Part 2

I wonder who that will be. The doctor, very likely. Somebody must be ill. (_Looking through the window._) It’s no’ the doctor, but a strange gentleman coming this way. It canna’ be the lady’s son, for he’s coming by train. This will be another veesitor, but he’s too late. I wish Màiri was here. I’m no’ fit to be speaking to the veesitors.

[_Enter Sandy Speedwell._]

WIDOW. Good day to you, sir, I’m ferry glad to see you, indeet. Will you be taking a chair?

SANDY. I’m your lodger, Mrs Mackay. I had a wire from the Postmaster and motored here with a friend. This is a beautiful glen.

WIDOW. I hope there’s no mistake. Will you be the gentleman who is a painter and a poet too?

SANDY (_astonished_). Really you surprise me, madam. What little bird has been carrying tales about me? I thought I had reached the back of the world.

WIDOW. A lady called here, sir, and was telling me. But----

SANDY. A lady? What lady? (_Anxiously._) Your niece, your daughter, your cousin--who is she, what is she? A young lady or an old lady?

WIDOW (_smiling_). No relation of mine, sir. You’ll soon be seeing her yourself. Maybe I’ll better go and tell her you are here. She’s neither young nor old, but somesing between the two. (_Aside._) I musn’t be telling him it was his own mother.

SANDY. No, don’t go. I’m in no mood to meet any of my acquaintances. (_Aside._) Those prying gossips! One can’t go a step for them. (_Aloud._) I prefer to talk to yourself, Mrs Mackay, but I must ask you to do me a special favour.

WIDOW. I’m at your service, sir.

SANDY. _Don’t_ call me “sir.” My name is Sandy.

WIDOW. Indeet. A very homely name indeet, _sir_--I beg your pardon--there will be one or two Sandys in this same glen already.

SANDY. Splendid! I’ll be able to hide myself. If anybody calls here asking for Sandy, you’ll send them to some other Sandy.... (_Gazes steadfastly at Mrs Mackay._) Look through the window, Mrs Mackay.

WIDOW (_alarmed_). What is it?

SANDY. Sit down, please, don’t move. You make an excellent picture. Just look towards the window. (_Widow looks nervously._) Ah! wonderful; she was Spring, you are late September. (_Sighs._) I must paint you.

WIDOW (_astonished_). Paint me?

SANDY. I will paint your portrait and present it to you afterwards.

WIDOW (_aside_). Màiri said the veesitors were so kind to people. (_Aloud._) That’s very good of you, Mr----

SANDY. Sandy.

WIDOW. Mr Sandy.

SANDY. No, simply Sandy. (_Laughs._) Simple Sandy, if you like, or just Sandy.

Widow (_aside_). So simple and plain; he must be a born gentleman. (_Aloud._) I’ll be trying to remember. (_Smiles._)

SANDY (_musingly_). What is there in you Highland people that makes you seem all alike, I wonder? When you smile, you remind me of--of someone I knew. A Highland lady also. (_Aside._) Ah! dear me, can I never get her out of my mind?--Màiri, Màiri, my soul calls you. You haunt me night and day. (_Aloud._) This is a very beautiful little house. What a rare window! And this fire-place! (_Sits down on a stool._)

WIDOW. Take the easy chair, if you please. I’m sure you’re feeling tired.

SANDY. Is that your most comfortable chair, Mrs Mackay?

WIDOW (_stiffly_). Yes, it will be, but maybe by next year----

SANDY. Then come and sit in it, please, and speak to me. I’m dull, madam. (_Sighs._)

WIDOW (_pokes up the peat_). It’s a poor fire, indeet, and there’s nothing so cheery as a bright fire. I hope you’ll be excusing the old fire-place, but maybe by next year we’ll have a registered grate. (_Sits down._)

SANDY. (_standing up_). Heavens! don’t speak about such a thing, never think of changing your grate. It’s perfect, madam. (_Smiles._) I must paint this fire-place, and you must sit beside it at your spinning wheel. (_Glances round the room._) I will give you some pictures to hide those on the wall--those frowning fellows--pah!

WIDOW (_aside_). I must mind to be humouring him. (_Aloud._) You are too kind, indeet. But first I will give you something to eat. (_Rises._)

SANDY. Sit down, Mrs Mackay. I’m not hungry. Please do not go away. (_Gazes in her face._) Do sit down. (_Aside._) How like Màiri she is. I seem to see Màiri everywhere, yet I cannot see her.

WIDOW. I’m afraid you’ll have to be excusing me. I have to go for a little message, but I’ll not be long. I’m sure you will be excusing me, now.

SANDY. I beg your pardon, Mrs Mackay. It’s selfish of me to detain you.

WIDOW (_smiling._) I’ll soon be back. (_Aside._) I must hurry after his mother and tell her. The poor lad is eating out his heart because he has quarrelled with her. (_Aloud._) Be amusing yourself till I return, Mr Sandy--I mean Sandy. (_Aside._) I’ll better hurry and get back before Màiri comes. (_Exit._)

SANDY (_Alone. Sits before the fire on the low stool. Elbows on knees and face between his hands._) I cannot escape Màiri. Everywhere I go I think of Màiri. (_Takes a sheet of notepaper from his pocket and reads_):

Star of my soul, can I forget? I dreamed not that my star would set. Ah! now my heaven is dim and bare, Thou wert so bright, thou wert so fair-- Dwells falsehood in such eyes as thine? Came poison from thy lips divine? My soul is----

Pah! What mockery--jingling mockery!

[_Flings his poem in the fire. As the flame leaps up the door opens and Màiri enters. Sandy looks round, utters an exclamation of surprise: stands up, faces Màiri. The lovers gaze at one another, amazed and silent for a few seconds._]

SANDY. Màiri.... You?

MÀIRI (_with emotion_). Why--why have you--have you followed me here?

SANDY. I have been searching for you everywhere, but----

MÀIRI. Oh! leave me alone. Why, why?--Have you seen my mother? Where is she?

SANDY. She has just gone out, but will return soon.

MÀIRI. I’ll go after her.

SANDY (_strides forward and seizes Màiri’s hand_). Oh! do not leave me like that, Màiri. Will you not speak to me, if not for my own sake, at least for the sake of old times?

MÀIRI. Why should you want to be speaking to me? Your mother told me what you said. Do you think I can forget so soon? Let me go....

SANDY. Màiri, what do you mean? What did my mother tell you?

MÀIRI. Ah! do not be fooling me. You may have fooled me in _your_ mother’s house, but you’ll never fool me in _my_ mother’s house.

SANDY. Fooling you? I don’t understand.... Is this your home, Màiri?

MÀIRI (_raising herself stiffly_). Well you know whose house you are in. (_Drawing her hand away._) Now, leave it! and never darken our door again. I am not your servant any longer, sir.

SANDY. If you ask me to go, I certainly will. But before I do, let me tell you this, Màiri: I have never asked my mother to say anything to you about me.

MÀIRI. Perhaps not. But she told me all.... Are you going now?

SANDY (_brokenly_). Màiri, do not break my heart. Do not spurn me, as if I were a leper. Oh, Màiri, if you must send me away, once again, let us part as friends.... Why, oh why, did you not tell me yourself that you had grown tired of me? Why did you ask my mother to repeat your cruel words?

MÀIRI. Your mother? My cruel words? I never gave any message to your mother.

SANDY. Never gave.... Has my mother lied to me?... When I returned from my holiday and found you had gone, I was broken-hearted, and what I felt most and feel most is that you never even left a letter for me. If only you had, I should have been better able to bear it....

MÀIRI. I’ll just ask you one question before you go. What did you tell your mother to say to me?

SANDY. Nothing! I never spoke to her about you after I told her we were engaged, until that black evening when she seared my soul with your message--the message she said you left for me.

[_Màiri sinks in a chair, covers her eyes with her hand, and sobs._]

SANDY. Màiri, Màiri, I love you more than ever. Forgive me if I have offended you! Have pity on me! I have never loved another. I will never love another. (_Kneels before her._) If you cannot love me, do not despise me. If you wish me to go away, do not let us part except as old friends. (_Entreatingly._) Màiri, speak to me, Màiri.

[_Màiri suddenly takes his head in her hands and kisses his forehead._]

SANDY. My love, I cannot leave you now.

[_They gaze at one another in silence._]

MÀIRI. Then it is not true that you wished to leave me?

SANDY. No, no, Màiri. And it’s not true that you had grown tired of me?

MÀIRI. Tired of you, Sandy? The heart of me has been hungering for you day and night since last we parted.

[_Voices are heard outside._]

SANDY. Your mother is coming. (_Looks through the window._) Heavens! my mother is with her.

MÀIRI. Your mother?... Oh! let me hide myself.

SANDY. I don’t wish to see her either. I shall never speak to her again. Where can we go?

MÀIRI. To the kitchen. We can slip out after they come in here.

[_Exit Sandy and Màiri. Enter Mrs Mackay supporting Mrs Speedwell, who is limping; she has met with an accident and is slightly hysterical._]

WIDOW. Be sitting down, mem. Try to compose yourself.

MRS S. Thank you, Mrs Mackay, you are so kind--oh! dear, dear, where is my son?

WIDOW. He must have gone out to look at the scenery. He’ll soon be back, I’m sure. Just you settle down nicely now, mem. I’ll bathe your foot for you. I’ll better be putting the big kettle on the kitchen fire. (_Exit. Voices heard within_....) Are _you_ here, Màiri dear? And Mr Sandy, too?

MRS S. (_starting_). Sandy and Màiri. Can it be?----

WIDOW (_re-enters_). I’m sorry, mem, but--but (_with agitation_) I cannot understand--your son refuses to come in.

MRS S. (_rising_). Then I will go to my son.

[_Limps towards the door, sees her son and Màiri._]

MRS S. Sandy ... Màiri ... come here--come here at once. Do not go out and leave me in misery. I wish to speak to you both.

[_Sandy and Màiri enter. Both look stern and defiant._]

MRS S. Let me sit down. I want to speak to my son and Màiri.

[_Widow assists her towards the arm-chair._]

WIDOW (_addressing her daughter_). Is this your young man, Màiri dear?

MÀIRI (_hiding her face in Sandy’s arm_). Yes, mother (_faintly_).

WIDOW (_nervously_). I think I will better be putting the big kettle on the kitchen fire. (_Walks towards the door._)

MRS S. No, no, come back; please sit down, Mrs Mackay. I wish you to hear all I have got to say.

[_Mrs Mackay sits opposite Mrs Speedwell, who is in the “easy chair.” Sandy and Màiri stand beside the table, arm in arm._]

MRS S. (_addressing Mrs Mackay_). When you found me lying helplessly on the moor, my sprained ankle sinking into a bog, I thanked you and you said, “It’s not me you should be thanking, but Providence.” You were right there, Mrs Mackay. The hand of Providence arranges all things. Providence brought me here to be punished for my sin; Providence brought these two together (_pointing to Sandy and Màiri_) at the same time.... When I was lying on that dreadful lonely moor, expecting to meet an awful death--to die there alone--the thoughts that were uppermost in my mind were about my sin against your daughter and my own son. Now I am going to ask their forgiveness.

SANDY (_impulsively, hastening towards her_). No, no. Don’t ask my forgiveness (_kisses her_), but Màiri’s only.

MRS S. (_turning to Màiri_). Màiri dear (_entreatingly and softly_).

[_Sandy goes towards Màiri and leads her to his mother._]

MRS S. Kiss me, my ... daughter.

[_Sandy grasps Mrs Mackay’s hand. The old woman rises to her feet._]

SANDY (_gleefully_). My mother has robbed you of your daughter. Let me take her place and be your son.

WIDOW (_with emotion_). Be you a good man to _my_ Màiri, for _my_ Màiri has been a good daughter to me.

[_Màiri comes forward and kisses her mother._]

SANDY (_taking Màiri’s arm_). Come on! hurry, hurry! Let us boil the big kettle on the kitchen fire.

[_Màiri smiles radiantly and Mrs Speedwell laughs. The widow sinks into a chair._]

MRS S. Dear Mrs Mackay, but for my sore foot I think I would dance to you. (_Màiri and Sandy turn at the door and laugh. The widow smiles._)

(CURTAIN)

[1] pron. Mah’ri.

[2] chill.

[3] nothing.

[4] pron. mai’tl, _Gael._, my treasure.

Transcriber’s Note:

Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text and were not changed. Jargon, dialect, obsolete, and alternative spellings were not changed. Inconsistent punctuation after "Mrs" was not changed.

Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like this_. Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the end of the book.