Laddie (breaks one of the tall lily-stalks—gently, for a boy. As he does so, the cup opens, and a little white bird flies out, hangs poised in the air a moment). Oh, the beautiful! (Catches the bird, which he handles tenderly.) Papa! Papa! I went to pick a lily, and I picked a bird! Oh, Papa, what a pretty country!
Dr. Thorne (smiling in spite of himself). Come here, my lad. (Caresses the child with pathetic gratitude.) If it were not for you, little man— (Bows his face on the child’s head.)
(The twilight changes slowly to moonlight.)
Laddie (restlessly). I must go find Maidie and show her my white bird. They didn’t grow in her street.
Dr. Thorne (anxiously). Don’t go far, my child. You might lose your way.
Laddie (with a peal of laughter). We never lose our way in this nice country.
[Exit Laddie.
(Dr. Thorne paces the path desolately; does not speak. As the moonlight brightens, groups of spirits stroll among the fields and trees. These walk often two by two. They are, and yet are not, like earthly lovers. They murmur softly, and express delight to be together; and some of them go hand in hand, or with arms intertwined. But a beautiful reserve pervades their behavior. Faintly from beyond arise the strains of the Serenade of Schubert’s, played with extreme softness and refinement, but with a depth of emotion which carries the heart before it. Dr. Thorne listens to the music. The sails quiver on the distant water, and faint figures can be seen moving on the beach. The passion flowers salute each other. The great Serenade plays on.)
Enter Mrs. Fayth. (Her smiling face
is grave, or even a little sad. She is
moved by the music, and seems to sway
towards it. Dr. Thorne holds out
his hand to her. Mrs. Fayth extends
her own, confidingly. The two stand
listening to the music, like comrades
bereft of other ties; on her face rests
a frank, affectionate expression; on
his a desolate leaning towards the
nearest sympathy. They glance at
the spirits who are strolling two by
two through the celestial evening. The
music is suspended.)
Dr. Thorne (moodily). This foreign country would be lonelier without you, Mary Fayth.