--First Warder-- (_reading_). Jasper Beeste! (_Slipping a pair of handcuffs on_ Jasper.) You come along with me, my man. We've had our suspicions of you for some time. (_To_ Millicent, _with a nod at_ d.i.c.k). You'll look after that gentleman, miss?

--Millicent.-- Of course! Why, he's engaged to me. Aren't you, d.i.c.k?

--d.i.c.k.-- This time, Millicent, for ever!

CURTAIN.

XLIV. "THE LOST HEIRESS"

_The Scene is laid outside a village inn in that county of curious dialects, Loamshire. The inn is easily indicated by a round table bearing two mugs of liquid, while a fallen log emphasises the rural nature of the scene._ Gaffer Jarge _and_ Gaffer w.i.l.l.yum _are seated at the table, surrounded by a fringe of whisker_, Jarge _being slightly more of a gaffer than_ w.i.l.l.yum.

--Jarge-- (_who missed his dinner through nervousness and has been ordered to sustain himself with soup--as he puts down the steaming mug_). Eh, bor but this be rare beer. So it be.

--w.i.l.l.yum-- (_who had too much dinner and is now draining his liquid paraffin_). You be right, Gaffer Jarge. Her be main rare beer.

(_He feels up his sleeve, but thinking better of it, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand._) Main rare beer, zo her be.

(_Gagging._) Zure-lie.

--Jarge.-- Did I ever tell 'ee, bor, about t' new squoire o' these parts--him wot c.u.m hum yesterday from furren lands? Gaffer Henry wor a-telling me.

--w.i.l.l.yum-- (_privately bored_). Thee didst tell 'un, lad, sartain sure thee didst. And Gaffer Henry, he didst tell 'un too. But tell 'un again. It du me good to hear 'un, zo it du. Zure-lie.

--Jarge--. A rackun it be a main queer tale, queerer nor any them writing chaps tell about. It wor like this. (_Dropping into English, in his hurry to get his long speech over before he forgets it._) The old Squire had a daughter who disappeared when she was three weeks old, eighteen years ago. It was always thought she was stolen by somebody, and the Squire would have it that she was still alive. When he died a year ago he left the estate and all his money to a distant cousin in Australia, with the condition that if he did not discover the missing baby within twelve months everything was to go to the hospitals. (_Remembering his smock and whiskers with a start._) And here du be the last day, zo it be, and t' Squoire's daughter, her ain't found.

--w.i.l.l.yum-- (_puffing at a new and empty clay pipe_). Zure-lie. (Jarge, _a trifle jealous of_ w.i.l.l.yum's _gag, pulls out a similar pipe, but smokes it with the bowl upside down to show his independence_.) T' Squire's darter (Jarge _frowns_)--her bain't (Jarge _wishes he had thought of "bain't"_)--her bain't found. (_There is a dramatic pause, only broken by the prompter._) Her ud be little Rachel's age now, bor?

--Jarge-- (_reflectively_). Ay, ay. A main queer la.s.s little Rachel du be.

Her bain't like one of us.

--w.i.l.l.yum--. Her do be that fond of zoap and water. (_Laughter._)

--Jarge-- (_leaving nothing to chance_). Happen she might be a real grand lady by birth, bor.

_Enter_ Rachel, _beautifully dressed in the sort of costume in which one would go to a fancy-dress ball as a village maiden_.

--Rachel-- (_in the most expensive accent_). Now, Uncle George (_shaking a finger at him_), didn't you promise me you'd go straight home? It would serve you right if I never tied your tie for you again. (_She smiles brightly at him._)

--Jarge-- (_slapping his thigh in ecstasy_). Eh, la.s.s! yer du keep us old uns in order. (_He bursts into a falsetto chuckle, loses the note, blushes and buries his head in his mug._)

--w.i.l.l.yum-- (_rising_). Us best be gettin' down along, Jarge, a rackun.

--Jarge.-- Ay, bor, time us chaps was moving. Don't 'e be long, la.s.s.

(_Exeunt, limping heavily._)

--Rachel-- (_sitting down on the log_). Dear old men! How I love them all in this village! I have known it all my life. How strange it is that I have never had a father or mother. Sometimes I seem to remember a life different to this--a life in fine houses and s.p.a.cious parks, among beautifully dressed people (_which is surprising seeing that she was only three weeks old at the time; but the audience must be given a hint of the plot_), and then it all fades away again. (_She looks fixedly into s.p.a.ce._)

_Enter_ Hugh Fitzhugh, _Squire._

--Fitzhugh-- (_standing behind Rachel, but missing her somehow_). Did ever man come into stranger inheritance? A wanderer in Central Australia, I hear unexpectedly of my cousin's death through an advertis.e.m.e.nt in an old copy of a Sunday newspaper. I hasten home--too late to soothe his dying hours; too late indeed to enjoy my good fortune for more than one short day. To-morrow I must give up all to the hospitals, unless by some stroke of Fate this missing girl turns up. (_Impatiently._) Pshaw! She is dead. (_Suddenly he notices_ Rachel.) By heaven, a pretty girl in this out-of-the-way village! (_He walks round her._) Gad, she is lovely! Hugh, my boy, you are in luck. (_He takes off his hat._) Good evening, my dear!

--Rachel-- (_with a start_). Good evening.

--Fitzhugh-- (_aside_). She is adorable. She can be no common village wench. (_Aloud._) Do you live here, my girl?

--Rachel.-- Yes, I have always lived here. (_Aside._) How handsome he is.

Down, fluttering heart.

--Fitzhugh-- (_sitting on the log beside her_). And who is the lucky village lad who is privileged to woo such beauty?

--Rachel.-- I have no lover, Sir.

--Fitzhugh-- (_taking her hand_). Can Hodge be so blind?

--Rachel-- (_innocently_). Are you making love to me?

--Fitzhugh.-- Upon my word I--(_He gets up from the log, which is not really comfortable._) What is your name?

--Rachel.-- Rachel. (_She rises._)

--Fitzhugh.-- It is the most beautiful name in the world. Rachel, will you be my wife?

--Rachel.-- But we have known each other such a short time!

--Fitzhugh-- (_lying bravely_). We have known each other for ever.

--Rachel.-- And you are a rich gentleman, while I----

--Fitzhugh.-- A gentleman, I hope, but rich--no. To-morrow I shall be a beggar. No, not a beggar if I have your love, Rachel.

--Rachel-- (_making a lucky shot at his name_). Hugh! (_They embrace._)

--Fitzhugh.-- Let us plight our troth here. See, I give you my ring!

--Rachel.-- And I give you mine.

(_She takes one from the end of a chain which is round her neck, and puts it on his finger._ Fitzhugh _looks at it and staggers back._)

--Fitzhugh.-- Heavens! They are the same ring! (_In great excitement._) Child, child, who are you? How came you by the crest of the Fitzhughs?

--Rachel.-- Ah, who am I? I never had any parents. When they found me they found that ring on me, and I have kept it ever since!

--Fitzhugh.-- Let me look at you! It must be! The Squire's missing daughter!

(Gaffers Jarge _and_ w.i.l.l.yum, _having entered un.o.bserved at the back some time ago, have been putting in a lot of heavy by-play until wanted._)