ACT V.

I cannot leave her in this agony, (looks at his watch,) And yet the hour is nearly out. O Time! Turn back thy sands! take months from out my life For moments spared me now. I cannot leave her. (To her.) Dear Isabelle, be comforted; I'll go And tell my father this sad tale you've told me. Fear not; he has a soul of nobleness— He will consent; and, when you are my wife, You'll have a host of friends.

No! no! dear Henry; This must not, cannot be. I've given my word To him who hitherto I deemed my father, And who has been a father in his care— He's dying now—that I will take his charge, Will teach his pupils, and insure a home To his poor wife and Alice, whom I love As an own sister. They gave me a home, Else I had been cast off e'en as the weed Is cast to perish. No! I must be firm; My duty is made plain; I must stay here.

Oh! say not so, dear Isabelle! be mine. Would you waste youth, and health, and loveliness In this unthankful and laborious life? No! no! It must not be; I will provide For these.

Oh, Henry, torture me not thus Forcing my heart to strive against my soul. Your generous love but humbles me the more. Do not mistake me: 'tis not pride, but duty, That tells me we must part—and part for ever.

And you say this to me! You never loved me— While I have given to you my heart, soul, mind— Made you the idol of my earthly hopes, My dream of angel-blessedness above! You never loved me!

Ah! it may be best That you should thus believe—should doubt my love. Tis but another grief for me to bear; And I had rather suffer than inflict A pang on you. But, Henry, if I were An heiress, with a fortune and a name, And friends to love and flatter me—I'd speak Of my heart's love for you: I cannot now— A nameless, homeless, and forsaken child. Oh! let me be forgiven if I keep The station heaven appointed me—alone! Some must be sufferers in this world of care— Victims for others, wearing out their lives, Like the poor Greenlanders, in night and winter. But God will strengthen all to bear their lot, If patiently they take the burden up. (Weeping bitterly.)

This must not, shall not be, dear Isabelle; Hear reason, if you will not love. Last night A vile attempt was made to burn this house, And carry you away. Dare you live here, When there'll be none to guard you? Isabelle, You must be mine at once—give me the right To keep you, like a jewel, in my bosom, Where not an eye but loves you shall behold you. Oh! say you will be mine.

It would be vain: Your father never would consent. A year You've promised him to wait—and, ere that time Is passed, you may forget the nameless girl.

I will not wait a day. My word was passed When I believed this home of yours was safe Now—not a day. I go to ask my father. If he refuses me, I leave his house. I am of age to answer for myself.

Oh! not for me and mine must this be done: You must not leave your home and friends for me. Your future would be marred for ever, Henry No! leave me to the care of Providence.

Dear Isabelle, with you I have the world. I'll hire two cottages together, love— And we'll have one—your friends shall have the other. The garden-plots shall join, and you and Alice May have the flowers in partnership, as here. The flower of love will bloom spontaneously Beneath your smiles—and fortune's smiles I win In winning yours. Come with me to your father, The good and honest Olney. He will consent. [Exeunt into the house. Scene, closes.

The day of destiny for me has come! Strange how the aspect of the outer world Changes beneath the changes of the soul! This morning is a glorious one to sense! But Hope, the sun that lights the inner man, And warms the mind to noble energy, Giving the will its giant power to sweep The clouds of doubt and dark distrust away, Even as the risen sun the morning mists— Hope comes not to my soul! (Enter Rev. Paul Godfrey.) Ah! Godfrey, welcome! You look as you had brought her in your heart, This truant Hope, to render her to me. I never felt the worth of friends till now. My life has been one long unclouded day. I had almost forgotten my dependence On Him who sends the sunshine as the storm.

A dangerous state. The Bible tells us, truly, That "They who have no changes fear not God." And fear is the beginning of our love, And love brings trust, and trust true confidence— Not in our own deserts, or powers, or wealth, But confidence, if we pursue the good With firm resolve, that all will work for good. This, the true wisdom, man but seldom learns, Except 'tis taught him by adversity. Thank God that this, your trial, has not come As punishment of your misdeeds—but sent, As 'twere, like Job's of old, to try your faith In truth and justice and God's righteousness! Keep your integrity—all will be well. Enter Dr. Margrave hastily.

Joy! joy!—the clue is found!

What? Where's the child?

The child! Inquire for the young lady now— For such, I trust, you'll find your Isabelle. I've seen the nurse who carried her away: 'Twas she who sent for me—that dying woman. Let doctors take encouragement from this, That in their duties they will gain rewards.

But Isabelle, my ward—where is she now?

I'd leave my bed again to-night to seek her, Only it would be groping in the dark. Pray, do not look so sad—we'll find her yet; I have the clue, here is the deposition— I took it from the dying woman's lips. She died an hour ago. She hither came To find you out and own her crime.

The child— Where did she leave her?

Have a moment's patience. The woman said she did not dare to carry The child among her kindred at the West; They would have found the imposition out, As Isabelle resembled not her daughter. And so the woman traveled to Virginia, And there, with a kind family, she left The orphan to her fate.

With whom?

The name She has forgotten—but she left a token, Half of this severed chain (takes out half a necklace), with "Isabelle" Engraven, as this has "De Vere" upon it.

Ah! this was Isabelle's—her mother's, too! This is a clue indeed. I'll go at once To seek her out and find the other half.

'Tis here. And thus may Truth be ever found By all who seek her earnestly, and wait Her advent in the time and way appointed! The way is righteousness—the time is God's.

I am confounded by these miracles. Explain—where did you find this precious token?

'Twas given me by Professor Olney—he It was who took the little Isabelle And reared her as his own.

What Isabelle? That daughter of the pedagogue my son Is seeking for his wife?

The very same. And Romeo did not love his Juliet more Than your son loves this charming Isabelle; And she, like Juliet, loves him in return.

Thank Heaven for this!

Ah! here he comes! Now, Henry, What says your lady-love? Is she inclined To trust your constancy for one long year?

I cannot wait the term; and I have come To ask your pardon, and retract my word. Isabelle has no home; Professor Olney Is not her father.

Ay, I've heard the story. And you resign her now?

Not while I live! I mean to marry her at once—to-day; Before this only father she has known Is dead:—he will die soon.

Wed her! this unknown! Ah! Henry, this to me! Why, you are mad!

My father, I have told you my resolve; You've heard me own my love for Isabelle; To have your approbation of my choice Would fill my cup of earthly happiness; But I shall marry her e'en though the act Bring banishment from you.

You promised, Henry, To wait a year.

And so I would have done. To gain your favor, I would suffer this Delay and cross of love. But now I feel That duty, honor, manly sentiment Compel me to the side of Isabelle. She is alone; I must and will protect her.

She has no name.

She shall have mine: a name My father has made honorable.

Henry, You have no fortune. How support your wife?

I'll work. I have been flattered for my talents, But never yet have had an aim or motive To test their worth and energy. I'll work. The rich man's son may live in idleness, The great man's son reflects his father's light, And thus their genius and their noblest powers Are often unemployed, obscured, and lost. 'Tis better I should have to make my way; And with my guiding angel, Isabelle, And the example of my noble father, I surely shall succeed.

Give me your hand. You are God's noblest work, an honest man; True to the witness your own spirit bears; And so does every man's, would they but hear And follow as you do—that worth is won, And not inherited. 'Tis circumstance That makes the difference in our mortal lot; And Providence arranges this at will. How kind the lot that gives you Isabelle!

My son! my son! may you be worthy of her, And love her alway. Know she is the one That, in your boyhood, was your "little wife!" The Isabelle De Vere we mourned as dead. You stand amazed; but all shall be explained.

Oh, let me go and tell her!

I'll go with you: And, as we go, will make the mystery plain.

And bring her here. Order the carriage, Henry, And bring her home with you. Tell her I long To fold her to my heart and call her daughter. [Exit Young Bolton and Godfrey.

How strangely and how wisely Providence Directs the course of life! How oft we see That bitter medicine was kindly given. Had Isabelle remained your ward, brought up With Henry here, they might, indeed, have married; But never would have felt such certainty Of true, unbribed affection as will be The blessing and the memory of their life.

The rogue and the ruffian love darkness and night, But we will go forth when the morning is bright, And the joy of the world shall the happiness be Of Dennis O'Blarney and Michael Magee.

Bless your honor's house—the rogues are taken.

They've taken Captain Pawlett and another.

The other murdering villain entered here.

The officers are coming now to search.

What is it, Lucy? What has happened, bird?

Oh, father, he is killed!

Who? who?

Frederick! He's shot himself, and in his mother's room. Oh! (Shrieks and faints.)

I'll go and see what can be done. [Exit Margrave and the Officers.

Lucy! She is reviving! Quick, give me the cup. Here, drink, my love; the water will revive you. Nay, do not speak; be silent and be calm. The angels, as they watch this guilty world, See every day such sights of wretchedness Think of the angels in that world of joy, Where Death can never enter. Do not weep. Ah, yes! you are a mortal and a woman, And tears of pitying grief for other's woes Are human offerings Heaven will ne'er reject. Weep for Belinda's sorrow; weep for her.

'Tis over! He has gone to his account.

Where human judgment never may intrude. We'll leave him to the One who reads the heart, And knows its wants, and woes, and weaknesses. Lord, keep us from temptation!—this should be The daily prayer of all—with thankfulness For daily blessings given—and here come mine.

We bring you the lost pleiad of your heart.

My father, Isabelle.

And yours, my daughter! (Embracing her.)

Come to my arms, my long-lamented child; I welcome thee as one restored from death. This house and all I've called mine own are yours, And now shall be restored.

Dear father, no But take me as your own, and let me live Thus in the warmth and light of this dear home: I shall be rich, beyond my wildest dreams. I only wished for wealth to give away To those I loved, and those who were in need. And now the world o'erflows with happiness. I am so rich in friends and hopes, I feel Half fearful it will prove a fairy tale; It seems too sweet for earth.

He's dead! he's dead! I've murdered him! He's dead! My falsehood poisoned him; and so he died. He did not kill himself! Say not a word. My heart and brain are both on fire! His blood Is here, and here! (Sees Isabelle.) Oh, save me! save me now! She's come to witness here against my soul! You cannot see her; she is like an angel! I know her well! She's there! Begone! begone!

Poor broken-hearted mother! Bear her in, And tenderly. Her mind is quite o'erthrown. [Madame Belcour carried in by the attendants.

These alternations make the sum of life: Thus sorrow treads upon the steps of joy. A bridal here; and from the neighboring door Comes forth a funeral tram.

And both are well. We live to die, and die to live again; And evermore the day succeeds the night. And those who see the sunshine on their path May walk in soberness and yet be glad.

The cloud conceals, but never dims the star; And Youth and Happiness will twine their wreath Even on Thalia's brow. My children, come; It is my birthday; all our friends are here, And they return our smile of thankful joy That Isabelle is found. Our task is done; And, if approved by you, our cause is won.