{Gun.} Now then, Joe Parsley, leave go of Jane Boadsley's waist! You don't see me lowering myself with a woman! Squire, the Harvest Song! Go on, drat 'ee!

(A simple rustic chorus is sung to the accompaniment of Rob's fiddle.)

Chorus of Villagers.

A Woman. What have you got for me, Good-man?

All Women. Say—a—a—a—ay!

Men. Laces and rings and womanly things, Upon our harvest day—a—a—a—ay!

A Woman. (holding up a baby) What's for your baby boy, Good-man?

All Women. Say—a—a—a—ay!

Men. Bawbles and milk and a robe of silk, Upon our harvest day—a—a—a—ay!

A Woman. (pointing to the Squire) What have you got for She, Good-man?

All Women, (pointing to the Squire) Say—a—a—a—ay!

Men. (stooping as if to carry a burden) Why, sheaf and stack, and a weary back, Upon our harvest day—a—a—a—ay!

CHORUS. Everybody. Bread in the oven, milk in the can, And wood for the winter fire!

Fire-ire-ire! A broken back for the husbandman, And golden corn for the Squire!

Squire-ire-ire!

(At end of Chorus a young girl comes from the crowd and presents Kate with a basket of fruit and flowers. Kate kisses her—the girl returns.)

{Gun.} Squire Verity, it was my desire for to have been took down in my words by Mercury. Mercury, however, is non composite, as the saying goes.

{Villagers.} More shame for him!

{Gun.} But what I have to tell you is this here, Squire; the men wish you a better harvest next harvest than this harvest—as much 'ops and more wheat and barley, not to say hoats.

{Villagers.} Hear, hear!

{Gun.} The women wish you a good husband, who'll love you and protect you and put a load o' money into the land, and have all the cottages well white-washed.

{Villagers.} Hear! Hear!

{Gun.} And lastly—if the parson will allow me that word—lastly, we all wish you may live amongst us long and happy until you're an octo—an octo—an octagon. I'm sorry Mercury can't take me down.

{Villagers.} Bravo, Gunnion! Well spoken, very good!

(Kate rising—with her hand on the little Child's head—Felicity puts stool bach, and stands by Kate taking her hand and kissing it at end of speech.)

{Kate.} My dear friends, you are kinder to me than I deserve, which makes me very pained at what I have to tell you. You and I, who have been together for so many years, and who have loved one another so much, have to part company.

{Villagers.} (murmur) What!

{Gun.} Part company! You don't mean to say you're going to put more machinery in the land, Squire?

{Kate.} I mean that I am going away from Market- Sinfield, perhaps never to come back.

{Villagers.} Oh, what will become of us? (a murmur from the Women)

{Kate.} The lands will be worked by a richer farmer, and you and your homes will be the gainers.

{Villagers.} No, that they won't! (they shake their heads)

{Kate.} But what I ask of you, is—don't forget me—

(Sob from one of the Women.) —and to make sure of that, please christen some of your children by my name. Kate is a pretty name, and when your babies grow up, tell them why they bear it. (she kisses the Child and sends it back to the group, then sits and cries)

{Gun.} (sympathetically) Well, all I've got to say is, Squire, we're well nigh heart broke, (turning to the group) My eye—up'll go the rents.

{Dormer.} (coming down) Be off, all of you— don't stand and gape at a woman who is crying! (Felicity exits R., D. Mercury assisted off. Fel. places his chair back as before. Dormer goes off through the group; the rest sorrowfully disperse, looking over their shoulders at Kate. As they leave Gil. comes through them, and is left on the stage. He softly closes the door and crosses to Kate R., C.—Voices till Gilbert speaks.)

{Gil.} (quietly) Squire!

{Kate.} (looking up quickly) Oh, Gilbert! (she gives him her hand across the table)

{Gil.} (L. of table) I've been watching for a chance of a word with you. Ah, Squire, how good of you even to look at me!

{Kate.} Don't speak so, Gilbert.

{Gil.} When you think of me as I was! Ah, Squire, I had the devil in me last night, and I would have shot the young lieutenant like a dog in this very room, but for—I can't say it.

{Kate.} But for what?

{Gil.} But for the sudden thought that you were as guilty a woman as he was a man.

{Kate.} You didn't know, Gilbert.

{Gil.} Thank you, Squire, I didn't know, (advances to her, looking round to be sure they are alone) Well, Squire, I've seen Mr. Thorndyke this very morning.

{Kate.} (eagerly) Yes?

{Gil.} And I'm the bearer of a message from him.

{Kate.} (rising) A message—what is it? Quick? (checking herself) Oh, no, it doesn't matter—don't tell me.

{Gil.} Ah, Squire, you can't have heard the news. The regiment's going away to a strange country— it's his duty, and he goes too.

{Kate.} (faltering) Yes, I know—going away— soon.

{Gil.} Well, Squire, I parted from him less than an hour ago, and he grips my hand and says to me, "Gilbert, you're the only soul that know's our secret, and you're my friend and hers, and we trust you." —God bless him for that, Squire! "And, Gilbert," says he, "I'm packed off to the Rajkote station in India, where many a gravestone marks the end of a short life. It's a good country for broken hearts, Gilbert. And, Gilbert," says he, "I want to wish her a good-bye. She won't refuse me that, Gilbert, she can't refuse me that." (Kate goes to fire) Ah, Squire, I've got a man's heart, though it's rough, and all my poor disappointments and troubles are nothing to such a sorrow as this. And I'm here for your answer, Squire—waiting.

{Kate.} I can't see him. I must not see him. I am weak—ill. My answer—no!

{Gil.} I won't take it, Squire. My heart goes out to him. I can't bear that answer back.

{Kate.} Then tell him that you found me well, cheerful, with a smile, among my people. Say it is better as it is; that we must learn to forget—say anything, (she sinks helplessly in chair)

{Gil.} Oh, Squire! (approaches her)

{Kate.} Do as I bid you—keep him away from me —that's all.

{Gil.} (walks sadly over to L., C, then turns) Nothing more.

{Kate.} Nothing more.

(The door L., opens, and Chris. enters with Izod at her heels.)

{Chris.} (to Gil.) Gilbert, the children are crying out for you to tell them your fairy stories, and sing your songs to them.

{Gil.} I'm coming, (crosses to L.) (Chris, and Izod. go up stage R., As Gil. is leaving, Kate rises and calls him.)

{Kate.} Gilbert! (crosses to Gilbert)

{Gil.} (turning) Squire!

{Kate.} (she lays her hand on his arm—aside) Gilbert—I—I have thought about it. Tell Mr. Thorndyke that the poor folks look for a glimpse of him to-day. That he shouldn't leave England without seeing the last of Verity's farm. Gilbert, say that we need not meet, (quickly) Go—tell him to come to me!

(Gil. hurries off; Kate sits on couch L., Chris. stands before her. Izod. comes down C.)

{Chris.} You're going to turn your back on Market- Sinfield, Squire. What's to become of me! (crosses her arms)

{Kate.} The poor servant's fortune always falls with the house, Christie. You're young and strong, and better off than your mistress.

{Chris.} (uncrosses and uses her arms) Ah, I see; it's the baby face and baby tongue of old Gunnion's daughter that pleases you now! And why? Because the child can talk to you of the barracks at Pagley, and the jests they make, and the stories they tell about young Thorndyke's lady-love!

{Kate.} (raising her head) You are an insolent woman!

{Chris.} Insolent I may be, but I'm not worse! (goes a little to R.)

{Kate.} What do you mean?

{Chris.} That your precious love-secret is known to my brother and me. That we can spell the name of the man who is the most welcome guest here, in broad daylight when doors are open, and in the dead of night when doors are locked!

{Kate.} (rising and seizing Christie's wrist) Christie!

{Chris.} (throwing her off—placing her hands behind her defiantly) Don't you touch me, because I'm your servant no longer! don't touch me, because you're not fit to lay your hand upon a decent woman!

{Kate.} All the ills of the world at one poor woman's door! (sits on sofa) What is it you want?

{Izod.} (aside to Chris.) Coin!

{Chris.} This: I've got gipsy blood in me, and that means "all or none." Will you promise to turn old Gunnion's child away, never to have her near you again?

{Kate.} If I refuse, what will you do?

{Chris.} Tell the parson that there's a lady in Market-Sinfield who needs as much praying for as she can get from him on Sundays—tell him what Izod saw last night and what I heard—give him a new text to preach to the poor folks who call you their saint.

{Kate.} You'll do this? (rises) Then I promise to be a friend to little Felicity as long as she loves me and clings to me. Say the worst you can.

(Izod goes up towards L., D. and remains. Chris. makes a movement as if going. Kate stops her.)

{Kate.} (rises) Christiana! (Chris. stands before Kate with her hands behind her back) I'll give you this thought to help you. I stand here, the last of my name, in our old house, wretched and in trouble. I'm not the first Verity that has come to grief, but I shall be the first at whose name there's a hush and a whisper. And this will be to your credit—to the credit of one who has fed and slept under my roof, and who has touched my lips with hers. (She comes to Chris, and lays her hand upon her shoulder) Christie, if you ever marry and have children that cry to be lulled to sleep, don't sing this story to them lest they should raise their little hands against their mother. Remember that. (sits again)

(Eric Thorndyke enters quickly, door L., and stands facing Kate. Christiana and Izod look at each other significantly; there is a pause—Christie backs a little so that Eric passes in front of her, Izod passes behind and gets on steps.)

{Chris.} (with a curtsey to Eric) Your servant, Lieutenant. You haven't forgotten the Harvest Feast, sir.

(He makes no answer. Chris, and Izod cross quietly to door L.)

(In Izod's ear) Come to the parson—now.

(They go out, Kate and Eric are alone—they look at each other.)

{Eric.} (C.) Thank you for seeing me.

{Kate.} You ought to hate me for it. (on sofa)

{Eric.} I should have delayed this till you were stronger, but I was in dread that you would go without a word.

{Kate.} I leave Market-Sinfield to-morrow. I should not have said good-bye to you. You look tired and worn out.

(Eric advances to sit beside her, she checks him and points to stool C.)

Sit down—there. (he sits wearily) Has your mother written?

{Eric.} (with a short bitter laugh produces a letter from his pocket-book) (C.) Oh, yes; here is my conge. The gates of The Packmores are shut and locked. Stibbs, the butler, has orders to clear out everything that spells the name of Eric. Poor mother!

{Kate.} Ah, that needn't be now; you must tell her we have quarrelled, that I have jilted you, or you me —anything for a home.

{Eric.} (rises) Home, Kate! Home! That's all over. (comes down C.)

{Kate.} Hush! hush!

{Eric.} I've been with Sylvester, our lawyer, this morning; he is going to raise money on the reversion of my aunt Tylcote's little place, which must come to me. It is the merest trifle, but it is something. And I've written to the agents in town about setting aside half my pay.

{Kate.} (looking up) What is the meaning of that?

{Eric.} For you, Kate. I've no thought but for you, dear, and the little heart which is to beat against yours.

{Kate.} (starts up—rises) Oh, Eric, unless you wish to make me mad, you mustn't be kind to me, I can't bear it. (advancing C. firmly) Why, Eric, do you think I'd let you pinch and struggle for me! (they meet C.)

{Eric.} (hotly) Why, Kate, you wouldn't live in a fashion that doesn't become my wife!

(He stops short—they look at each other, then turn away.)

{Kate.} (sits again on sofa—under her breath) Oh, Eric, what made you say that?

{Eric.} It slipped from me—I didn't meant to say it. Oh, it comes so naturally, (goes up to L., of L. window)

{Kate.} It doesn't matter; it's all through wrangling about miserable money, (goes to R., of L. window)

(The lights are getting duller, the faint glow of the setting sun is seen outside the windows.)

Look! there's the sun going down; we mustn't stay here longer. (She comes closer to him, looking up into his face. They stand with their hands behind them.) There's time only for one last word.

{Eric.} I'm listening, (coming down R.)

{Kate.} (tearfully) It's this. You may—of course—write to me—to the Post Office at Bale, for the present. Not to make it a tax upon you. But when you've nothing better or more cheerful to do— oh, write to me then!

{Eric.} Oh, Kate! (He moves down R., towards her, she goes back a pace to avoid him)

{Kate.} (leans against chair) No, no, I'm not going to cry. (smiling) A man is always so frightened that a woman is going to cry. And, Eric, promise me, dear, never to gamble, nor bet—only very little. Will you promise?

{Eric.} Yes, I promise!

{Kate.} (both centre) Don't listen to stories at the mess table about officers' wives—don't sit up too late—don't drink too much wine.

{Eric.} There's no chance of that, (walks toward settee L.)

{Kate.} Ah, dear, you haven't been in trouble till now. And lastly, always go to church and be a good fellow.

{Eric.} Which means, Kate—try to do everything I should have done in the happy life we might have lived together, (sits, Eric on settee, Kate C.)

{Kate.} Yes, that's what I mean. And when you find yourself getting very miserable, which means, getting very weak, I want you to say to yourself— "Eric, old fellow, pull up—you've got a true love somewhere—you don't know where she is—but you'd better do everything she bids you, for she's a perfect tyrant" (she breaks down, and stands C.)

{Eric.} (puts hat on chair) That's your last word, Kate—this is mine.

(MUSIC.)

When I get away from India, on leave, I shan't know where to bend my steps unless it's to the country that holds my girl.

{Kate.} No, no. (moves to table)

(Rises and crosses, both near table.)

{Eric.} Ah, listen, (he holds out his right hand and traces upon it, as if it were a map, with his left) Suppose my hand's a map—there are lines enough on it—and that you're dwelling in some pretty foreign place, say here. Well, then, when you're here, I could while away the time there, and if you're weary of that one spot and run off to there, I could pack up my bag and smoke my cigar here. You see, darling? Never too near you, where I've no right, but always about thirty or forty miles away. So that in the twilights, which are long and saddening in foreign places, you might sit and say to yourself, "I don't want to meet Eric face to face, because he'd remind me of old times and old troubles, but he's not more than forty miles away, and he's thinking of his dear love at this very moment."

(MUSIC changes.)

{Kate.} (drawing her hand across her eyes) You mustn't speak to me any more.

(Eric takes his hat. Kate goes down to R., C.)

{Eric.} Good-bye. (looking in her face, trying to smile) Why, I do believe I shall begin to write you my Indian budget this very evening.

{Kate.} (struggling with her tears) It doesn't matter how long the letter is. Good-bye. (she holds out her hand, he walks down slowly and takes her hand. There is a pause—softly) You are going away—I can't help it.

(MUSIC ceases.)

(She lays her head quietly upon his breast, he folds his arms round her. As they part Dormer enters door L., with a stern face.)

{Eric.} Mr. Dormer!

{Dormer.} (L.) We meet, as we have met before, sir, in hot blood. Mr. Thorndyke, you have no secret that is not shared by me, and yet you are here, sir! For shame!

{Eric.} (C.) Let me remind you, Mr. Dormer, that one of the few advantages of being neither a pauper nor a felon is freedom of action.

{Dormer.} Mr. Thorndyke, I am without the smooth tongue of my class. I find you in a woman's house, where you are a guest by night as well as by day. I bid you begone. You are a soldier lacking chivalry—a man who makes war upon weakness —you are a coward! (step)

{Eric.} A coward, Mr. Dormer, is one who, under the cover of his age and profession, uses language for which a younger and a braver man would be chastised, (goes up stage toward fire-place)

{Kate.} (crosses to Dormer R.) Parson, you don't guess the truth. If you knew! (crosses to C. Eric drops R.)

{Dormer.} I'll know no more. Miss Verity, I am the pastor of a flock of poor, simple people, who regard your words as precepts, and your actions as examples. I will spare you the loss of their good will, but I demand, so long as you remain in this parish, that Mr. Thorndyke be excluded from your house.

(Kate goes up to bureau.)

{Eric.} Oh, sir, I can relieve your mind on that point; a moment later you would have found me gone. Good-bye, Miss Verity, I shall inform you of my arrival abroad if you will let me.

{Kate.} (takes his hand, and looks firmly at Dormer) Stop! Parson Dormer, this house is mine; while my heart beats, for good or for evil, neither you nor your bishop could shut my doors upon the man I love. That is your answer.

{Dormer.} And to think that yesterday your voice had a charm and a melody for me. It serves me rightly for forgetting my old lesson. What a fool! What a fool! (he goes deliberately to bell rope L., and pulls it)

{Kate.} What are you going to do?

{Dormer.} My duty.

{Kate.} What is that?

{Dormer.} To open the eyes of these blind people.

{Kate.} Open their eyes to what?

{Dormer.} Your guilt.

(Eric gives an indignant cry. Kate goes to Dormer.)

{Kate.} Guilt! It's not true! Parson, I am unhappy, with a life wasted, with hope crushed out of me, but not guilty yet. I am this man's wife in the sight of heaven, married a year ago at God's altar, prayed over and blessed by a priest of your church, to be divorced by the cruel snare which made you its mouthpiece. Parson, I am desperate and weak, but not guilty yet!

{Dormer.} Kate! Kate! look in my eyes—is this the truth?

{Kate.} (clinging to Eric) As true as that at this moment, for the first time in my life, I am in danger!

(Eric leads her to chair R., she sits. The village crowd, headed by Christiana, Izod, Gunnion, and Felicity, appear at door L., Christiana triumphant. Dormer faces the crowd.)

{Dormer.} Friends, Market-Sinfield people, (laying his hand on Chris's, arm) you've been told by this good creature here that I've a few words to speak to you. Very well, this is my text. Beware of Tale Bearers! They destroy the simplicity of such natures as yours; they feed the bitterness of such a nature as mine. I entreat you, firstly, to believe nothing ill against those you hate, and you'll grow to love them; secondly, to believe nothing ill against those you love, and you'll love them doubly. Lastly, whatever you think, whatever you do, to pity this poor lady (pointing to Kate) who is in some trouble at leaving the place where she was born. Go! (turns down C.)

(Chris, snatches her arm from Dormer with a bitter look. The crowd makes a movement to go, when Gil forces his way through and comes to Dor. L. of him.)

{Gil.} (aside to Dormer) Parson, you're wanted up yonder!

{Dormer.} What is it?

(Gil. whispers a few words in Dormer's ear, and falls back. Dormer raises his hand to stop the crowd.)

{Dormer.} (emphatically) Stay! before you go I'll tell you why the Squire leaves Market-Sinfield. (goes a little to R., C.)

{Kate.} (rises and goes up behind table—to Dormer) Parson! No! (goes down on Dormer's L.)

{Dormer.} (not heeding Kate) She is going to be the wife of that young man there, our neighbor Thorndyke.

{Crowd.} What! Married!

{Dormer.} She is going to be married to him in your presence, in my church, and by me, before another Sunday passes.

(A cry from the Crowd.)

But neighbor Thorndyke is off to India for some years with his good wife, on duty to his Queen, and that's why you lose your Squire. Men and women, on your knees to-night, say God bless Squire Kate and her husband, and bring them back to us to Market-Sinfield!

(Another cry from the Crowd.)

Crowd. Hurrah!

{Kate.} (L. of Dormer—grasping Dormer's arm, aside to him) Parson, the woman at the "White Lion!"

{Dormer.} Hush! (to Eric) Mr. Thorndyke, you're a free man, sir, your wife is dead!

(MUSIC.)

(As the curtain falls, Kate kneels, Dormer puts his hand on her head.)

THE END.