Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1946 page)

PEN. It does not, madam.

MISS G. (
snatches the will from him, and throws it on the ground
). Let it lie there, then, if it’s useless. You mean well, sir; you wish to spare me; but you are only wasting time and strength; tell me the truth, Mr. Pendril, and tell it instantly.

PEN. I comply, madam, but you are so agitated. Let us wait a little, till you have recovered yourself. (
he takes letters from his pocket.
)

Music. —
MAGDALEN VANSTONE
appears from
L.,
at the window, slowly crosses to
R.,
and exit.

MISS G. (
aside
). Twelve years — twelve quiet, happy years have I lived under this roof, and their mother was my friend, I might almost say my sister.

PEN. Can you listen to me, now? Briefly, then, Mr. Andrew Vanstone began life in the army; he went to Canada with his regiment, leaving his father seriously estranged from his elder brother, Michael. Soon after his arrival in Canada, he met with a woman of great beauty, but utter want of principle, who soon succeeded in ensnaring this youth of twenty-one, and who led him to commit the fatal error of his life — he married her.

MISS G. Married her!

PEN. Even so. But hardly three months had elapsed, before he discovered her true character; when he found he could only part from her by making her a handsome allowance, and compelling her to promise she would never see his face again. Thus they separated — she to her friends in the South, he to his own country, to learn the news of his father’s death, and also that he had become his heir, to the entire exclusion of his elder brother.

MISS G. Well, sir?

PEN. He at once honourably proposed to divide the property with Michael; but the latter accused him of being the cause of his father’s unworthy conduct; and, refusing to retract his monstrous slander, the brothers parted, never to meet again; Michael’s sole support arising from the small fortune of his wife.

MISS G. And then, sir?

PEN. And then, Andrew Vanstone, thrown on the world of London, with an impulsive nature, and great wealth, and cut off from domestic happiness by his fatal step in Canada, in sheer despair was drifted into the wildest dissipations, when he fortunately met her who was known in England as Mrs. Vanstone. She was the daughter of a London Merchant, whom he met at a city ball; she was unhappy in her home; she was refined and generous; her parents were coarse and repulsive. Andrew was the first man she had ever met who had the tastes and feelings of a gentleman, and she surrendered her heart to him at once; but he had too much honour to deceive her. He told her the entire truth; and then, loving him as she did, passionately, with no home ties to restrain her, she saw that she alone stood between him and his ruin, and she sacrificed herself to save him.

MISS G. And this was her sad secret?

PEN. Yes, madam; which I shall not stoop to defend by any false reasoning. I shall merely say, she fulfilled her aim; she saved the man she loved from utter worthlessness and ruin; she bestowed on him a home, which she blessed further with her two daughters; and when at length the news reached him of the death of his wife in America, he carried her to London, and there rendered her the justice which had been so long and sadly delayed.

MISS G. And which she lived to enjoy but a few months, following speedily to the tomb, the man for whom she had made this sacrifice; but you have still a mystery to explain, the present position of his children — these girls whom he loved so fondly?

PEN. True, madam.

MISS G. And whom you say his will no longer provides for.

PEN. Simply because, madam, it is the law of England that marriage sets aside the will of a single man, whilst it fails to legitimate all offspring born before it.

MISS G. What do I hear?

PEN. This cruelty of our legislation, our poor friend was apprised of, and, accordingly, was on the point of making a fresh will for his children’s benefit, when the fatal accident occurred which swept him from existence.

MISS G. And his children are left dependent?

PEN. Yes, madam — dependent.

MISS G. On the mercy of some stranger?

PEN. On the mercy of their uncle.

MISS G. Not on Michael Vanstone?

PEN. Yes, madam, on Michael Vanstone, who is now the sole heir and successor of his brother.

SERVANT
enters,
C.,
with letter.

SERV. A letter for you, Mr. Pendril, which has been forward from London.

[
Exit
SERVANT, C.

PEN. (
he opens it
)- As I expected; ‘tis from their uncle, whom I wrote to a fortnight ago on the subject of the poor girls. He is living at Zurich, with his son Noel, who seems to be in bad health, and a Swiss housekeeper, one Madame Lecompte. The letter is a long one; excuse me, my dear madam a moment, whilst I ascertain what are its contents. (
rises and goes off,
R. D.)

Music as before.
MAGDALEN
reappears at back.

MISS G. And at length the veil is lifted. I know the secret of her life; I can excuse, and I can grieve for it; but how can I reveal it — how convey it to her children, who have never dreampt of its humiliation — how make known to them their destitution — that the fatal accident which robbed them of a father has also left them penniless? How shall I tell them that —
 
—

MAGDALEN (
comes down
C,
with rigid composure
). There is no need, madam; they know it already!

MISS G. Magdalen! (
rises to
L. C.)

MAG. Mr. Vanstone’s daughters have no name — are no one’s children — according to the law which leaves them helpless on their uncle’s mercy. (C.)

MISS G. You heard us, then?

MAG. At the window; but don’t reproach me with those doubting eyes. What wrong have I done? My listening has saved you the task of a bitter revelation. You have suffered enough for us already. It is time we learned to suffer for ourselves.

MISS G. Magdalen, you frighten me.

MAG. Oh, no; do not think worse of me than I deserve. I can’t cry, my heart is numbed.

MISS G. My poor child!

MAG. I see, then, I must comfort
you.
Ah, try not to grieve over what you have heard this morning. Does it matter, now, who we are, or what we keep or lose? What loss is there for us after the loss of our father and mother — of the unbounded love they gave us — the love that can never come again? (
crosses to
L.,
and returns to
C.)

MISS G. But you have more sources of suffering. You have lost not only home and wealth, but —
 
— (
crosses to
R.,
returns to
R. C.)

MAG. (
after pause
). Go on.

MISS G. The man you love — were to have married, had your father survived to give him the means of pursuing his fortunes in this country; but who now, unless your uncle pleases to step into your father’s place, must give you up.

MAG. Must give me up — and seek his fortunes in another land.

MISS G. And this is known to Michael Vanstone. Mr. Pendril has written to him on this very point, and his answer is arrived. Our good friend received it but this moment, and —
 
—

PENDRIL
enters
R. D.,
as
NORAH
enters
C.,
followed by
MR. CLARE.

PEN. And can now acquaint you with its contents.

MISS G. Well, sir?

PEN. And yet I hesitate. In all my sad experience of the worst side of human nature, I have never met with a man who was so utterly dead to mercy.

MISS G. Do you mean to say that he takes the whole of his brother’s fortune, and makes no provision whatever for his brother’s orphan children?

PEN. He merely offers them a sum of money to meet their immediate wants; but it is so disgracefully insufficient, that I am really ashamed to name it.

MAG. Which offer is in that letter. Will you allow me, sir, to read it?

PEN. Do not, I beg of you; it is expressed so cruelly that —
 
—
 
—

MAG. I am sensible of your kindness in wishing to spare me pain, but I can bear it.

NORAH. Oh, Magdalen, why would you read it? You distress Mr. Pendril — you distress us all.

MAG. Something tells me I ought to read it. I know nothing yet, but that he has deprived us of our fortune. He must have some motives for so doing; it is but fair to him that we should know them. He has deliberately robbed us, and I think we have a right, if we desire it, to know the reason why.

CLARE (
to
PENDRIL). You have relieved your conscience, sir; give her the right she claims. It is her right, if she will have it. (PENDRIL
extends the letter to
MAGDALEN,
who takes it, bows, and retires up.
MR. CLARE
and
NORAH
sink into seats beside table.
)

CLARE (
aside
). What fools, to think that girl could be deterred from having her own way.

MISS G. (
to
PENDRIL). You may tell me, Mr. Pendril, at least, what are the contents of that letter.

PEN. Well, then, madam, he regards his brother’s death as a providential interposition, which restores to him an inheritance which ought always to have been his. He considers that death also a punishment for his brother’s conduct in imposing on society a woman who was not his wife; and, lastly, he regards his children as illegitimate, who must be content to earn their bread in the best way they can.

MISS G. Oh, infamous!

MAG. (
having read the letter, comes down
C.,
maintaining her composure
). Mr. Pendril, may I ask if, in your letter to Mr. Vanstone, you stated all the circumstances of the position we have been left in?

PEN. All, and most minutely.

MAG. That my father had provided for us; and when his marriage made a second will in our favor necessary, that he was on the point of making it, when it pleased Heaven to remove him from the world?

PEN. Every item; and, in addition, that he had told me repeatedly he could never rest in his grave if he left you disinherited.

MAG. (
returns the letter
). Norah, (NORAH
comes to her side and embraces her
) if we should both of us grow old, and if you ever forget what we owe to Michael Vanstone, come to me and I will remind you!

CLARE (
rises and takes
MAGDALEN’S
hand
). What is this mask of yours hiding? Which of the extremes of human temperature does your courage start from, the dead cold or the white heat? (
pauses
) Not the cold extreme, whatever else it may be. (
he resumes his seat.
)

PEN. (
folds up his papers
). And now, ladies, my painful duty compels me to press for your reply. Do you accept Mr. Vanstone’s offer, which Miss Magdalen is aware of, and —
 
—

MAG. (
impetuously
). Which is this — that the provision he makes for his brother’s children, whom he robs of their inheritance, is the sum of one hundred pounds apiece.

NORAH. Then tell him, Mr. Pendril, that were I starving by the roadside, I would not touch one farthing of it.