captain there and then. Hardly had he gone when the old mother came in from her work on the beach, and Rachel's hopes being high, she could not but share them with her, and so she told her all, little as was the commerce between them. The mother only grunted as she listened, and went on with her food. Rachel longed for Stephen to return with the good news that all was settled and done, but the minutes passed and he did not come. The old woman sat by the hearth and smoked. Rachel waited with fear at her heart, but the hours went by and still Stephen did not appear. The old woman dozed before the fire and snored. At length, when the night had worn on towards midnight, an unsteady step came to the door, and Stephen reeled into the house drunk. The old woman awoke and laughed. Rachel grew faint and sank to a seat. Stephen dropped to his knees on the ground before her, and in a maudlin cry went on to tell of how he had thought to make one hundred crowns of her sixty by a wager, how he had lost fifty, and then in a fit of despair had spent the other ten. "Then all is gone - all," cried Rachel. And thereupon the old woman shuffled to her feet and said bitterly, "And a good thing too. I know you trust me for seeing through your sly ways, my lady. You expected to take my son from me with the price of your ginger hair, you ugly bald-pate.” Rachel's head grew light, and with the cry of a baited creature she turned upon the old mother in a torrent of hot words. "You low, mean, selfish soul," she cried, "I despise you more than the dirt under my feet." Worse than this she said, and the old woman called on Stephen to hearken to her, for that was the wife he had brought home to revile his mother. The old witch shed some crocodile tears, and Stephen lunged in between the women and with the back of his hand struck his wife across the face. At that blow Rachel was silent for a moment, and then she turned her husband. "And so you have struck me-meupon me," she cried. "Have you forgotten the death of Patriksen?" The blow of her words was harder than the blow of her husband's hand. The man reeled before it, turned white, gasped for breath, then caught up his cap and fled out into the night. PEDRO CALDERON DE LA BARCA PEDRO CALDERON DE LA BARCA. Born in Madrid, January 17, 1600; died May 25, 1681. Author of more than one hundred plays, among them: "The Fairy Lady," "Comedies of the Cloak and the Sword," ""Tis Better than it Was," "Tis Worse than it Was," "The Mock Astrologer," "The Wonder-working Magician," "Life is a Dream," "No Magic like Love," "The Weapons of Beauty," and "Three Judgments at a Blow." (From "THREE JUDGMENTS AT A BLOW") SCENE I. A Wild Place. - Enter MENDO and Officers of Justice armed. 1st Officer. Here, my lord, where the Ebro, swollen with her mountain streams, runs swiftest, he will try to escape. Men. Hunt for him then, leaving neither rock nor thicket unexplored. (They disperse.) Oh, what a fate is mine, Having to seek what most I dread to find, Once thought the curse of jealousy alone! The iron king will see my face no more Unless I bring Don Lope to his feet: And love I bear him fain would save from justice. Lope. Enter some, fighting with DON LOPE. I know I cannot save my life, But I will sell it dear. Men. Hold off! The king Will have him taken, but not slain. And I, To do it afterwards Don Lope! I should know that voice, the face I cannot, blind with fury, dust, and blood. III-I Or was't the echo of some inner voice, Some far-off thunder of the memory, That moves me more than all these fellows' swords! Is it Don Mendo? Men. Who demands of you Your sword, and that you yield in the king's name. Lope. I yield? Men. Aye, sir, what can you do beside? Lope. Slaying be slain. And yet my heart relents My eyes dissolve in tears. Why, how is this? Men. 'Tis but the effect And countenance of justice that inspires Lope. Not that. Delinquent as I am, I could, Men. Rise, Lope. Heaven knows How gladly would your judge change place with you The criminal; far happier to endure Your peril than my own anxiety. But do not you despair, however stern Tow'rds you I carry me before the world. The king is so enrag'd Lope. What, he has heard! Men. Your father cried for vengeance at his feet. Men. In vain. 'Tis in my hand. as before Lope. Where somehow it affrights me When giving you my dagger, it turn'd on me Cover Don Lope's face, and carry him To prison after me. (Aside.) Hark, in your ear, Conduct him swiftly, and with all secrecy, To my own house in by the private door, Without his knowing whither, And bid my people watch and wait on him. I'll to the king - Alas, what agony, I know not what, grows on me more and more! [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Room in the Palace. - Enter KING. King. Don Mendo comes not back, and must not come, Till he have done his errand. I myself Can have no rest till justice have her due. A son to strike his father in my realm Unaw'd, and then unpunisht! But by great Heav'n the law shall be aveng'd Don Mendo! Men. Enter MENDO. Let me kiss your Highness' hand — King. Welcome, thou other Atlas of my realm, Who shar'st the weight with me. For I doubt not, Coming thus readily into my presence, You bring Don Lope with you. Men. Yes, my liege -- Fast prisoner in my house, that none may see You have not done a better. The crime is strange, 'tis fit the sentence on it Be memorably just. Men. Most true, my liege, Who I am sure will not be warp'd away Move to conclusion. I do know this charge Is not so grave as was at first reported. King. But is not thus much clear - that a son smote His father? Men. And can a charge I confess the naked fact, But 'tis the special cause and circumstance That give the special color to the crime. King. I shall be glad to have my kingdom freed From the dishonor of so foul a deed Your Majesty shall find it here. 'Tis thus: Don Lope, on what ground I do not know, Fights with Don Guillen - in the midst o' the fray, Comes old Urrea, at the very point When Guillen was about to give the lie To his opponent — which the old man, enrag'd At such unseemly riot in his house, Gives for him; calls his son a fouler name Was aim'd abroad in the first heat of passion He's old and testy · age's common fault And, were not this enough to lame swift justice, That in our courts father and son shall not King. And this seems just to you? Men. It does, my liege. King. Then not to me, Don Mendo, Who will examine, sentence, and record, Whether in such a scandal to the realm The son be guilty of impiety, Or the sire idle to accuse him of't. Therefore I charge you have Urrea too From home to-night, and guarded close alone; |