EVA.

That last was my Father's fault, poor man. And this lover of yours-- this Mr. Harold--is a gentleman?

DORA.

That he is, from head to foot. I do believe I lost my heart to him the very first time we met, and I love him so much--

EVA.

Poor Dora!

DORA.

That I dare not tell him how much I love him.

EVA.

Better not. Has he offered you marriage, this gentleman?

DORA Could I love him else?

EVA.

And are you quite sure that after marriage this gentleman will not be shamed of his poor farmer's daughter among the ladies in his drawing-room?

DORA.

Shamed of me in a drawing-room! Wasn't Miss Vavasour, our schoolmistress at Littlechester, a lady born? Were not our fellow-pupils all ladies? Wasn't dear mother herself at least by one side a lady? Can't I speak like a lady; pen a letter like a lady; talk a little French like a lady; play a little like a lady? Can't a girl when she loves her husband, and he her, make herself anything he wishes her to be? Shamed of me in a drawing-room, indeed! See here! 'I hope your Lordship is quite recovered of your gout?' (_Curtsies_.) 'Will your Ladyship ride to cover to-day? (_Curtsies_.) I can recommend our Voltigeur.' 'I am sorry that we could not attend your Grace's party on the 10th!' (_Curtsies_.) There, I am glad my nonsense has made you smile!

EVA.

I have heard that 'your Lordship,' and 'your Ladyship,' and 'your Grace' are all growing old-fashioned!

DORA.

But the love of sister for sister can never be old-fashioned. I have been unwilling to trouble you with questions, but you seem somewhat better to-day. We found a letter in your bedroom torn into bits. I couldn't make it out. What was it?

EVA.

From him! from him! He said we had been most happy together, and he trusted that some time we should meet again, for he had not forgotten his promise to come when I called him. But that was a mockery, you know, for he gave me no address, and there was no word of marriage; and, O Dora, he signed himself 'Yours gratefully'--fancy, Dora, 'gratefully'! 'Yours gratefully'!

DORA.

Infamous wretch! (_Aside_.) Shall I tell her he is dead? No; she is still too feeble.

EVA.

Hark! Dora, some one is coming. I cannot and I will not see anybody.

DORA.

It is only Milly.

_Enter_ MILLY, _with basket of roses_.

DORA.

Well, Milly, why do you come in so roughly? The sick lady here might have been asleep.

MILLY.

Please, Miss, Mr. Dobson telled me to saay he's browt some of Miss Eva's roses for the sick laady to smell on.

DORA.

Take them, dear. Say that the sick lady thanks him! Is he here?

MILLY.

Yeas, Miss; and he wants to speak to ye partic'lar,

DORA.

Tell him I cannot leave the sick lady just yet.

MILLY.

Yea's, Miss; but he says he wants to tell ye summut very partic'lar.

DORA.

Not to-day. What are you staying for?

MILLY.

Why, Miss, I be afeard I shall set him a-swearing like onythink.

DORA.

And what harm will that do you, so that you do not copy his bad manners? Go, child. (_Exit_ MILLY.) But, Eva, why did you write 'Seek me at the bottom of the river'?

EVA.

Why? because I meant it!--that dreadful night! that lonely walk to Littlechester, the rain beating in my face all the way, dead midnight when I came upon the bridge; the river, black, slimy, swirling under me in the lamplight, by the rotten wharfs--but I was so mad, that I mounted upon the parapet--

DORA.

You make me shudder!

EVA.

To fling myself over, when I heard a voice, 'Girl, what are you doing there? It was a Sister of Mercy, come from the death-bed of a pauper, who had died in his misery blessing G.o.d, and the Sister took me to her house, and bit by bit--for she promised secrecy--I told her all.

DORA.

And what then?

EVA.

She would have persuaded me to come back here, but I couldn't. Then she got me a place as nursery governess, and when the children grew too old for me, and I asked her once more to help me, once more she said, 'Go home;' but I hadn't the heart or face to do it. And then-- what would Father say? I sank so low that I went into service--the drudge of a lodging-house--and when the mistress died, and I appealed to the Sister again, her answer--I think I have it about me--yes, there it is!

DORA (_reads_).

'My dear Child,--I can do no more for you. I have done wrong in keeping your secret; your Father must be now in extreme old age. Go back to him and ask his forgiveness before he dies.--SISTER AGATHA.'

Sister Agatha is right. Don't you long for Father's forgiveness?

EVA.

I would almost die to have it!

DORA.

And he may die before he gives it; may drop off any day, any hour. You must see him at once. (_Rings bell. Enter_ MILLY.) Milly, my dear, how did you leave Mr. Steer?

MILLY.

He's been a-moanin' and a-groanin' in 'is sleep, but I thinks he be wakkenin' oop.

DORA.