Exit Croker, R. 1 E.
Mrs. T. (C.) What a shocking raven my uncle is!—He hasn’t frightened you, dear, has he?
Todd. (seated, R.) No—not to say, frightened—but somehow I don’t feel that glowing anticipation of our journey that I did this morning. Vague apprehensions will intrude into the—vacant mind—and damp one’s natural hilarity.
Mrs. T. Nonsense! (lighting a chamber candlestick) You’d better get to bed—and you’ll forget all these terrible stories before morning. (crossing to R.)
Todd. (rises) Very well—I’ll follow you in a few minutes, my dear.
Exit Mrs. Todd, with chamber candlestick, R. 1 E.
Croker’s suggestion about arranging my worldly affairs should not be neglected. (sits at L. of table and takes papers out of writing-desk) I have some papers and documents here which I must put in order before I depart for “that undiscovered bourne from whence no traveller gets a return ticket.” Pshaw! I must not let the dismal forebodings of old Croker prey upon me! Now! think of it, I’ll light one of those Turkish cigarettes, which my friend, Captain Crasher, brought home from the East. He tells me they’re prepared with opium and produce the most tranquillizing effect on the spirits. (he takes a cigar case from the table drawer and lights a cigarette) This I hope will restore the serenity of my mind. Be a man, Todd! be a man! Croker’s an ass! He and his stories may go to the devil. (smoking and arranging his papers) Humph! ha! pooh! capital weed! (taking up a bundle of papers) What are these? “Accounts settled.” Um! um! (puts them down and takes up another parcel, turning them over) Mrs. Todd’s letters to me when we were courting. Ah! delicious smoke! A lock of her silken hair! (smoking) How beautifully it curls! and this brown sprig of myrtle, which she wore the night we vowed to love for ever. Ha! we were green then! Her eyes remind me of—(reading endorsement on another document) “The last will and testament of Samuel Todd.” Dear me! what a sudden chill the sight of this solemn instrument brings over me. The paper looks so ghastly white, and the ink so deadly black; that, gazing at it as I sit here, seems like staring in the face of my own ghost. Pshaw! I’ll not give way to these desponding fancies! (smoking) By the bye, I may as well add a codicil to my will. I’ve been thinking about it for some time; no one can tell what may happen. Let me see—(running over the will) “I give and bequeath all that and those”—um, um, um, um, um, um—“three per cent. consols”—um, um, um—“Shares in the”—um, um, um—“bank stock, goods, and chattels, to my beloved wife, Laura,”—um, um, um! Now for the codicil, (writes) “Provided always, that if my said wife shall survive me, and shall intermarry with a second husband, I hereby revoke all and every of the bequests hereinbefore contained.” That’s only justice! If it was my misfortune to be left a gay widower—would I marry again? never! At least, not until I had reflected seriously—and—pooh! Deliciously soothing this cigarette!—not until, I had weighed in my mind,—the—delightful aroma, and the—object however lovely, with—the memory of the dear departed,—and the natural—weakness of—of—my head—no—my heart—and conjugal affection.—I’m coming—my dear—com—ing!
Music—The cigarette falls from his lips, and he sinks fast asleep with his head on the desk before him. Lights down, and the scene gradually changes—Todd sinking through stage, with tables and chairs.
Scene II.
A Ruined Palace in the Abruzzi. An apartment in a dilapidated castle, still exhibiting traces of having been once occupied by persons of taste and opulence.—The hangings are faded and torn, and the pictures falling from their tarnished frames; some articles of antique furniture are mingled with others of a new and modern fashion; table up stage, L. C., laid for supper, and a lighted lamp on it; chairs, R. and L.; open window with balcony at back, C., with moonlight view beyond; doors, L. 2 and 3 E. and R. 2 and 3 E..