health will be ruined by your obstinacy.

TYR. What can I do? The police have orders never to lose sight of me if I go out. They say I should be shot at otherwise.

USS. Ha!

TYR. And you know I never could bear to be followed by a guard. It makes me feel like a criminal. I would much rather stay indoors.

USS. (_after thinking for a moment_). Look here, Carden, you ought to leave this place for a while. We will go together. We will travel.

TYR. Impossible, the drainage of the valley could never go on in my absence.

USS. Why not? You haven’t been near it for ever so long.

TYR. Oh, that doesn’t matter in the least. I can direct it just as well from this room. There on the writing table is my map with all the drains marked upon it. The superintendent comes to me at stated intervals, reports the progress of each man’s work, and takes the fresh orders which I give him from the map. I assure you it gives me greater pleasure to conduct operations in this way scientifically, than if I were to go on the ground. One can imagine oneself in such a situation, like Moltke fighting battles from his study.

USS. (_gives a quick look at TYRRELL. Then after a short pause_--) Well, if you won’t leave here, at all events try and settle with those peasants, so that you may dispense with police and be able to go about again.

TYR. Settle? How could I settle with them? The only settlement they would hear of I could never grant. Oh no--a nice ending, indeed, that would be to our battle!

USS. Is there no compromise you will come to?

TYR. I will reinstate the evicted, if they pay in full their rents and the costs I have incurred on their account.

USS. Oh, that is no compromise at all.

TYR. Well, it is as much as I can agree to. I told these people when they struck, that I could not afford to give abatements on rents which had already been reduced so much by the Land Commission, and I can less afford to give any now with pressing mortgagees who have not been paid for so long.

USS. But would it not be better to get some rent for that land instead of leaving it idle? Others, you know, will not dare to take it from you.

TYR. I cannot help that. I must work it myself.

USS. Meanwhile how are you going to pay the mortgagees their interest?

TYR. Oh, there is the great difficulty. The chief mortgagee is most pressing, and threatens to foreclose immediately. I have implored of him again and again to wait until I can let the heather field, but in vain. Miles, whom I expect home this evening, was to have made a final appeal to him in Dublin last night. I can only hope for a favourable result.

USS. I think you had better come to terms with those tenants, Carden.

TYR. I shall never give in to them. I shall never voluntarily reduce the value of my property. Besides, if the worst should come, I have always the great resource.

USS. What is that?

TYR. The heather field!

USS. Carden, take care. It is a dangerous thing--trusting to only one resource.

TYR. (_a little irritated_). What do you mean? Are you too going to join the enemy?

USS. (_uneasily_). No, no, Carden, you do not understand me; but----

TYR. But what?

USS. Oh, I should so like to see you on good terms with your people again. I am sure the remembrance of all that friendship with them in the past must make this quarrel unbearable to you.

TYR. Yes, indeed that is true.

USS. And this continual watch upon your movements too must be dreadful.

TYR. Dreadful, it is gradually wearing me out. I know I cannot stand it much longer. And most of the long dreary winter I had no one about me whom I could confide in or consult; for Miles has been away at College as you know.

USS. Yes, carrying everything before him. I see he has won a scholarship. He is sure of his gold medal now.

TYR. Miles is of the stuff to succeed. I am so fond of Miles. He was always such good company.

USS. Of course, a most charming boy. I am glad he is to be at home to-day.

TYR. Indeed his companionship will make a great difference to me, now that I can never get about.

USS. (_anxiously_). Oh, but Carden, you cannot continue in this way. You have always been used to so free a life in the open air. I say this imprisonment will kill you. Already I see a very marked change in your appearance.

TYR. (_doggedly_). I cannot help it. My past demands that I must suffer.

[_With a sigh, he passes to right of doors at back, where he
looks out in a reverie._

USS. (_watching him_). For heaven’s sake, Carden, do not be so fatally unreasonable.

TYR. (_after a pause, still looking in the same direction_). No--I am not so; you think those remedies you suggest would avail to relieve me--but they would not.

USS. Why not?

TYR. You ask--you who are such a philosopher? Can you not understand that the only remedy for me must be something that has no relation whatever with those circumstances that may affect me ill or otherwise?

USS. You mean that improvement of circumstances has little to do with bringing contentment.

TYR. I mean that the only remedy must be something which would make me forgetful that I am myself. (_Mysteriously_) Barry, would you believe it, often in moments of darkest anxiety I am arrested by the sight of some flower or leaf or some tiny nook in the garden out there. And oh--I become then at once so peaceful that I care not what may happen to me. I think it is only when we turn to them in our misery that we can really see the exquisite beauty of these things.

USS. Ah, Carden, nature is a marvellous sedative. How infinite her ingenuousness amidst all our pains and fears.

TYR. Yes--and just this moment when I looked upon the ocean there and the land awakening with such freshness from its winter sleep, I felt something that no improvement of circumstances could bring. (_Then with a strange enthusiasm_) Oh, to feel that despite all suffering one has the firmament, the earth, the sea! What more can one really require from the world?

USS. Ay--true enough. “For all things were made from these,” to quote the great mediæval philosopher. Nevertheless I think I might bring you another and very real sort of relief from this present trouble, if you would but allow me.

TYR. And what if you might? It would only be succeeded by some further trouble. That is the only sort of relief you could ever bring. Ah, there is a trouble past all your remedies.

USS. Alas, I fear there are many. How could I pretend otherwise? But will you tell me this particular one?

TYR. I wonder will you understand.

USS. Why not, Carden?

TYR. Well then, have you ever seen on earth something beautiful beyond earth--that great beauty which appears in divers ways? And then have you known what it is to go back to the world again?

USS. (_sadly_). I know, I know--the pain of loss.

TYR. Is it not misery? But you have seen the great beauty have you not? Oh, that immortal beauty--so far away--always so far away.

USS. Yes--yes, our ideal of beauty that for ever haunts and eludes us through life. (_With a movement of resignation_) But let us not speak of it any more.

TYR. Why, Barry?

USS. Because, as you say, it makes one so miserable in the world, and it is such a hopeless phantom after all.

TYR. How can you say so? You who know that it is alone the reality in the world.

USS. (_cautiously_). Hush, Carden, I do not know.

TYR. (_laughing bitterly_). There--just like you, Barry, careful never to let yourself go.

USS. No--no, Carden, but you brood too much on these thoughts. You are overworked--you ought really to come away from here. Do let us travel somewhere together for a change.

TYR. Ah, not now--at some future time, perhaps--but not now. My difficulties are gathering before me. I must stand and hew them from my path.

_GRACE TYRRELL enters hurriedly and excitedly by door at right._

GR. (_pauses when she sees USSHER, then to TYRRELL_). Oh, but I suppose as you have no secrets from him----

TYR. (_starting_). Well, what is the matter?

GR. (_holding out a paper_). A dreadful-looking man has just handed me this.

TYR. Let me see (_takes paper_). Ah----

GR. I have so often asked you for money to pay this person.

TYR. I am very sorry. I had nothing to give you.

GR. Alas, you always had plenty to squander on that mountain.

TYR. That was Government money, and it could not honestly be expended except on the object for which it was advanced.

GR. I am afraid I must have some of it now. I cannot be left in this condition.

TYR. Indeed you shall not have one penny of it.

GR. What--you mean to leave me under the stigma of such an insult?

TYR. (_impatiently_). There is no particular urgency. I will see if I can possibly meet this writ by some money of my own. (_With a painful distracted look_) Oh this worry--this worry.

[_Exit by door at right._

GR. Well, Mr Ussher, I hope you are satisfied now. We are ruined; and my husband is becoming stranger in his behaviour every day. But for you, he might have been cured by this, and the estate in a very different condition.

USS. I have nothing, Mrs Tyrrell, to reproach myself with. I did all for the best.

GR. Yes, of course. That is the only satisfaction one ever receives for injuries done through gratuitous interference.

USS. Nothing has since happened to convict me of having acted wrongly. I have done you no injury.

GR. No injury? Well!

USS. You cannot lay to my account this quarrel with the tenants which is the cause of your present difficulties. Goodness knows I have done my best to mend it.

GR. (_impatiently_). Oh, that is only a temporary difficulty. But the estate will be ruined for ever by the great debt from which we should have saved it, if you had not interfered. (_Pause._) Yes--I see now how it all will be. The child and I will be driven out, ruined, to battle with the world.

USS. Oh, don’t think of such a thing, Mrs Tyrrell. It can never come to that.

GR. (_sadly_). Ah, yes. You destroyed my last chance of saving our home. I might have kept it lovingly for Kit until he grew to be a man; but now I see it must go from us. I shall have to bid everything farewell--the familiar rooms--the garden where I found an occupation for my life--even those common useless things about the house I have been accustomed to look at for years. Oh, you don’t know what it is--this parting from those everyday things of one’s life.

USS. Yes, yes--indeed I do--and from my heart I feel for you.

GR. And yet you could have acted as you have.

USS. I acted only in good faith. Heaven knows that is the truth.

GR. The injury remains still the same.

USS. (_with strong emotion_). If it is I who have injured you, Mrs Tyrrell, you must allow me to make amends.

GR. Alas, what amends are possible?

USS. Who can tell? I promise you, at least, you shall never, _never_ bid farewell to your home.

GR. (_in a trembling voice_). If only what you say might come true.

_LADY SHRULE, LORD SHRULE, and CARDEN TYRRELL enter by door at right._

LORD S. Carden, I believe your servant was actually going to say “not at home” to us, if I had not caught sight of you in the hall. Ha, ha.

LADY S. What a shame, Mr Tyrrell, to try and prevent me from seeing Grace. How do you do, Grace dear? (_Giving her hand apathetically to USSHER_) How do you do?

LORD S. (_shakes hands with GRACE and USSHER_). We should have been so disappointed.

TYR. I assure you, Lord Shrule, my attempt to escape is purely an imagination on your part.

LORD S. Oh, you sly fellow, you think I do not know. You are just like your father when people used to call--although he would never run away from me, I can tell you.

TYR. No more did I. I was only surprised to see you; that was all. When I heard the bell I thought it was Miles come from Dublin. I am anxiously expecting him now at any moment.

LORD S. Ah, it will be a pleasure to see Miles again. We have all heard of his University triumphs. How proud your poor father would have been.

TYR. Yes, and how delighted to share his satisfaction with you.

LORD S. Poor Marmaduke, we were such friends--at our very last interview he asked me to keep you and your brother always in mind after he was gone. So I have always felt somehow like a father towards you both, you know, and with a father’s privilege occasionally have given advice.

GR. Yes, Lord Shrule, and how I wish your good advice occasionally had been followed.

LORD S. Ah, we cannot help that, Mrs Tyrrell. Nothing will ever teach the young save bitter experience.

GR. I am sure there has been enough bitter experience; but it seems to have taught nothing at all.

LORD S. Well, well, I hope it won’t be so. Eh, Carden?

TYR. I do not see how my experience can teach me to act differently from my present way of acting. (_Aside to USSHER_) Miles ought to have arrived by this. Oh, I am nearly dead with anxiety to know the news he will bring.

USS. (_aside to TYRRELL_). I hope there will be good news.

LORD S. Never mind, Mrs Tyrrell. Carden will come by degrees to see his mistakes.

GR. I fear we are now in so bad a way that it does not much matter whether he sees them or not.

LADY S. No--really, Grace, you do not say so?

GR. Oh, Lilian, we are ruined.

LORD S. Come, come, I am sure it cannot be as bad as that.

TYR. Goodness me, of course not, Lord Shrule. On the contrary, in the near future we shall make a fortune.

GR. I say we are ruined, utterly, irretrievably.

TYR. No--no----

USS. What noise is that? (_Listens, then opens door at right._) Why, Miles has arrived.

TYR. Miles--oh!

USS. There, Carden, for goodness sake be calm.

_Enter MILES TYRRELL by door at right._

MIL. Carden. (_He grasps his brother by the hand, then greets all the rest._)

TYR. What news, Miles? Will he wait?

MIL. (_turning away dejectedly_). I did my best, Carden. There is no hope, I fear.

GR. No hope? What is this new misfortune? Who won’t wait?

MIL. The chief mortgagee.

GR. Is he going to foreclose?

MIL. He says so.

LORD S. Ha--this is a most serious matter.

TYR. But Miles, didn’t you explain to him all about the heather field?

MIL. Yes.

TYR. Didn’t you assure him that it would soon bring in what would more than pay his interest?

MIL. Indeed I did, Carden.

TYR. Well?

MIL. Well, that only seemed to make him impatient with me. But I used every argument I could think of, and pleaded with him for nearly an hour in his office, until at last he had to get rid of me almost brutally.

TYR. (_with a look of humiliation and despair_). Oh ruin! ruin!

USS. No, no, Carden--it is not yet that. We must see how we can help you through this difficulty.

TYR. (_quietly_). With all your goodwill, Barry, what can you do now?

USS. Who knows? Just keep quiet, and do not distress yourself. Leave it all to me.

TYR. (_almost staggering_). Yes--such a severe blow--this. It has quite upset me. I am sure you will all excuse me. You, Barry, will see what you can do, won’t you? Yes-- (_He goes to door at right._)

USS. Yes, Carden, I hope all will come well.

LORD S. How much of the property does this mortgage cover?

GR. Oh, pretty nearly all, I should think.

TYR. (_suddenly turning_). All, do you say? No--not all. This vulture cannot touch the heather field! My hope--it is my only hope now, and it will save me in the end. Ha, ha! these wise ones! They did not think the barren mountain of those days worth naming in their deed. But now that mountain is a great green field worth more than all they can seize, (_with a strange intensity_) and it is mine--all mine!

[_Exit by door at right._

LORD S. (_throwing up his hands_). Oh dear, oh dear, what infatuation!

GR. Yes indeed, it has caused us all to be cast adrift in the world. Oh, what is to become of me--what is to become of me? (_She sobs in her handkerchief._)

LADY S. Grace, you must not lose heart.

GR. Ah, the final misfortune has come.

LADY S. We shall try and help you, dear--there.

USS. Yes, we must lose no time now to see what can be done for Carden.

LADY S. You should indeed bestir yourself, Mr Ussher, and save him; for we have you to thank that he was left in a position to ruin himself.

USS. And have not you too, Lady Shrule, to thank yourself for the same thing?

LADY S. I? How so, pray?

USS. Why did you and Lord Shrule disappear so suddenly on that day the doctors were here? Your advocacy would doubtless have made them heedless of my objections--

LADY S. Ha--why indeed? You know, Shrule, I wanted you to----

LORD S. Well, well, I could not bear to act in such a way to the son of my old friend. But I suppose in my weakness I did wrong.

USS. No, Lord Shrule, you did right. You never could be suspected by anyone of doing otherwise.

LORD S. I hope not, Ussher! Still, I am inclined to think it might have been wiser then to have taken some definite step.

LADY S. I should think so. Just see what has happened since.

GR. Nothing less than the ruin of a helpless woman and her child.

LADY S. You have, indeed, incurred a nice responsibility, Mr Ussher.

GR. (_to USSHER_). What--what right had you to do my child and me this wrong?

USS. I only prevented what I thought a grievous wrong from being done to my friend.

GR. It was no wrong--it was for his good--for all our good. In your heart you must know I was right.

USS. I have often said, Mrs Tyrrell, I know nothing of the sort.

LADY S. Still, you must admit that his actions since more than justify Mrs Tyrrell in the course she adopted.

LORD S. Alas, I fear that is the case.

USS. I admit he is very wilful and extravagant, but no more. I cannot discover any mental infirmity. His mind has a perfect grasp of ideas.

GR. Don’t talk of ideas. I have heard enough about them since I was married to give me a horror of them for the rest of my life.

LADY S. They have certainly caused the wreck of this household.

LORD S. Oh, I hope not. We must not be too pessimistic.--Who can tell?--perhaps the heather field may turn out a success after all!

GR. (_with contempt_). The heather field.

LORD S. If it were to, there can be no doubt but that all would be saved. I wonder how it is going on. Have you been there lately, Mrs Tyrrell?

GR. Of course not, Lord Shrule. The very thought of the place fills me with despair.

MIL. That is a pity, Grace--a great pity, when so much depends upon the success of the heather field.

GR. No good can ever come of that abominable work.

MIL. You must not speak such words; no luck can come from such words.

GR. I cannot help it.

MIL. Oh, I know you have much to endure, but I cannot remain here and listen to such denunciation of what my brother holds nearest to his heart.

GR. I have only said the truth.

MIL. You cannot be certain of this truth. It is not right to speak such words.

[_Exit by door at right._

LADY S. My poor Grace.

GR. Oh, Lilian.

LADY S. These troubles are driving you to distraction. You had better leave this place for a while. Will you not come and stay with us?

LORD S. Oh yes, won’t you stay with us, Mrs Tyrrell? You might be saved much annoyance and worry.

GR. You are both so kind--I should like to for a little while, certainly. This house has become unbearable of late with debts and difficulties on every side.

LADY S. Oh dear, how terrible. You had better leave at once, Grace. Perhaps you might have some of your things seized. Anyhow, bring with you those that you most value. We will take care of them.

GR. Thanks, Lilian.

LORD S. Well then, that is agreed, Mrs Tyrrell. I am so glad we may be of use to you.

LADY S. We shall expect you this evening, dear.

GR. Yes, I shall get ready at once.

LADY S. And it is time for us to return home. Good-bye, Mr Ussher.

USS. Good-bye, Lady Shrule.

LORD S. Good-bye.

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

USS. (_gloomily_). Heaven help her--help them all. What is to be done?--Stay--I might go security, I would do anything to help them.--But would it really be of use? Other difficulties must follow these, so that my whole fortune would not suffice. I will think the matter over.--I wonder how the heather field is going on. No one seems to have been there lately.

_KIT TYRRELL, carrying a small white bundle, enters through door at
back._

KIT (_placing the bundle on sofa_). Barry, the pony is splendid. I had such galloping over the heather field.

USS. Well, did you bring back any flowers?

KIT. They have not yet come out. All I could find there were these little buds in my handkerchief. (_Unties the bundle_) Look.

USS. (_with a start_). What--buds of heather? Has your father seen these, Kit?

KIT. Yes, I told him I found them growing all over the heather field.

USS. You did, boy--and what did he say?

KIT. Nothing for a while. But he looked--he looked--well, I have never seen him look like that before.

USS. Ha--and then--?

KIT. Oh, then he seemed to forget all about it. He became so kind, and oh, Barry, what do you think, he called me, his “little brother Miles.” So I am really his brother, he says, after all--

_MILES TYRRELL, in haste and violent trepidation, enters through door
at back._

MIL. Barry, for pity’s sake--(_sees KIT and suddenly checks himself, then brings USSHER over to fireplace_). Barry, something dreadful has come over Carden. He does not know me.

USS. (_in a trembling voice, as he gazes fixedly before him_). The vengeance of the heather field.

MIL. Oh! for pity’s sake, come to him. Come to him--

USS. Where is he?

MIL. Wandering helpless about the garden. Oh, heavens, what shall we do?

USS. (_with suppressed terror_). Let us find him. (_He turns to go._)

_CARDEN TYRRELL appears outside doorway at back. He has a strange,
collected look._

USS. (_starting_). Carden!

TYR. (_coming in_). Well, Barry?--Why, what has happened to you since yesterday? My goodness, you look at least ten years older. (_Glancing at MILES_) Who is that? He was annoying me about something just now in the fuchsia walk.

MIL. Oh, I cannot stand this torture. Carden, dear Carden, look at me--

TYR. (_retreats like a frightened animal towards USSHER, keeping always his eyes fixed on MILES_). Barry, what is the matter with him? Don’t leave me alone with him, Barry. Get him to go away.

USS. You need not fear him, Carden. (_He signs to MILES, who retires with an inconsolable expression and stands by fireplace._)

TYR. (_after a moment, mysteriously_). Barry--

USS. Yes, Carden.

TYR. (_looking cautiously around_). You remember our conversation yesterday.

USS. (_puzzled_). Yesterday? I did not see you yesterday.

TYR. (_with impatience_). We did not walk together on the cliff yesterday, when you advised me not to marry Grace Desmond? What do you mean?

USS. (_suddenly recollecting_). Oh, I remember, I remember. (_Then in a trembling voice_) But Carden--Carden, that was ten years ago. Don’t you know that you are now married to her?

TYR. (_with a surprised baffled look_). I am?--

USS. (_very gently_). Yes, indeed.

TYR. Oh! (_His expression for a moment grows vaguely painful, then gradually passes into one of vacant calm. After a short pause_) Barry, you are quite right.

USS. (_joyfully_). I knew you would understand me, Carden.

TYR. Yes, I will take your advice. I will not ask her to be my wife.

USS. (_with cruel disappointment_). Hopeless--I see it is hopeless now.

TYR. (_unheeding_). I do not care for her any more. I know now I never cared for her.

USS. Do you? Why?

TYR. (_distressfully_). Oh, I have had such a dreadful dream.

USS. A dream?

TYR. I must tell it to you.--Let me see, what was it? No--I cannot remember--no,--it has gone completely from me before the beauty of the morning. (_Looks out at back and stretches his arms_) Oh, is not this Spring morning divine?

USS. But--Carden, can you not see that it is evening?

TYR. Ah, I must have been a long time asleep--a long, long time. Yet it looks like the morning. Yes, it seems as if it would always be morning now for me.

USS. (_with interest_). Indeed--is that so?

TYR. Yes--its genius somehow is always about me.

USS. And what do you call this genius of the morning?

TYR. (_with a strange ecstasy_). Joy! Joy!

USS. (_after looking at him for a while in wonder_). Then, you are happy, Carden?

TYR. Oh, yes--so happy. Why not?

USS. (_with hesitation_). You have no troubles, have you?

TYR. Troubles--? No, except sometimes in dreams--but oh, when I awake to the joy of this great beauty--

USS. Yet--great beauty--is it not for ever far away?

TYR. No--it is for ever by me. (_Then as if suddenly recollecting_) Ah, now I can tell you my dreadful dream. (_Slowly_) I dreamed that my lot was to wander through common luxurious life--seeing now and then in glimpses, that beauty--but so far away! And when the vision left me--ah, you do not know the anguish I felt in looking again at my lot in life.

USS. And this was only a dream?

TYR. (_fervently_). Thank heaven--only a dream! (_He goes to the sofa, where KIT all this time has been playing with the heather buds._)

USS. (_meditatively sorrowful_). And are beauty and happiness mere illusions after all? (Goes towards Miles) I am dazed in the presence of this awful misfortune.

MIL. (_approaching USSHER_). Oh, the misery of seeing him like this. He thinks he is living in the old days.

USS. It has come upon him again--that eerie ethereal youth I remember so well.

MIL. And for which he would yearn with such fond regret. But Grace and the child--Oh, what is to become of them? I fear their ruin is now certain and complete.

USS. (_as if suddenly awakened_). Not so.--It may be possible to save them now that there is no danger of further expenditure. And I will save them. I will be security for the payment of all their debts. I will save the estate, if it costs me every penny I have in the world.

MIL. (_grasping USSHER by the hand_). Oh, Barry, this is good of you. (_They go towards the fireplace in earnest discourse._)

TYR. (_placing a heather wreath on KIT’S head_). There--you are like a young field-faun now.

KIT. What sort of thing is that?

TYR. Why, one of the field-fairies fresh and clean as those soft heather-shoots around your hair.

KIT (_delighted_). What--the fairies that live in green hillocks, and dance by the river bank, in the valley over there? Oh, tell me of them again.

TYR. Yes, beautiful child-fairies that play with the water nymphs--those sirens, you know, who sing in the wistful depths of the stream. (_With a sudden transport_) Oh, we must go to Lorlei as last year, where the river is lit with their gold. (_Pointing out at back_) See, even now the sky is darkening as in that storm scene of the old legend I told you on the Rhine. See, the rain across a saffron sun trembles like gold harp strings, through the purple Irish Spring!

_MRS GRACE TYRRELL enters by door at right, dressed for
going out, with her face thinly veiled and looking
altogether younger and more handsome._

GR. (_to TYRRELL_). I am just starting to visit the Shrules for some days.

TYR. (_turns surprised_). Miss Desmond-- Oh-- (_With emotion and signs of struggle_) Oh, where is that beauty now--that music of the morning? (_Suddenly arrested_) Such strange solemn harmonies. (_Listens._) The voices--yes, they are filling the house--those white-stoled children of the morning. (_His eyes after a moment wander slowly to the doorway at back_) Oh, the rainbow! (_To KIT_) Come quick, see the lovely rainbow! (_They go to watch it hand in hand._) Oh, mystic highway of man’s speechless longings! My heart goes forth upon the rainbow to that horizon of joy! (_With a fearful exaltation_) The voices--I hear them now triumphant in a silver glory of song!

GR. (_looking bewildered from MILES to USSHER_). What--what is all this?

USS. Ah, your fears have come true, Mrs Tyrrell. You have not heard----

GR. No.--What has happened? For heavens’ sake, speak.

USS. The wild heath has broken out again in the heather field.

THE END.

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MAEVE

A PSYCHOLOGICAL DRAMA IN TWO ACTS

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DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

THE O’HEYNES, _Colman O’Heynes, Prince of Burren_.

MAEVE O’HEYNES, }
} _his daughters_.
FINOLA O’HEYNES, }

HUGH FITZ WALTER, _a young Englishman_.

PEG INERNY, _a vagrant_.

In the dream of MAEVE appear QUEEN MAEVE, A BOY PAGE, CHORUS OF BOY PAGES, ancient Irish harpers, chieftains, warriors, people, etc.

The action takes place during the present time about and at O’Heynes Castle among the Burren Mountains of County Clare in Ireland.

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