The Straw Part 15

MURRAY (_wincing as if this were the thing he had feared to hear_).

Eileen!

EILEEN (_pulling down his head with fierce strength and kissing him pa.s.sionately on the lips_). I love you! I will say it! There! (_With sudden horror._) Oh, I know I shouldn't kiss you! I mustn't! You're all well--and I----

MURRAY (_protesting frenziedly_). Eileen! d.a.m.n it! Don't say that! What do you think I am!

(_He kisses her fiercely two or three times until she forces a hand over her mouth._)

EILEEN (_with a hysterically happy laugh_). No! Just hold me in your arms--just a little while--before----

MURRAY (_his voice trembling_). Eileen! Don't talk that way!

You're--it's killing me. I can't stand it!

EILEEN (_with soothing tenderness_). Listen, dear--listen--and you won't say a word--I've so much to say--till I get through--please, will you promise?

MURRAY (_between clinched teeth_). Yes--anything, Eileen!

EILEEN. Then I want to say--I know your secret. You don't love me--Isn't that it? (Murray _groans._) Sss.h.!.+ It's all right, dear. You can't help what you don't feel. I've guessed you didn't--right along.

And I've loved you--such a long time now--always, it seems. And you've sort of guessed--that I did--didn't you? No, don't speak! I'm sure you've guessed--only you didn't want to know--that--did you?--when you didn't love me. That's why you were lying--but I saw, I knew! Oh, I'm not blaming you, darling. How could I--never! You mustn't look so--so frightened. I know how you felt, dear. I've--I've watched you. It was just a flirtation for you at first. Wasn't it? Oh, I know. It was just fun, and---- Please don't look at me so. I'm not hurting you, am I? I wouldn't for worlds, dear--you know--hurt you! And then afterwards--you found we could be such good friends--helping each other--and you wanted it to stay just like that always, didn't you?--I know--and then I had to spoil it all--and fall in love with you--didn't I? Oh, it was stupid--I shouldn't--I couldn't help it, you were so kind and--and different--and I wanted to share in your work and--and everything. I knew you wouldn't want to know I loved you--when you didn't--and I tried hard to be fair and hide my love so you wouldn't see--and I did, didn't I, dear? You never knew till just lately--maybe not till just to-day--did you?--when I knew you were going away so soon--and couldn't help showing it. You never knew before, did you? Did you?

MURRAY (_miserably_). No. Oh, Eileen--Eileen, I'm so sorry!

EILEEN (_in heart-broken protest_). Sorry? Oh, no, Stephen, you mustn't be! It's been beautiful--all of it--for me! That's what makes your going--so hard. I had to see you to-night--I'd have gone--crazy--if I didn't know you knew, if I hadn't made you guess. And I thought--if you knew about my writing to Fred--that--maybe--it'd make some difference.

(Murray _groans--and she laughs hysterically._) I must have been crazy--to think that--mustn't I? As if that could--when you don't love me. Sshh! Please! Let me finish. You mustn't feel sad--or anything.

It's made me happier than I've ever been--loving you--even when I did know--you didn't. Only now--you'll forgive me telling you all this, won't you, dear? Now, it's so terrible to think I won't see you any more. I'll feel so--without anybody.

MURRAY (_brokenly_). But I'll--come back. And you'll be out soon--and then----

EILEEN (_brokenly_). Sshh! Let me finish. You don't know how alone I am now. Father--he'll marry that housekeeper--and the children--they've forgotten me. None of them need me any more. They've found out how to get on without me--and I'm a drag--dead to them--no place for me home any more--and they'll be afraid to have me back--afraid of catching--I know she won't want me back. And Fred--he's gone--he never mattered, anyway. Forgive me, dear--worrying you--only I want you to know how much you've meant to me--so you won't forget--ever--after you've gone.

MURRAY (_in grief-stricken tones_). Forget? Eileen! I'll do anything in G.o.d's world----

EILEEN. I know--you like me a lot even if you can't love me--don't you?

(_His arms tighten about her as he bends down and forces a kiss on her lips again._) Oh, Stephen! That was for good-bye. You mustn't come to-morrow morning. I couldn't bear having you--with people watching.

But you'll write after--often--won't you? (_Heart-brokenly._) Oh, please do that, Stephen!

MURRAY. I will! I swear! And when you get out I'll--we'll--I'll find something. (_He kisses her again._)

EILEEN (_breaking away from him with a quick movement and stepping back a few feet_). Good-bye, darling. Remember me--and perhaps--you'll find out after a time--I'll pray G.o.d to make it so! Oh, what am I saying?

Only--I'll hope--I'll hope--till I die!

MURRAY (_in anguish_). Eileen!

EILEEN (_her breath coming in tremulous heaves of her bosom_).

Remember, Stephen--if ever you want--I'll do anything--anything you want--no matter what--I don't care--there's just you and--don't hate me, dear. I love you--love you--remember! (_She suddenly turns and runs away up the road._)

MURRAY. Eileen! (_He starts to run after her, but stops by the signpost and stamps on the ground furiously, his fists clenched in impotent rage at himself and at fate. He curses hoa.r.s.ely._) Christ!

THE CURTAIN FALLS

Act Three

_Four months later. An isolation room at the Infirmary with a sleeping porch at the right of it. Late afternoon of a Sunday towards the end of October. The room, extending two-thirds of the distance from left to right, is, for reasons of s.p.a.ce economy, scantily furnished with the bare necessities--a bureau with mirror in the left corner, rear--two straight-backed chairs--a table with a gla.s.s top in the centre. The floor is varnished hardwood. The walls and furniture are painted white. On the left, forward, a door to the hall. On the right, rear, a double gla.s.s door opening on the porch. Farther front two windows. The porch, a screened-in continuation of the room, contains only a single iron bed, painted white, and a small table placed beside the bed._

_The woods, the leaves of the trees rich in their autumn colouring, rise close about this side of the Infirmary. Their branches almost touch the porch on the right. In the rear of the porch they have been cleared away from the building for a narrow s.p.a.ce, and through this opening the distant hills can be seen with the tree tops glowing in the sunlight._

_As the curtain rises,_ Eileen _is discovered lying in the bed on the porch, propped up into a half-sitting position by pillows under her back and head. She seems to have grown much thinner. Her face is pale and drawn, with deep hollows under her cheek-bones. Her eyes are dull and l.u.s.treless. She gazes straight before her into the wood with the unseeing stare of apathetic indifference. The door from the hall in the room behind her is opened, and_ Miss Howard _enters, followed by_ Bill Carmody, Mrs. Brennan, _and_ Mary. Carmody's _manner is unwontedly sober and subdued. This air of respectable sobriety is further enhanced by a black suit, glaringly new and stiffly pressed, a new black derby hat, and shoes polished like a mirror. His expression is full of a bitter, if suppressed, resentment. His gentility is evidently forced upon him in spite of himself and correspondingly irksome._ Mrs. Brennan _is a tall, stout woman of fifty, l.u.s.ty and loud-voiced, with a broad, snub-nosed, florid face, a large mouth, the upper lip darkened by a suggestion of moustache, and little round blue eyes, hard and restless with a continual fuming irritation. She is got up regardless in her ridiculous Sunday-best._ Mary _appears tall and skinny-legged in a starched, outgrown frock. The sweetness of her face has disappeared, giving way to a hang-dog sullenness, a stubborn silence, with sulky, furtive glances of rebellion directed at her step-mother._

MISS HOWARD (_pointing to the porch_). She's out there on the porch.

MRS. BRENNAN (_with dignity_). Thank you, ma'am.

MISS HOWARD (_with a searching glance at the visitors as if to appraise their intentions_). Eileen's been very sick lately, you know, so be careful not to worry her about anything. Do your best to cheer her up.

CARMODY (_mournfully_). We'll try to put life in her spirits, G.o.d help her. (_With an uncertain look at_ Mrs. Brennan.) Won't we, Maggie?

MRS. BRENNAN (_turning sharply on_ Mary, _who has gone over to examine the things on the bureau_). Come away from that, Mary. Curiosity killed a cat. Don't be touchin' her things. Remember what I told you. Or is it admirin' your mug in the mirror you are? (_Turning to_ Miss Howard _as_ Mary _moves away from the bureau, hanging her head--shortly._) Don't you worry, ma'am. We won't trouble Eileen at all.

MISS HOWARD. Another thing. You mustn't say anything to her of what Miss Gilpin just told you about her being sent away to the State Farm in a few days. Eileen isn't to know till the very last minute. It would only disturb her.

CARMODY (_hastily_). We'll not say a word of it.

MISS HOWARD (_turning to the hall door_). Thank you.

(_She goes out, shutting the door._)

MRS. BRENNAN (_angrily_). She has a lot of impudent gab, that one, with her don't do this and don't do that! It's a wonder you wouldn't speak up to her and shut her mouth, you great fool, and you payin' money to give her her job. (_Disgustedly._) You've no guts in you.

CARMODY (_placatingly_). Would you have me raisin' a s.h.i.+ndy when Eileen's leavin' here in a day or more? What'd be the use?

MRS. BRENNAN. In the new place she's goin' you'll not have to pay a cent, and that's a blessing! It's small good they've done her here for all the money they've taken. (_Gazing about the room critically._) It's neat and clean enough; and why shouldn't it, a tiny room and the lot of them nothing to do all day but scrub. (_Scornfully._) Two sticks of chairs and a table! They don't give much for the money.

CARMODY. Catch them! It's a good thing she's clearin' out of this, and her worse off after them curin' her eight months than she was when she came. She'll maybe get well in the new place.

MRS. BRENNAN (_indifferently_). It's G.o.d's will, what'll happen.

(_Irritably._) And I'm thinkin' it's His punishment she's under now for having no heart in her and never writin' home a word to you or the children in two months or more. If the doctor hadn't wrote us himself to come see her, she was sick, we'd have been no wiser.

CARMODY. Whisht! Don't be blamin' a sick girl.

MARY (_who has drifted to one of the windows at right--curiously_).

There's somebody in bed out there. I can't see her face. Is it Eileen?

MRS. BRENNAN. Don't be goin' out there till I tell you, you imp! I must speak to your father first. (_Coming closer to him and lowering her voice._) Are you going to tell her about it?