Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1995 page)

Miss G.
My love, you have shown rare courage under hard trials. Summon that courage again. Francis Clare is, what I have always told you he was, unworthy of you.

Mag.
I don’t care to hear what you think of him. Where is he?

Miss G.
At home.

Mag.
At home? Did he know I was waiting to see him?

Miss G.
He knew it.

Mag.
Did he refuse to come here with you?

Miss G.
He refused.

Mag.
Did you tell him what had passed between us?

Miss G.
I repeated every word.

Mag.
And he stays at home? I don’t understand it. I shall go to him myself.

(
She attempts to leave the room.
MISS GARTH
stops her.
)

Miss G.
You must not stir a step. You, degrade yourself if you ever see him, or speak to him again. Magdalen, you are poor! He recoils from your poverty! Magdalen, you have faced the sacrifice of sending him to China. He shrinks from the sacrifice! He puts the worst construction on your motives; he doubts your fidelity; he denies your love; he basely breaks his plighted word —
 
—

Mag.
(
staggering back
). Frank deserts me!

Miss G.
My child! my child! his own coward lips have said it. All is over between him and you. (
With a cry of, despair
MAGDALEN
flings herself on the sofa.
MISS GARTH
hurries to her, and attempts to rouse her.
) Magdalen! Magdalen! look at me! listen to me! She doesn’t move, she doesn’t hear; I can’t rouse her! (
A shabbily-dressed stranger saunters into the room, on the left, with his hat on.
MISS GARTH
hearing him, looks round, and exclaims
), Captain Wragge!

(MAGDALEN,
roused by
MISS GARTH’S
exclamation, starts, and looks up at the intruder. The captain takes off his hat with a flourish, and addresses the ladies with vagabond self-possession.
)

Wragge.
Can I be of any use?

(
The curtain falls.
)

THE END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

(DATE July 1, 1870.)

SCENE. —
In the neighbourhood of York. Four months have passed since the First Act.

The stage represents the interior of a large tent, supposed to be arranged for a School Festival. The tent is open at the back, disclosing a lawn and flower-garden, with trees and a country-house on the horizon. A band plays at intervals, as if heard in a distant part of the grounds. The tent is decorated with flags and flowers. Besides an entrance at the back, there is an entrance at the side on the right. A long empty tea-table and benches, supposed to be continued off the stage, are also placed on the right. On the left, at the side, a rustic bench and one or two stools. The bench is placed at right angles to the foot-lights, with some flags waiting to be used in the decorations, hung over the back. At the opening of the scene the tent is empty, and the band is heard faintly playing in the distance.
MAGDALEN
enters hurriedly by the side entrance on the right. She is plainly dressed in walking costume, but not in mourning.

Mag.
(
in great agitation
). George Bartram is here! I saw him searching among the visitors — I heard him inquiring — I have escaped his notice by the merest accident. Am I safe in this place?

(
She glances towards the opening of the tent at the back, utters a cry of alarm, and, crossing the stage to the left-hand extremity, crouches behind the bench. The flags hanging over the back hide her from the view of any one entering the tent.
)

Mag.
(
seen by the audience only
). He is coming this way. He is coming into the tent!

(GEORGE BARTRAM
appears at the back, and looks in.
)

Geo.
She is not among the people listening to the music. She is not in the tent. And yet, a young lady answering her description has been seen here, at the School Festival. Where can I look for her next? (
He glances towards the side entrance on the right.
) That side of the park is the one side that I have not searched yet.

(
He goes out on the right.
MAGDALEN
leaves her hiding-place.
)

Mag.
Parted from my sister! hidden from my best friend! Nothing to justify me, nothing to sustain me, but my resolution to recover the birthright of which we have been robbed. (
She looks in the direction by which GEORGE has left the tent.
) Forgive me, George — and forget me! Our paths in life are separate paths from this day. (
She seats herself on the bench, with her back towards the opening of the tent.
) I have been followed from London to this place. How has it been done? (CAPTAIN WRAGGE
appears at the back, and waits, listening.
) I left in the early morning — I took the cab myself from the stand — I saw no familiar face at the station — and yet they must have traced me to the railway! How?

Wragge.
By means of the cab, Miss Vanstone.

Mag.
(
starting to her feet
). Who are you?

Wragge
(
advancing
). I am a species of relation — a connexion of your poor dear mother’s. I made a morning call on you in Somersetshire four months’ since. My name is Wragge. (
Spelling his name, and ticking the letters off on his fingers.
) W, R, A, double G, E — Wragge. Beautiful weather, isn’t it?

Mag.
I remember you. I have reasons for wishing to be alone. Good morning. (
She attempts to go out at the back.
WRAGGE
places himself in her way.
) Let me pass, if you please.

Wragge.
Not just yet.

Mag.
Why not?

Wragge.
Because Mr. George Bartram is still in the park. Give him time, and he will go away. He hasn’t gone yet.

Mag.
What do you know about him?

Wragge.
Two trifling facts. First fact: Mr. Bartram ordered me out of the house, when I made that call in Somersetshire — I don’t forgive him! Second fact: Mr. Bartram is here for the purpose of taking you back to your friends. You will be quite safe from discovery, if you will only wait in the tent till the next train starts for Scarborough.

Mag.
(
to herself
). What does he mean?

Wragge.
(
confidentially
). I am all on your side — I’m determined to help you. I have told Mr. Bartram that I saw you at the station, waiting for the next train to Scarborough. We’ve done him, my dear — we’ve done him.

Mag.
By what right do you meddle in my affairs? You know nothing about them.

Wragge.
Nothing whatever. I am waiting to be informed. Confide in me as a relative; come and sit down. No? You hesitate? You distrust me? Is it possible you have heard anything to my disadvantage?

Mag.
Quite possible.

Wragge.
Aye! aye! Don’t spare my feelings. Speak out. What have you heard?

Mag.
I have heard you are a Rogue.

Wragge.
Have you, indeed? A Rogue. Now, observe! There are many varieties of Rogue. Let me tell you my variety to begin with. I am a Swindler.

Mag.
(
looking at him in amazement
). He openly acknowledges it!

Wragge.
“Swindler” is nothing but a word of two syllables. S, W, I, N, D — Swind; L, E, R — Swindler. Definition — a Moral Agriculturist; a man who cultivates the field of human sympathy. Don’t be shocked — I am putting things right at starting. You know I am a Rogue. It is most important to your present interests that you should know exactly what sort of Rogue I am.

Mag.
Important to
my
interests?

Wragge.
Certainly. What do I see, when I look at you? I see a young lady who has a motive of her own for running away from friends and home. Is that true?

Mag.
Say it
is
true, what then?

Wragge.
Is it true again that you are anxious to escape being discovered by Mr. George Bartram?

Mag.
I own that, too.

Wragge.
Is Mr. George Bartram a man of honour?

Mag.
He is the most honourable man living.

Wragge.
Very good. Here is a fugitive young lady, all alone in a strange place. Her foremost anxiety is to avoid the most honourable man living. What follows logically? She can’t object to a few minutes’ conversation with a Rogue — and she is naturally interested in knowing what sort of rogue he is! Come and sit down.

Mag.
With a Swindler?

Wragge.
Take a large view of the case — now, do take a large view! Here am I, a needy object. Very good. Is it, or is it not, the duty of a Christian community to help the needy? If you say, No — you simply shock me, and there is an end of it. If you say, Yes — then I beg to ask, why am I to blame for making a Christian community do its duty? You may say, Is a careful man who has saved money bound to spend it on a careless stranger who has saved none? Why, of course he is! And on what ground, pray? Good heavens! on the ground that he has
got
the money, to be sure! What! your pockets are full, and my pockets are empty, and you refuse to help me! Sordid wretch! do you think I will allow you to violate the sacred obligations of charity in my person? I won’t allow it — I say distinctly I won’t allow it. Those are my principles as a Moral Agriculturist.

Mag.
Principles which admit of trickery.

Wragge.
Am I to blame if the field of human sympathy can’t be cultivated in any other way? Ask my brother agriculturists in the farming line. Do
they
get their crops for the asking? No! they must circumvent arid Nature, exactly as I circumvent sordid Man. They must plough and sow, and top-dress and bottom-dress, and deep-drain and surface-drain, and all the rest of it. Why check
me
in the vast occupation of deep-draining mankind? Why persecute
me
for professionally exciting the noblest feelings of our common nature? You can’t do it. In justice to all parties, you can’t do it. Come and sit down.