Mrs. Denham.

Kiss me once before you go.

Denham.

Oh, if I may! (_Kisses her._) My poor Constance! I would give my heart's blood to comfort you. And meanwhile I'll send you a better thing--tea.

Mrs. Denham.

Thank you, dear. You have always tried to be good to me. You could not help being cruel, I suppose.

Denham.

I want to be good to you always. Well, good-bye, and God bless you!

(_Kisses her._)

Mrs. Denham.

God bless you! (_Exit Denham._)

Mrs. Denham.

(_listens for a while, then starts up_) He had tears in his eyes when he kissed me. Poor Arthur! he thinks we are going to patch it up, I suppose. I am to live on pity--a man's pity, more akin to contempt than to love. Why _should_ he love me? I was not born to be loved, not made to be loved. And yet I wanted love so much. I wanted all or nothing, and I have got pity--pity that puts you in a madhouse, and comfortably leaves you to rot! Oh, my God! is this madness--this horror of darkness that seems pressing on my brain?

(_A knock at the door._) What's that? Come in! (_Enter Jane with tea._) No, not there, Jane--the small table; and bring another cup, will you?

Jane.

Yes, m'm.

(_Jane places tea-things, and exit._)

Mrs. Denham.

What have I to do? Ah, yes. (_Sits at the table and writes hurriedly. Re-enter Jane with a cup._) Jane, take this note to Mrs.

Tremaine's at once. You know the house?

Jane.

Yes, m'm.

Mrs. Denham.

(_giving note_) Take it at once.

Jane.

Yes, m'm. Was I to wait for an answer, please?

Mrs. Denham.

No, Jane; no answer. (_Exit Jane._) She will be here directly. She _must_ come--and I? Yes--yes. There is no other way of quitting the wreck for _me_. The key? (_Searches her pockets._) Yes! (_She goes to the cupboard, opens it, and takes out a small bottle, places it on the tea-table, and looks at it; then takes out the stopper, and smells the poison._) It smells like some terrible flower. (_Re-stops and replaces the bottle._) And now to arrange--to arrange it all decently. (_Pushes the couch behind the screen, returns to the table, and pours out a cup of tea._) My throat is parched. (_Drinks eagerly._) Poor Arthur! He will be sorry--perhaps he will understand a little now. (_She pours the contents of the bottle into the cup._) The Black Cat had a friend; I am not so fortunate. It is a survival of the fittest, I suppose. The world was made for the sleek and treacherous. (_She replaces the bottle in the cupboard, then returns, and lays the keys on the table._) Yes, my little Undine, mother is tired too--so tired! Oh, sleep, sleep! If it were but eternal sleep--if I could be _sure_ I should never wake again! No more life. And yet I want to live. Oh, my God, I want to live!

(_Paces to and fro, mechanically putting things in order; sees Undine's handkerchief on the ground, and picks it up._) Undine's little handkerchief, still wet with her tears--the last human thing on the brink of the abyss. Poor little rag; it will give me courage to face the darkness. (_Kisses it, and thrusts it into her bosom, then goes back to the table._) Perhaps I _do_ think too much of things--even of death. And now! (_Takes up the cup and shudders._) Who said "Poor Constance"? (_Puts it down again, and presses her hands to her ears._) There are voices in my brain--voices that burn like the flames of hell. Sleep, sleep--we must cheat the madness.

(_Takes the cup, and passes_ R, _as if to go behind screen._) How awfully things look at you when you're going to die! I did not know this. There's Demeter with Undine's wreath of daisies withered on her head. My life has withered with them, since that day she made the libation. She forgot the speedwell for me. Mother! Mother! Mother!

This is my libation! (_Drinks the poison, and lets the cup fall._) It is done! (_She stands a moment perfectly still._) My God! not sleep, but horror! Quick! Quick! (_Staggers behind the screen, and throws herself on the couch, where she is hidden from the audience._) Arthur!

Arthur! Oh! save me! Arthur--oh! (_Moans and dies._)

(_A pause, then enter Denham and Mrs. Tremaine._)

Denham.

Constance! I left her here on the sofa, and now--Constance! She must have gone to her room--she sometimes does. Have some tea, won't you?

(_They approach the tea-table._)

Mrs. Tremaine.

I don't know why I have come here, I am sure. I never meant to see this place again; and yet, here I am, like the good-natured fool I always was.

(_He places a chair for her by the table._)

Denham.

It was awfully good of you to come. That's such a strange letter for Constance to have written. She asked you to come here at once, for my sake and your own?

Mrs. Tremaine.

Yes. It's a mad kind of letter. (_She sits down._)

Denham.

I am very uneasy about her.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Well, what's that to me?

Denham.

Nothing, of course. Blanche, we have been living in hell since yesterday.

Mrs. Tremaine.

I daresay. I have not been in Paradise, I assure you. What are you going to do? (_Pours out some tea._)

Denham.

I don't know.

Mrs. Tremaine.