Lady S. In a wardrobe, fresh as spring With yearly lavender. A fitting garb Of penitence it seemed; a punishment, A pang, indeed, to show myself to him, My husband, in the vesture of my love!
Lady S. No, Warwick, for I met His mistress at the door, and gentleness Became malignity.
Groom. But afterwards? What end did you propose?
Lady S. My death, my death! Oh, love, I wish to die: I mean to die-- Alone, without regret. That week of Sin I came here to repent envelopes all The past and all the future in a cloud Of glory. At the sight of you my mind, And that imagination which I am-- Let me remember that: the Universe Is pure imagination conscious in us: Most beautiful! The Universe becomes That week of passionate Sin and hides my soul As in the pristine fire. Take off my cloak.
[She advances to the centre of the room. Groom follows and removes her cloak.]
Groom. As fresh As hawthorn buds, desirable as wine In summer droughts and molten calentures, As sweet as bread and meat to starving men! What miracle is this?
Lady S. The miracle Of Life triumphant. Drink to Life and Love.
It stings a little! ... Help me, Warwick! Oh!
[He supports her to the couch, and she sits.]
Groom. You've taken poison? Have I drunk it, too?
Lady S. No, Warwick; I took it all. I want to die. Help me; embrace me; hold me! Oh, what pain! Let me lie down.
Inflexible as love, Death rends and hurts at first; but soon its way Is like a summer voyage in the south. What bells are these? That music in the air? I know!--the stealthy hansoms jingling past With doors half open, nightly traps to catch Adventurous lovers. Cafés disengage Self-centred diners fed and flushed to dream Of deeds of love in glimmering theatres, The woman and the man, till it be time To take each other sweetly. Kiss me, Warwick. You have your arms about me?
Lady S. I die Wrapped round about with youth and love and life. The earth is like a chariot of fire Wheeling into the Sun. Good night. [Dies.]
Groom. Good night. Nothing is wonderful since all is wonder.
[He covers Lady Sumner's body with her cloak. Then he takes from his breast-pocket a long sheath-knife.]
Scene: The stage of the Grosvenor Theatre. The curtain is down. Scene-shifters struggle with wrecked scenery, and Property-men carry out broken furniture. On the left, his head supported by Europa Troop, St. James's lies unconscious: two Doctors attend him. Sir Tristram, whose clothes are torn and whose face is bruised and bloody, is talking with Mark Belfry on the right. The Orchestra is playing fortissimo. Above the music an occasional whistle or cry is heard as the last of the audience leave the theatre. When the music ceases Warwick Groom enters on the left, and waits his opportunity unseen by the others.