upon a lofty room, gaily furnished; a pert lady's-maid moving about the room, with all the pretension and bustle of her class; and felt as well that her head ached to a degree that almost made her incapable of submitting herself to the tender mercies of that most startling of innovators, a London lady's-maid ! SCENE. An apartment in Sir Henry Trevor's house. Sir Henry discovered seated at a table, reading; Harcourt, his secretary, at another, writing. Sir Henry (laying down the book).-Harcourt, a word. Harcourt (rising).—I'm all attention, sir. Sir Henry (rising).—I have observed of late, and, with much concern, Thine eyes fixed on my daughter Julia's face, With such a rivetted intensity Thou didst not mark mine eyes the load-star path Of thine did follow! Sir, what means that gaze? Harcourt (eagerly).-Is she offended? Hath she noticed it? Sir Henry, tell me! is Miss Trevor pained? I did not know I looked, sir,-is she vexed? Outraged at my presumption? Sir Henry.-I know not. Harcourt. She hath not then complained? Sir Henry (with warmth).-Thou lov'st my child! Young man, young man! bethink thee,-how I took Thee in mine house; how I have trusted thee! Harcourt.-I do, I do. I never have forgot,— I've kept the remnants of my origin, Like him, in Eastern tale, his shepherd's crook; His virtue claimed, by a discerning prince, I know thy bounty is a robe of state Fortune hath lent me, and which fortune may Therefore, I wear it only as her loan, With grateful wariness, for rays prepared. Sir Henry.-But, of my daughter! How dar'st thou to think Harcourt.-I never thought of her, nor thought of love, Till one day strolling in a verdant mead,— Where fatt❜ning kine were browsing at their ease, One, younger than the rest, or mettlesome How soft her eyes,-how beautiful her cheek,— How smiled her sweet lips, though bright tears still hung I felt a transformation in my soul. I was no more the same,—the world was changed, And hath been since that hour, and ever will. Oh! such an accident might well awake Love in another's heart; as will be seen In any book, that its true hist'ry tells! Harcourt.-I've little more to weary thine ear with. I know not what I did, nor what I said; But she was reassured, and gath'ring up The flow'rs she had let fall,-but with one hand; The other still I held (I tell thee all). For, had I not, I should have deemed the whole With head averted from me, home we came, Save the deep blush which rested on her cheek, So lost was I in the deliciousness Sir Henry.-Hast thou revealed, Harcourt, thy love to her? Harcourt.-Never! nor would, Though secrecy should kill! Sir Henry (going, hastily).-Stay here till I return,-I'll not be long. Be sure you stay. Harcourt (solus).—What can he mean? Indignant at the story I have told, Is he And gone to meditate some easy mode [Exit Sir Henry. (Snatches up a book, seats himself, as if reading.) Enter Julia, sees Harcourt, and stops; he rises. Julia.--My father sent me for a book, 'twas on Ah! 'tis the volume you are reading, sir, Harcourt.-I am not reading it. Julia.-You seemed engrossed. Harcourt.-Mine eyes were on the page, but yet, my thoughts Wandered far, far from it! Julia,-It is the same with me, Now, frequently, when I attempt to read. Harcourt (with warmth).-Do you, too, think like me? Oh! do your thoughts Stray to the past? Julia (rather retreating).-I'd better take the book, My father waits. Harcourt (sorrowfully).-Have I offended thee? Said more than prudence should. Harcourt.-Why, you said nought! Julia.—What! not about the past ? Harcourt.-Dost think of it? Dost thou remember one exquisite day, (It is the brightest in my memory), When we two saunt'ring in the summer's noon, Julia (archly).-Dost thou treasure up I treasure but the pleasure of that fear! Julia (with surprise).—My father! promise! what could he extort Harcourt (energetically).—It doth. But, pray To the good fortune he intendeth thee! Harcourt.-Not good! not good! or you should learn it straight. Will lighten its rude burden. Tell it me! What thou didst promise? Come! I cannot wait! I long to show how I can pity thee! Harcourt (irresolutely).-Was ever man so tempted to betray The holy confidence reposed in him? O, lady, do not urge me, I implore; My death might be in one imprudent word! Julia (starting).—Thy death? Harcourt.-Yes! banishment from thee is death! The truth escaped me in my eagerness To hide it from thee; then, then hear it all. Julia, I know not whether he compelled, Never to tell thee of the love I have! Julia (energetically).-Thy love! thy love! Harcourt! Thou lov'st me, then? Harcourt. To adoration! How dare I proceed? But, but that day (hast thou forgotten it?) When, in the agony of thy alarm, Thou didst cast round my neck those snowy arms, Thou didst cast round mine heart a chain also, Me to destruction drawing, and to thee! Julia (flinging her arms round him).-No! no! these arms so weak in terror then, Shall now be strong to save thee from all ill. Harcourt (embracing her).-Now let thy father come! I can endure The utmost penalty he inflict; may I shall feel nothing, after this delight! (Eater SIR HENRY.) Sir Henry (to her).-Why, how now, truant! where's the book I want ? (To him) my daughter on thy bosom? in thine arms? Is this thy promise? Julia (running to him).-Oh! 'twas I, indeed, Forced him to break it, trying ev'ry mean To tempt the probity, unshaken still, But for my importunity and taunts. Harcourt (eagerly).-No! no! the fault is mine! I did not strive Harcourt.-You, Sir Henry, in what way ? Sir Henry. In this, I knew your honourable love My daughter here, to test the strength of it. And yielding to the influence mem'ı y hath, When she gives back our youthful days once more, hither came, to tell thee Julia's thine. Harcourt (in a transport).—Mine! Julia mine! excuse me, I must weep. The tear, that sorrow never yet could wiing, Flows freely at this overpow'ring joy, How meanly I must show in both your eyes! Julia (laying her head on his bosom).-Dear Harcourt, no. Sir Henry (taking his hand).-How nobly, rather say! The manly tear a pure affection wakes, Ne'er shames the heart, that melts bencath its sway! Than all the wealth I can on her bestow. But she is weeping, too! Oh, foolish things And yet, in sooth, 'tis very natural. LIBRARY |