menu_book Chapter 1

Act 1 of Engaged by W.S. Gilbert. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Dramatis Personae Cheviot Hill, A Young Man of Property, read by Matthew Rees.

Belvani, His Friend, read by Geoff Butterfield. Mistress Simperson, read by Alan Mapstone. Angus McAllister, a lowland peasant lad, read by Todd. Major McGillicuddy, read by Craig Franklin. Belinda Traherne, read by Emmy Kranz.

Minnie, Simpersons' daughter, read by Jen Broda. Mrs. McFarlane, a lowland widow, read by Sonia. Maggie, her daughter, a lowland lassie, read by Kristen Hand. Parker, Minnie's Maid. Read by Lydia. Stage Directions Read by Michael Maggs.

Act 1. Garden of a Cottage near Gretna. On the border between England and Scotland. Acts 2 and 3. Drawing Room in Simpersons House in London. Three months interval is supposed to elapse between Acts 1 and 2. Three days interval is supposed to elapse between Acts 2 and 3.

Engaged. Act 1. Scene. Garden of a humble but picturesque cottage near Gretna, on the border between England and Scotland. The whole scene is suggestive of rustic prosperity and content. Maggie McFarlane, a pretty country girl, is discovered spinning at a wheel and singing as she spins. Angus McAllister, a good-looking peasant lad, appears on a back and creeps softly down to Maggie as she sings and spins and places his hands over her eyes. Why is it?

Oh, Angus, you frightened me, say. He releases her. And see there, the flax is unknoted and scribbled, and I'll do naything with it. Meg, my Meg, my ain' bonnie Meg. Angus, why lad, what's wrang with thee? Thou hast teardrops in thy bonnie blueeen.

Dina heed of Meg, it comes fra glowerin' at thy bright beauty. Glowerin' at thee is like glowerin' at the noonday sun. Angus, thou'rt talking foolishly. I'm but a pure brown hillside lassie. I dinna like to hear sick things from a straight honest lad like thee. It's the way the dandy town folks speak to me, and does nay come rightly from the lips of a simple man.

Forgive me, Meg, for I speak honestly to ye. Angus McAllister is not the man to deal in squeamin' compliments. Meg, I love thee dearly, as thou well knowest. I'm but a poor lad, and I've little but two bra arms and a straight hair to live by. But I've saved a wee bit siller. I've a bra housey and a scrappy a good garden land, and it's all for thee, lassie, if thou give me thy true and tender little heart. Angus, I'll be fair and straight with thee. Thou askest

me for my heart. Why, Angus, thou art tall and fair and brave. Thou'st a good, honest face and a good, honest heart, which is mere precious than all the gold in earth. No man has a word to say against Angus McAllister, no, nor any woman neither. Thou hast strong arms to work with, and a strong herds to help thee work. And way am I that I should say

that these blessings are not enough for me. If thou, good, brave, honest man, will be troubled with sick a pure little humble mousy as Maggie McFarlane, why, she'll just be the proudest and happiest lassie in a Dumfries.

Mine, darling. They embrace. Enter Mrs. McFarlane from Cottage. Why, Angus, Maggie, what's this? Mistress McFarlane, didn't be fast with me

Didn't think worse of me than I deserve I've loved your lass honestly these fifteen years But I never plucked up the hat to tell her so, till new And when she answered fairly It wasn't a human nature to do aught else

But hold it to my hat and place one kiss on her bonny cheek Angus, say no ma'er. My heart is sere at losing my only bairn, but I'm na' affetched with thee. Thou art a good lad,

and it's been the hope of my widowed old heart to see you twain one. Thou treat her kindly, I ken that weel. Thou art a prosperous, kirk-going man,

and my mag should be a happy lass indeed. Bless thee, Angus, bless thee. Angus, wiping his eyes, "'Dinna heed the water in my ear. "'It will come when I'm o'er glad.

"'Yes, I'm a fairly prosperous man, "'what with farmin' a bit land, "'and gillying odd times, "'and a bit o' poachin' now and again, "'and what with my illicit wosky still,

"'and throwin' trains off the line "'that the poor distracted passengers "'may come to my cot, "'I've mere ways than one "'of makin' an honest livin',

living, and I'll work them a nicked and day for my Bonnie Meg. You can, Angus. I sometimes think that thou art losing some of thine old skill at upsetting railway trains. Thou hast not done such a thing these sex weeks, and the cottage stands salee in need of such chance custom as the poor delayed passengers may bring. Nay, mither, thou rang'st him. Even new, this very day, has he not placed twa Bonnie bra

sleepers across the up line, ready for the express from Glaeski, which is due in two minutes or so. Good lad, good thoughtful lad, but I hope the unfortunate passengers will not be much hurt, poor unconscious bodies. Fear not, neither. Lang experience has taught me to do my work deftly. The train will run off the line and the traffic will just be blocked for half a day, But I'll warrant you that, with all this,

nae mon, woman, or child of man, will get say much as a bruised head or a broken nose. My ain tender-hearted Angus, he wa'dna hurt say much as a blatherin' buzzin' blue-bottle flea. Nay, Meg, not if taking care

and thought could help the poor dumb thing. Wiping his eyes. There, see, lass. Looking off. The train's at a standstill, and there's nae harm done.

I'll just go and tell the poor distract passengers that they may rest them here, in thy cot, gin they will, till the line is cleared again. A-mither, get thy rooms ready, and put brews in the pot, for maybe they'll be hungry, poor souls.

Farewell, Meg. I'll be back, A-lang, and if I don't bring ye a full half-dozen of well-paying passengers. Thou mayest just wed the red-headed excise man. Exit Angus.

Oh, mither, mither, I'm ower happy. I've nay deserved sick a good fortune as to be the wife of yon brave and honest lad. Mag, dan old mither's heart is sad

at the thought of losing ye, for hither do she's just been a wall to thee. But now thou'd cleave to dan Angus, and thou'd learn to love him better than thy poor old mither.

but it won't be, it won't be. Nay, Mither, say not that. A good girl loves her husband with one love and her Mither with another. They are not alike,

but neither is greater nor less than the other, and they dwell together in peace and unity. That is how a good girl loves. And thou art a good girl, Meg. I am a very good girl indeed, Mither,

a very, very good girl. I'm really sure of that. Well, the pubulated passengers will be here and it is our duty to provide for them such poor hospitality as our humble roof will afford. It shall never be said, Jane McFarlane, that she ever turned the weary traveller fainting from her door.

My own gentle-hearted mother. Exeunt together into cottage. Enter Angus with Belvourney and Mr. Hearn. She is in travelling costume, and both are much agitated and alarmed. Step in, sir. Step in and sit you down for a wee. I'll just send Mistress McFarlane to ye. She's a good old body, and will see to your comforts as if she was your ain mither.

Thank you, my worthy lad, for your kindness at this trying moment. I assure you we shall not forget it. Ah, sir, wouldn't any mind do his muckle? A dry shelter, a bannock in a pen of parish is all we can offer ye. But, sick as it is, ye're haeley welcome. It is well. We thank you. For a while wouldn't help the unfortunate. Belvorny, occupied with Mr. Hearn.

Exactly. Everyone would. Or feed the hungry. No doubt. It just brings a teardrop to my ear, think Belvourney leading him off

My friend, we would be alone, this maiden and I Farewell Exit Angus into cottage Belinda, my own, my life Compose yourself

It was in truth a weird and gruesome accident The line is blocked, your peristall is broken And your butterscotch trampled in the dust But no serious harm is done Come, be cheerful. We are safe, quite safe.

Safe? Ah, Belveny, my own own Belveny. There is, I fear, no safety for us so long as we are liable to be overtaken by the fearful Major, to whom I was to have been married this morning. Major McGillicuddy? I confess I do not feel comfortable when I think of Major McGillicuddy. You know his barbaric nature and how madly jealous he is.

If he should find that I have eloped with you, he will most surely shoot us both. It is an uneasy prospect. Certainly. Belinda, do you love me? With an impetuous passion that I shall carry with me to the tomb.

Then be mine tomorrow. We are not far from Gretna, and the thing can be done without delay. Once married, the arm of the law will protect us from this fearful man, and we can defy him to do his worst. Belveny.

All this is quite true. I love you madly, passionately. I care to live but in your heart. I breathe but for your love. Yet, before I actually consent to take the irrevocable step that will place me on the pinnacle of my fondest hopes, you must give me some definite idea of your pecuniary position. I am not mercenary, heaven knows, but business is business, and I confess I should like a little definite information about the settlements. I often think that it is deeply to be deplored that these groveling questions of money

should alloy the tenderest and most hallowed sentiments that inspire our imperfect natures. It is unfortunate, no doubt. But at the same time, it is absolutely necessary. Belinda, I will be frank with you. My income is a thousand pounds a year, which I hold on certain conditions.

You know my friend Chavoy Hill, who is travelling to London in the same train with us, but in the third class? I believe I know the man you mean. Chavoy, who is a young man of large property, but extremely close-fisted, is cursed with a strangely amatory disposition. As you will admit when I tell you that he has contracted a habit of proposing marriage as a matter of course to every woman he meets. His haughty father, who comes of a very old family, the Chavoy Hills had settled in this part of the world centuries before the conquest, is compelled by his health to reside in Madeira.

Knowing that I exercise an all but supernatural influence over his son, and fearing that his affectionate disposition would lead him to contract an undesirable marriage, the old gentleman allows me a thousand pounds a year, so long as Shavoy shall live single, but at his death or marriage the money goes over to Shavoy's uncle Simperson, who is now travelling to town with him. Then, so long as your influence over him lasts, so long only will you retain your income. That is, I am sorry to say, the state of the case. Mr. Herne, after a pause. Belveny, I love you with an imperishable ardour which mocks the power of words.

If I were to begin to tell you now of the force of my indomitable passion for you, the tomb would close over me before I could exhaust the entrancing subject. But, as I said before, business is business, and unless i can see some distinct probability that your income will be permanent i shall have no alternative but to weep my heart out in all the anguish of maiden solitude uncared for unloved and alone exit mr herne into cottage there goes a noble-hearted girl indeed oh for the gift of shaboy's airy badnitch oh for his skill in weaving a net about the hearts of women if i could but induce her to marry me at once before the dreadful major learns our flight

Why not? We are in Scotland. Methinks I've heard two loving hearts can wed in this strange country by merely making declaration to that effect. I will think out some cunning scheme to lure her into marriage unawares. Enter Maggie from Cottage.

Will you walk in and rest a wee, Maester Belvani? There's a room ready for ye, kind sir, and you're heartily welcome to it. It is well. Stop. Come hither, maiden. Oh, sir, you do not mean any harm towards a pure, innocent, unprotected cottage lassie. Harm? No, of course I don't. What do you mean?

I'm but a pure, humble mountain girl. But let me tell you, sir, that my character's just as dear to me as the richest and proudest ladies in the land. Before I consent to approach ye, swear to me that you mean me no harm. Harm? Of course I don't. Don't be a little fool. Come here. There is something in his manner that reassures me. It is not that of the airy trifler with

innocent herits. Allowed. What would you, a pure, harmless Matty McFarlane good sir? Can you tell me what constitutes a Scotch marriage? Oh, sir, it's nay use asking me that, for my herit is not my aim to give. I'm betrothed

to the best and noblest lad in the body borderland. Oh, sir, I cannot be your bride. My girl, you mistake. I do not want you for my bride. Can't you answer a simple question? What constitutes a Scotch marriage? You've just to say before twa witnesses, Maggie McFarlane is my wife, and I've just to say Maester Belvenie is my husband, and Naaman can set asunder. But sir, I cannot be your bride, for I am betrothed to the best and noblest. I congratulate you. You can go. Yes, sir.

exit Maggie into cottage it is a simple process simple but yet how beautiful one thing is certain Shavoy may marry

any day despite my precautions and then I shall be penniless he may die and equally I shall be penniless Belinda has 500 pounds a year

it's not much but it would at least save me from starvation exit Belvoni Enter Simperson and Cheviot Hill over bridge.

They both show signs of damage. Their hats are beaten in and their clothes disordered through the accident. Well, here we are at last. Yes, we are here at last, in a pretty state I'm in, to be sure. My dear nephew, you would travel third class and this is the consequence.

After all, there's not much harm done. Not much harm? What do you call that? Showing his hat. Ten and ninepence at one operation. My gloves split, one and four.

My coat ruined, eighteen and six. It's a coarse and brutal nature that recognizes no harm that don't involve a loss of blood. I'm reduced by this accident from a thinking, feeling, reflecting human being to a moral pulp, a mash, a poultice. Damn, sir, that's what I am. I'm a poultice. Cheviot, my dear boy, at the moment of the accident, you were speaking to me on a very

interesting subject. Was I? I forget what it was. The accident has knocked it clean out of my head. You were saying that you were a man of good position and fortune, that you derived two thousand pounds a year from your bank, that you thought it was time you settled. You then reminded me that I should come into Balvonies thousand pounds a year on your marriage. And I'm not sure, but I rather think you mentioned casually that my daughter Minnie is an angel of light. True. And just then we went off the line.

To resume, Uncle Simperson, your daughter Minnie is an angel of light, a perfect being, as innocent as a new-laid egg. Minnie is indeed all that you have described her. Uncle, I'm a man of few words. I feel and I speak. I love that girl madly, passionately, irresistibly. She is my whole life, my whole soul and body, my past, my present, and my to come. I have thought for none but her. She fills my mind, sleeping and waking.

She is the essence of every hope, the tree upon which the fruit of my heart is growing, my own to come. Simperson, who has sunk overpowered onto stool during this speech. Sheviot, my dear boy, excuse a father's tears. I won't beat about the bush. You have anticipated my devoutest wish.

Sheviot, my dear boy, take her. She is yours. I have often heard of rapture, but I never knew what it was till now. Uncle Simperson, bearing in mind the fact that your income will date from the day of the wedding, when may this be my boy the sooner the better delicacy would prompt me to give belvoni a reasonable notice of the impending loss of his income

but should i for such a mere selfish reason as that rob my child of one hour of the happiness that you are about to confer on her no my duty to my child is paramount On one condition, however, I must insist. This must be kept from Belvani's knowledge. You know the strange, mysterious influence that his dreadful eyes exercise over me. I have remarked it with astonishment.

They are much inflamed just now, and he has to wear green spectacles. While this lasts, I am a free agent. But under treatment they may recover. In that case, if he knew that I contemplated matrimony, he would use them to prevent my doing so. And I cannot resist them. I cannot resist them. Therefore, I say, until I am safely and securely tied up, Belvani must know nothing about it. Trust me, Shaviot, he shall know nothing about

it from me. Aside. A thousand a year. I have endeavoured, but in vain,

to woo fortune for fifty-six years. But she smiles upon me at last. She smiles

upon me at last. Exit Simperson into cottage. At length my hopes are to be crowned. Oh my own,

My own, the hope of my heart, my love, my life. Enter Belvoni, who has overheard these words. Shavoy, whom are you apostrophizing in those terms? You've been at it again, I see. Belvoni, that apostrophe was private.

I decline to admit you to my confidence. Shavoy, what is the reason of this strange tone of defiance? A week ago I had but to express a wish to have it obeyed as a matter of course. Belvani, it may not be denied that there was a time when, owing to the remarkable influence exercised over me by your extraordinary eyes,

you could do with me as you would. It would be affectation to deny it. Your eyes withered my will. They paralyzed my volition. They were strange and lurid eyes, and I bowed to them.

Those eyes were my fate, my destiny, my unerring must, my inevitable shall. That time has gone. Forever. Alas for the days that are past and the good that came and went with them. Weep for them, if you will. I cannot weep with you, for I loved them not.

But as you say, they are past. The light that lit up those eyes is extinct. Their fire has died out. Their soul has fled. They are no longer eyes, they are poached eggs. I have not yet sunk so low as to be the slave of two poached eggs.

Have mercy! If any girl has succeeded in enslaving you, and I know how easily you are enslaved, dismiss her from your thoughts, have no more to say to her, and I will, yes, I will bless you with my latest breath. Whether a blessing conferred with one's latest breath

is a superior article to one conferred in robust health, we need not stop to inquire. I decline, as I said before, to admit you to my confidence on any terms whatever. Be gone! Exit Belvoni. Dismiss from my thoughts the only woman I ever loved. Have no more to say to the tree upon which the fruit of my heart is growing. No, Belvoni, I cannot cut off my tree as if it were gas or water.

I do not treat women like that. Some men do, but I don't. I am not that sort of man. I respect women. I love women. They are good. They are pure. They are beautiful. At least, many of them are. Enter Maggie from Cottage. He is much fascinated. This one, for example, is very beautiful indeed. If you'll just walk in, sir, you'll find a bannock and a pan of parrots waiting for you on the table.

This is one of the loveliest women I ever met in the whole course of my life. Maggie, aside. What's he glowering at? A lad. Oh, sir. You mean no harm to the poor Lowland lassie?

Pardon me. It's very foolish. I can't account for it. But I am arrested, fascinated. Oh, good, sir. What's fascinated ye? I don't know. There is something about you that exercises a most remarkable influence over me. It seems to weave a kind of enchantment around me. I can't think what it is.

You are a good girl, I am sure. None but a good girl could so powerfully affect me. You are a good girl, are you not? I am a very good girl indeed, sir. I was quite sure of it.

Gets his arm round her waist. I am a much better girl than nineteen out of twenty in these parts, and they are all good girls too. My darling. Kisses her.

Oh, kind sir, what's that for? It is your reward for being a good girl. Oh, sir, I did not look for sicker recompense. You are very, very kind to pure little Maggie McFarlane. I cannot think what it is about you that fascinates me so remarkably.

Maybe it's my beauty. Maybe it is. It is quite possible that it may be, as you say, your beauty. I am remarkably pretty, and I have a very neat figure. There is a natural modesty in this guileless appreciation of your own perfection that is,

to me, infinitely more charming than the affected ignorance of an artificial town-bred beauty. Oh, sir, can I close my ean to the picture that my looking-glass holds up to me twenty times a day? We see the rose on the tree, and we say that it is fair. We see the silver moon sailing in the bra-blue heavens, and we say that she is bright. We see the brawling stream purling over the small stains in the burn, and we say that it is beautiful. And shall we close our e'en to the

fairest of nature's works, a pure and beautiful woman? Why, sir, it would just be base in gratitude. No, it's best to tell the truth about a things. I am a vera, vera beautiful girl. Maggie McFarland, I'm a plain, blunt, straightforward man, and I come quickly to the point. I see more to love in you than I ever saw in any woman in all my life before. I have a large income, which I do not spend recklessly.

I love you passionately. You are the essence of every hope. You are the tree upon which the fruit of my heart is growing, my past, my present, my future. You are my own to come.

Tell me, will you be mine? Will you join your life with mine? Enter Angus, who listens. Ah, kind sir, I am sorely grieved to wound, say true and tender a love is yours. But you're o'er late. My love is named my ain to give you.

It's given o'er to the best and bravest lad in the bonny borderland. Give me his address that I may go and curse him. Mikey kneels to hell. Ah, you must not curse him. Oh, spare him, spare him, for he is good and brave and he loves me. Oh, say dearly, and I love him, oh, say dearly, too.

Oh, sir, kind sir, have mercy on him, and do not, do not curse him, or I shall die. Throwing herself at his feet. Will you or will you not oblige me by telling me where he is, that I may at once go and curse him? Angus, coming forward. He is here, sir, but do you not waste your curses on me?

Maggie, my Ben. Raising her. I heard the answer ye gave to this man, my true and gentle lassie. Ye spake well and bravely, Meg,

well and bravely. Didn't he heed the water, my ye? It's a tear of joy and gratitude, Meg, a tear of joy and gratitude. Cheviot touched.

Poor fellow, I will not curse him. Allowed. Young man, I respect your honest emotion. I don't want to distress you, but I cannot help loving this most charming girl. Come, is it reasonable to quarrel with a man because he's of the same way of thinking as yourself?

Nay, sir, I'm nay-fashed. But it just seems to dry all the blood back in my heart when I think that my Meg is loved by anither. Oh, sir, she's a fair and winsome lassie, and I make does justly be angry with ye for loving the blue heavens. She's just as far above us as they are. Wiping his eyes and kissing her.

Cheviot with decision. Pardon me, sir, I cannot allow that. Eh? I love that girl madly, passionately, and I cannot possibly allow you to do that. Not before my eyes, I beg.

You simply torture me. Maggie, to Angus. Leave off, dear. Till the pure gentleman's gone, and then you can begin again. Angus, listen to me.

You love this girl? I love her, sir. Almost as real as I love myself. Then reflect how you are standing in the way of her prosperity. I am a rich man.

I have money, position, and education. I am a much more intellectual and generally agreeable companion for her than you can ever hope to be. I am full of anecdote, and all my anecdotes are in the best possible taste. I will tell you some of them some of these days, and you can judge for yourself. Maggie, if she married me, would live in a nice house in a good square.

She would have wine occasionally. She would be kept beautifully clean. Now, if you really love this girl almost as well as you love yourself, are you doing wisely or kindly and standing in the way of her getting all these good things? As to compensation, why, I've had heavy expenses of late. But if, yes, if thirty shillings...

"'Sir, I'm pure in pocket, but I've a rich hat. "'It is rich in a pure and overflowing love, "'and he that hath love hath all. "'Ye can't a ken what true love is, "'or you wouldn't dare to insult a pure but honest lad

"'by offering to buy his treasure for money.'" Cheviot retires up. "'My ain true darling.'" They embrace. Now, I'll not have it. Understand me, I'll not have it. It's simple agony to me.

Angus, I respect your indignation, but you are too hasty. I do not offer to buy your treasure for money. You love her. It will naturally cause you pain to part with her. And I prescribe thirty shillings not as a cure, but as a temporary solace. If thirty shillings is not enough, why, I don't mind making it two pounds. Nay, sir, it's useless, and we can it will, do we not, my brave lassie? Our heads are one as our bodies will be some day, and the man is nay born,

and the gold is nay coined, that can set us twain asunder. Angus, dear, I'm vera proud o so staunch and true o love. It's like your ain true self, and I can say nay more for it than that. but didn't act without prudence and forethoughts dear in these hard times twa pound is twa pound and i'm nay sure that you're acting richly in refusing say large a sum i love you very dearly you can that right wheel and if you'll be troubled with sick a poor little mousy i'll make you a true

and loving wife but i doubt whether without my love i'll ever be worth as much to you as twa pound Dinner act in haste, dear. Take time to think before you refuse this kind gentleman's offer. Oh, sir, is not this rare modesty. Could ye imagine among your town-bred fine ladies?

I think not. Meg, it shall be as ye say. I'll take the cellar, but it'll be with a ser and a broken head. Cheviet gives Angus money. Fear thee weel, my love, my childhoods, boyhoods, manhoods, love.

Ye're ganging from my heart to another who'll gi thee mere of the good things in this world than I could ever gi thee, except love. And of that my heart is full indeed. But it's air for the best. Ye'll be happier with him, and twa pound is twa pound.

Meg, Macamagood, why, be true to him, and love him as ye loved me. Oh, Meg, my poor bruised hair tis well nigh like to break. Exit into cottage in great agony. Maggie looking wistfully after him. Pure laddie, pure laddie.

Oh, I didna ken till knew how weel he loved me. Maggie, I'm almost sorry I... poor lad, poor fellow. He has a generous heart. I am glad I did not curse him. Aside. This is weakness. Allowed.

Maggie, my own. Ever and for always my own. We will be very happy, will we not? Oh, sir, I dinna can, but in truth I hope so. O, sir, my happiness is in your hands, new. Be kind to the pure cottage lassie who loves you, say weel. My hert is a urane, and if you forsake me, my lot will be a sair one indeed. Exit weeping into cottage.

Poor little Lowland lassie. That's my idea of a wife. No ridiculous extravagance, no expensive tastes. Knows how to dress like a lady on five pounds a year. Ah, and does it, too. No pretense there of being blind to her own beauties. She knows that she is beautiful, and scorns to lie about it. In that respect, she resembles Simperson's dear daughter, Minnie.

My darling Minnie. Looks at miniature. My own darling Minnie. Minnie is fair. Maggie is dark.

Maggie loves me. That excellent and perfect country creature loves me. She is to be the light of my life, my own to come. In some respects, she is even prettier than Minnie. My darling Minnie, Simperson's dear daughter, the tree upon which the fruit of my heart is growing,

my past, my present and my future, my own to come. But this tendency to reverie is growing on me. I must shake it off. Enter Miss Trahan. Heaven and earth, what a singularly lovely girl! A stranger! Pardon me, I will withdraw.

A stranger indeed, in one sense, inasmuch as he never had the happiness of meeting you before. But in that he has a heart that can sympathize with another's misfortune. He trusts he may claim to be regarded almost as a friend. May I ask, sir, to what misfortunes you allude? I, uh, do not know their precise nature, but that perception would indeed be dull,

and that heart would be indeed flinty, that did not at once perceive that you are very, very unhappy. Accept, madam, my deepest and most respectful sympathy. You have guessed rightly, sir. I am indeed a most unhappy woman. I am delighted to hear it. I mean, I feel a pleasure, a melancholy and chastened pleasure, in reflecting that, if your distress is not of a pecuniary nature,

it may perchance lay in my power to alleviate your sorrow. Impossible, sir, though I thank you for your respectful sympathy. How many women would forego twenty years of their lives to be as beautiful as yourself, little dreaming that extraordinary loveliness can coexist with the most poignant anguish of mind? But so, too often, we find it. Do we not, dear lady?

Sir, this tone of address from a complete stranger! Nay, be not unreasonably severe upon an impassionable and impulsive man, whose tongue is but the too-faithful herald of his heart. We see the rose on the tree, and we say that it is fair. We see the bonny brooks purling over the smooth stains—I should say, stones—in the burn,

and we say that it is beautiful. And shall we close our eyes to the fairest of nature's works, a pure and beautiful woman? Why, it would be base ingratitude indeed. I cannot deny that there is much truth in the sentiments you so beautifully express. But I am unhappily too well aware that, whatever advantages I may possess,

personal beauty is not among their number. How exquisitely modest is this chaste insensibility to your own singular loveliness! How infinitely more winning than the bold-faced self-appreciation of underbred country girls! I am glad, sir, that you are pleased with my modesty. It has often been admired.

Pleased? I am more than pleased. That's a very weak word. I am enchanted. Madam, I am a man of quick impulse and energetic action. I feel and I speak. I cannot help it. Madam, be not surprised when I tell you that I cannot resist the conviction that you are the light of my future life, the essence of every hope, the tree upon which the fruit of my heart is growing, my past, my present, my future,

my own to come. Do not extinguish that light. Do not disperse that essence. Do not blight that tree. I am well off. I'm a bachelor. I'm thirty-two. And I love you, madam, humbly, truly, trustfully, patiently. Paralyzed with admiration, I wait anxiously, and yet hopefully, for your reply. Sir, that heart would indeed be cold that did not feel grateful for so much earnest, single-hearted devotion. I am deeply grieved to have to say one word to cause pain to one

who expresses himself in such well-chosen terms of respectful esteem. But alas, I have already yielded up my heart to one who, if I mistake not, is a dear personal friend of your own. Am I to understand that you are the young lady of property whom Belvani hopes to marry? I am, indeed, that unhappy woman.

And is it possible that you love him? With a rapture that thrills every fibre of my heart, with a devotion that enthralls my very soul. But there's some difficulty about his settlements. A difficulty?

I should think there was. Why, on my marrying, his entire income goes over to Simperson. I could reduce him to penury to-morrow. As it happens, I am engaged, I recollect, to Simperson's daughter. And if Belvani dares to interpose between you and me, by George I'll do it.

Oh, spare him, sir. You say that you love me. Then, for my sake, remain single forever. It is all I ask, it is not much. Promise me that you will never, never marry,

and we will both bless you with our latest breath. There seems to be a special importance attached to a blessing conferred with one's latest breath that I entirely fail to grasp. It seems to me to convey no definite advantage of any kind whatever. Cruel, cruel man.

Enter Belvorni in great alarm. We are lost. We are lost! What do you mean? Who has lost you? Major McGillicuddy discovered your flight and followed in the next train.

The line is blocked through our accident, and his train is pulled up within a few yards of our own. He is now making his way to this very cottage. What do you say to that? I agree with you. We are lost. I disagree with you. I should say you are found. This man is a reckless fire-eater!

He is jealous of me. He will assuredly shoot us both if he sees us here together. I am no coward, but I confess I am uneasy. Miss Travern to Cheviot. Oh, sir, you have a ready wit.

Help us out of this difficulty and we will both bless you. With our latest breath! That decides me. Madam, remain here with me. Belvani withdraw.

Belvani retires. I will deal with this maniac alone. All I ask is that if I find it necessary to make a statement that is not consistent with strict truth, you, madam, will unhesitatingly endorse it? I will stake my very existence on its veracity, whatever it may be. Good. He is at hand. Belvani, go. Exit Belvani.

Now, madam, repose upon my shoulders. Place your arms around me so. Is that comfortable? It is luxurious. Good. You are sure it does not inconvenience you? Not at all.

Go back. I like it. Now we are ready for him. Enter McGillicuddy, with two friends dressed as for a wedding, with white favours. McGillicuddy has pistols, all greatly excited. Where is the villain?

I'll swear he is concealed somewhere. Search every tree, every bush, every geranium. Ah, they are here. Perjured woman, I've found you at last. Miss Trahan, to Cheviot.

Save me. Belvorni appears at back, listening. Who is the unassightly scoundrel with whom you have flown? The unpleasant-looking scamp whom you have dared to prefer to me? "'Uncurl yourself from around the plain villain at once,

"'unless you would share his fate.' "'Maggie and Angus appear from cottage.' "'May just bear him.' "'Now, sir, perhaps you will be so good as to explain who the deuce you are "'and what you want with this lady.'

"'I don't know who you may be, but I'm Muck-Giddy-Cuddy. "'I am betrothed to this lady. "'We were to have been married this morning. I waited for her at the church from ten till four. Then I began to get impatient.

I really think you must be laboring under some delusion. Delusion? Ha ha! The two friends produce large wedding cake. Here's the cake. Still, I think there's a mistake somewhere.

This lady is my wife. What? Belinda? Oh, Belinda? Tell me that this unattractive man lies. Tell me that you are mine, and only mine, now and for ever. I cannot say that.

This gentleman is my husband. McGillicuddy falls sobbing on seat. Belvoni tears his hair in despair. Maggie sobs on Angus's shoulder. End of Act One