EVA.

And I will fly to you thro' the night, the storm-- Yes, tho' the fire should run along the ground, As once it did in Egypt. Oh, you see, I was just out of school, I had no mother-- My sister far away--and you, a gentleman, Told me to trust you: yes, in everything-- _That_ was the only _true_ love; and I trusted-- Oh, yes, indeed, I would have died for you.

How could you--Oh, how could you?--nay, how could I?

But now you will set all right again, and I Shall not be made the laughter of the village, And poor old father not die miserable.

DORA (_singing in the distance_).

'O joy for the promise of May, of May, O joy for the promise of May.'

EDGAR.

Speak not so loudly; that must be your sister.

You never told her, then, of what has past Between us.

EVA.

Never!

EDGAR.

Do not till I bid you.

EVA.

No, Philip, no. [_Turns away_.

EDGAR (_moved_).

How gracefully there she stands Weeping--the little Niobe! What! we prize The statue or the picture all the more When we have made them ours! Is she less loveable, Less lovely, being wholly mine? To stay-- Follow my art among these quiet fields, Live with these honest folk-- And play the fool!

No! she that gave herself to me so easily Will yield herself as easily to another.

EVA.

Did you speak, Philip?

EDGAR.

Nothing more, farewell.

[_They embrace_.

DORA (_coming nearer_).

'O grief for the promis May, of May, O grief for the promise of May.'

EDGAR (_still embracing her_).

Keep up your heart until we meet again.

EVA.

If that should break before we meet again?

EDGAR.

Break! nay, but call for Philip when you will, And he returns.

EVA.

Heaven hears you, Philip Edgar!

EDGAR (_moved_).

And _he_ would hear you even from the grave.

Heaven curse him if he come not at your call!

[_Exit_.

_Enter_ DORA.

DORA.

Well, Eva!

EVA.

Oh, Dora, Dora, how long you have been away from home! Oh, how often I have wished for you! It seemed to me that we were parted for ever.

DORA.

For ever, you foolish child! What's come over you? We parted like the brook yonder about the alder island, to come together again in a moment and to go on together again, till one of us be married. But where is this Mr. Edgar whom you praised so in your first letters? You haven't even mentioned him in your last?

EVA.

He has gone to London.

DORA.

Ay, child; and you look thin and pale. Is it for his absence? Have you fancied yourself in love with him? That's all nonsense, you know, such a baby as you are. But you shall tell me all about it.

EVA.

Not now--presently. Yes, I have been in trouble, but I am happy--I think, quite happy now.

DORA (_taking EVA'S hand_).

Come, then, and make them happy in the long barn, for father is in his glory, and there is a piece of beef like a house-side, and a plum-pudding as big as the round haystack. But see they are coming out for the dance already. Well, my child, let us join them.

_Enter all from barn laughing_. EVA _sits reluctantly under apple tree_. STEER _enters smoking, sits by_ EVA.

_Dance_.

ACT II.

Five years have elapsed between Acts I. and II.

SCENE.--_A meadow. On one side a pathway going over a rustic bridge. At back the farmhouse among trees. In the distance a church spire_.

DOBSON _and_ DORA.

DOBSON.

So the owd uncle i' Coomberland be dead, Miss Dora, beant he?

DORA.