The Prime Minister/Act IV

by Hall Caine

FOURTH ACT

Scene.—Sir Robert Temple's house, as before. It is the same night. A slow fire is burning. Otherwise the room is in darkness. The window at back is open, as if to air the room, showing searchlights pulsing in the sky. On R. a Christmas tree can be seen, covered with fairy lamps and toys.

The door on L. is ajar, and a streak of light comes out of it. There comes from within the sound of voices. As curtain rises these voices increase. Galloway enters by upper door, R., shuts window, draws curtains, switches on electric light, and goes out by lower door, R. Then Sir Robert Temple, with four of the colleagues {one in General's uniform, another in Admiral's) seen in Prologue, comes out of inner room.

The following scene takes place as the men are passing out by lower door, R.

Sir Robert.
[Entering and switching on light.] Very well, to-morrow morning, then.

Carfax.
At what hour?

Sir Robert.
Ten—let us say ten.

Dundas.
[Nodding.] Yes, ten.

Sir Robert.
Our great offensive is timed to begin at six. It cannot last long—two hours, I am told, at the outside. Within two hours the enemy may have something to say to us.

Hallam.
Another proposal of peace?

Sir Robert.
Probably. Their forces are morally and physically bankrupt. They cannot last much longer.

Dundas.
Thank God for that!—for anything that will end this horror. Flesh and blood cannot bear much more of it. Either the war must stop or humanity will be wiped off the face of this planet.

Sir Robert.
Let there be no temporizing with evil though—no parleying with a Government whose word cannot be taken.

Others.
Quite so!

Sir Robert.
The ruthless Powers that swept whole continents into this maelstrom of blood must themselves be swept away.

Dundas.
[Plaintively.] But the reconciliation of the peoples—isn't that possible?

Sir Robert,
Quite possible, but only after the enemy people have got rid of their present masters. Meantime let there be no talk of peace with a Government that has broken down every barrier of law and mercy, Better let us die now—every man, every woman, every child.

Others.
[Going.] To-morrow morning, then!

Sir Robert.
[Touching bell.] To-morrow morning!

[Galloway opens door, lower R. The three men go out, and Sir Robert goes to desk.

[At the same moment Lady Dorothy, carrying a small basket of toys, etc., enters by upper door, R., and comes down to Christmas tree.

Lady Dorothy.
Pardon me, Robert. Freda is out to-night, and I should like to fix these toys on to Peggy's Christmas tree.

[During following scene she is busy at the tree, hanging the toys. Sir Robert is taking letters from a letter-basket, glancing at and signing them.

Sir Robert.
[At desk.] Freda is out, you say?

Lady Dorothy.
[At tree.] Yes, out for the evening. She has filled the child with such wonderful stories of what Christmas trees are like in her country, that goodness knows if the little minx won't come creeping down in the night to see if the angels have lit up hers for her. [She switches up the lights of the Christmas tree.] There! Isn't that beautiful?

Sir Robert.
[Absently.] Beautiful! [As if reflecting.] Has Miss Michel ever been out at night before, Dorothy?

Lady Dorothy.
[Switching off lights and going on as before.] Never. But it's Christmas Eve—she wanted to see the shops and the streets, I suppose.

Sir Robert.
[Relieved.] Ah!

Lady Dorothy.
She promised to be back in time to put Peggy to bed, though, and it was a terrible business to get the child off without her. I had to agree that at midnight the maids should walk in procession through the house, carrying fairy lamps and singing Christmas carols.

Sir Robert.
Walk in procession through the house?

Lady Dorothy.
Another of the customs of Freda's country, it seems. Ah, Christmas is the children's festival! Isn't it pitiful to think that even in the enemy country children as young and innocent as our Peggy may have said a prayer for peace to-night.

Sir Robert.
[A little uneasily.] H'm—yes! [Having finished his letters Sir Robert touches a bell attached to desk. Secretary, in khaki, enters by lower door, R. Sir Robert hands him the letter-basket. Secretary goes out as he came.] [Rising.] Has Freda any friends to call upon, think you?

Lady Dorothy.
None whatever. Except ourselves she hasn't a friend in London. But don't be afraid. Freda is a quiet, modest, unassuming girl, but she's quite capable of taking care of herself, dear.

Sir Robert.
[Back to fire.] Our little darling is very fond of her, isn't she?

Lady Dorothy.
She loves her. We all do.

Sir Robert.
And yet I seem to remember that when she came here first——

Lady Dorothy.
Oh yes, I know, I thought it was taking a risk to engage somebody we had never seen and knew so little about. But [Indicating portrait above mantelpiece] our dear Margaret knew what she was doing, didn't she?

Sir Robert.
[Smiling.] Also I seem to remember that you thought she had entered this house with a certain hostile feeling against——

Lady Dorothy.
[Laughing.] I take that back, too. If she came here with any hostile feeling against you, you have utterly bewitched her.

Sir Robert.
[Laughing a little.] Tut!

Lady Dorothy.
My dear Robert, you don't mean to say you haven't noticed it? The girl worships you. If you had saved her from death she couldn't be more devoted to you. I do believe she would lay down her life for you, and if——

Enter Galloway.

Galloway.
General the Lord Burnley to see you, sir.

[Lord Burnley enters. He is in General's uniform. There is a strange mixture of joy and sorrow in the old man's face, voice, and manner.

Sir Robert.
[Meeting him.] My dear Burnley! Lord Burnley.
Lady Dorothy! Robert! [They sit.] I was sorry not to be at the Cabinet to-night, but important messages were coming from the Front—I couldn't tear myself away from them.

Sir Robert.
[Eagerly.] Ah!

Lord Burnley.
They were worth waiting for.

Sir Robert.
Good!

Lord Burnley.
The offensive which had been timed for six o'clock to-morrow took place at six to-night instead. There has been a great battle and a tremendous victory.

Sir Robert.
How splendid!

Lord Burnley.
The enemy has had a smashing defeat all along the line, and is thrown back over his own frontier.

Sir Robert.
How glorious!

Lord Burnley.
More than that, the Emperor has surrendered.

Sir Robert.
[Rising, excited.] Then the supreme hour has struck at last! Thank God! Thank God!

Lord Burnley.
The enemy Commander-in-Chief has asked for twelve hours' armistice to propose fresh terms of peace. Our own Commander has given him six.

Sir Robert.
[As before.] It is the beginning of the end! I knew it must come soon! You have released the report?

Lord Burnley.
Yes. It will be all over the world to-morrow morning—before midnight, perhaps.

Sir Robert.
[Rapturously.] To-night of all nights, too! What a Christmas greeting! Already I hear it crackling through the dark air all over Europe! Already I hear the Christmas bells ringing! Peace to men, after all the bloodshed and barbarity! We have a Cabinet at ten in the morning. You must be here, Burnley.

Lord Burnley.
I shall be.

Sir Robert.
[Carried away, enthusiastically, with exaltation.] Our work comes now. We must hold the ground the free peoples of the world have won. No more brute force! No more military despotism! No more of the wail of death that has been echoing round the world! If it is to be peace it must be worth all the blood and all the tears that have been shed for it by the sons and daughters of this dear land. And it will be—it shall!

Lord Burnley.
[Rising, his face full of emotion, speaking with difficulty.] I thought you would like to have the news at once, Robert, so I decided to bring it myself. Otherwise, I might have preferred to go straight home to-night.

Sir Robert.
[Drawing up, and looking closely at the old man.] Burnley—what is the matter?

Lord Burnley.
[With an effort.] Stanley reports— that our Fifth Army fought like lions and—died like heroes.

Sir Robert.
They would! Why shouldn't they— since they were Englishmen?

Lord Burnley.
And that my own son——

Sir Robert.
[Almost breathlessly.] The Colonel?

Lord Burnley.
My only son——

Sir Robert.
Has he——

Lord Burnley.
[After a pause, bending his head.] Yes.

Sir Robert.
[Grasping the old man's hand.] Forgive me! If I had known that your son—your only son—had died to win this—victory——

Lord Burnley.
[Bracing himself up.] Why shouldn't he—since he was an Englishman?

Sir Robert.
Ah!

Lord Burnley.
There is one thing I regret, though—he fell through treachery.

Sir Robert.
Treachery?

Lord Burnley.
His next-in-command was of enemy origin.

Sir Robert.
Enemy origin?

Lord Burnley.
Born in London, educated in England, son of a naturalized father. My son and he had been friends from boyhood. Harry used to say, " Lindner would lay down his life for me."

Lady Dorothy.
[Who has been listening intently.] Ah!

Lord Burnley.
Yet he led him into the enemy's ambush. [A faint cry of pain from Lady Dorothy. Sir Robert.
Let me go home with you to-night, old friend.

Lord Burnley.
[Bracing himself up.] No, no! Give me time. I shall be all right presently.

Sir Robert.
This will be a terrible blow to you, Burnley.

Lord Burnley.
[Stepping towards door.] It will—it is. I've seen it coming, though. I thought of it in this room on the night we were waiting for the Ultimatum. "Ours is an old family, four hundred years old," I thought, "and my son is the last of us. If he goes into this war my line may end— there may be no more Burnleys." But [Straightening himself to his full height] liberty must go on, civilization must go on, and—England!

Sir Robert.
[Deeply moved.] I'll—I'll see you to the door.

Lord Burnley.
No! I can let myself out. Good night!

[The old man goes out bravely. The door is closed. There is a moment's pause. Lady Dorothy comes dozen.

Lady Dorothy.
Oh, war! war! war!

Sir Robert.
But what treachery!

Lady Dorothy.
Yes, what cruel, heartless, fiendish treachery!

Sir Robert.
A natural-born British subject, too!

Lady Dorothy.
It must have been in the man's blood. When his hour of temptation came the wretched creature couldn't resist it.

Sir Robert.
[With intense feeling.] None of them can. Haven't they been doing as much all along—all the world over—ever since the war began? They are working their evil ways in secret now, but if they succeed they'll do it openly. Once let them land on these shores as conquerors and there's nothing before any of us but a dog's life, a dog's death, and a dog's burial. [Moving across the room, then returning.] O God, what a lesson to such of us as have been dreaming dreams of universal brotherhood—seeing visions of a liberated world—when the enemy rulers have been set aside and we can safely make peace with the people! Folly! Madness! Suicide! People and rulers are all alike. Only one peace can be made with either of them, and that is the peace of Victory.

Lady Dorothy.
But there are good and bad in all nations, Robert, and even among our enemies there must be loyal, faithful, unselfish souls——

Sir Robert.
Show me one—one person born of that race who is capable of an act of loyalty, fidelity, self-sacrifice——

Enter Galloway, lower door.

Galloway.
Sir Malcolm Clark to see you, sir.

Sir Robert.
[As if startled by a sudden memory.] Ah!—Bring him in.

[Lady Dorothy goes out by upper door, R.

Sir Malcolm enters by lower door.

Sir Malcolm.
Sorry to make so late a call, sir, but the matter is urgent. [Sitting.] You will remember that when your little daughter's governess came here two months ago I made so bold as to cast doubts on her identity?

Sir Robert.
I do.

Sir Malcolm.
And that after making inquiries of your own you gave me to understand, in the girl's presence, that you were satisfied about her bona fides?

Sir Robert.
I remember.

Sir Malcolm.
You will also remember that later the same evening you called me back over the telephone, and then told me, in the young woman's absence, that you believed my suspicions to be justified, but for reasons you did not desire to disclose, you wished me to keep a careful eye on her friends, leaving the girl herself to you?

Sir Robert.
That is so.

Sir Malcolm.
Sir Robert, I must apologize for what I have been doing since, but it seemed necessary for your protection.

Sir Robert.
What is that?

Sir Malcolm.
Keeping the young woman also under observation.

Sir Robert.
You have found nothing against her?

Sir Malcolm.
Nothing until to-day.

Sir Robert.
To-day?

Sir Malcolm.
This morning she was seen in the Park in conversation with a member of her family, and to-night——

Sir Robert.
[Eagerly.] To-night?

Sir Malcolm.
She has been followed to the house she came from.

Sir Robert.
The house in Soho Square?

Sir Malcolm.
Yes. You remember that we suppressed the so- called Goethe Club?

Sir Robert.
Perfectly.

Sir Malcolm.
It now meets secretly in the apartment of Dr. Gottfried Schiller. It met there to-night, and was sitting within closed doors, in a darkened room, when your daughter's governess reached the house.

Sir Robert.
Then you suspect——

Sir Malcolm.
We suspect that it was concocting one of those criminal outrages with which the enemy nation is trying to beat and bludgeon its way through the war.

Sir Robert.
And you think this young woman—this mere girl——

Sir Malcolm.
We think she is the centre of the whole conspiracy, sir.

Sir Robert.
What evidence have you?

Sir Malcolm.
No direct and definite evidence, I admit. But sufficient to justify us in warning you. The young woman came to you in a false name and character. She has been two months here. She was sent for this morning, and has spent the evening with a group of enemy aliens whom we have good cause to regard with suspicion. The inference seems obvious, sir.

Sir Robert.
What inference?

Sir Malcolm.
That she has been watching her opportunity, and now that the time seems to her to be ripe she has returned to say so.

Sir Robert.
Then you think the outrage, whatever it is, is to be perpetrated soon?

Sib Malcolm.
We do.

Sir Robert.
To-night, perhaps?

Sir Malcolm.
Perhaps to-night.

Sir Robert.
You don't know who is the object of it?

Sir Malcolm.
Not certainly.

Sir Robert.
My child possibly?

Sir Malcolm.
Possibly.

Sir Robert.
Or myself?

Sir Malcolm.
More probably. Somebody or something in this house at all events.

Sir Robert.
Then you think the young woman will come back?

Sir Malcolm.
We think she is sure to come back, sir. She may have come back already.

[Sir Robert touches the bell. Galloway enters.

Sir Robert.
When did Miss Michel return home this evening?

Galloway.
She hasn't returned yet, sir.

Sir Robert.
When she comes in let me know immediately.

Galloway.
Yes, sir.

[Galloway goes out. Sir Robert's face expresses vexation.

Sir Malcolm.
I'm sorry, sir. Evidently you have thought better of the young woman. You've trusted her. But I thought it only right—

Sir Robert.
[Impatiently.] Yes, yes!—What do you wish me to do?

Sir Malcolm.
First, to see to it that this person shall hav« no further access to the child.

Sir Robert.
She shan't.

Sir Malcolm.
Next, to discontinue for the present your nightly walks on the Embankment.

Sir Robert.
[Impatiently.] Tut! I can take care of myself. Anything else?

Sir Malcolm.
Yes, that you send your manservant away for a Christmas holiday, and allow me to put one of our own men in his place.

Sir Robert.
No!—[To Galloway, who has entered at back.] Well?

Galloway.
Miss Michel has just come in, and gone up to her room, sir.

Sir Robert.
Ask her to come down to me at once. [Galloway bows and goes out. Sir Robert rises.] Sir Malcolm, I am indebted to you for your warning, and will take all proper precautions.

Sir Malcolm.
[Also rising.] Thank you!

Sir Robert.
[With emphasis.] If you have sufficient proof of conspiracy against these people in Soho Square let there be no further delay. Arrest them—all of them, to-night, instantly.

Sir Malcolm.
Good! And the girl?

Sir Robert.
Leave the girl again to me.

Sir Malcolm.
As you please, sir. [He moves towards door, stops.] May I beg of you not to go out to-night? Allow it to be supposed that you have gone as usual, but remain indoors, sir.

Sir Robert.
[At desk.] We'll see.

Sir Malcolm.
[At door.] I have heard the great news that will be published in the morning. Forgive me if I say that your life is not your own merely at a time like this. It belongs to all of us—to the world.

[The upper door, R., has opened again, and Margaret has entered. She sees the Chief Commissioner, and looks nervous.

Sir Robert.
That will do, Mr. Commissioner.

Sir Malcolm.
[After opening door.] I have made arrangements to remain in my office all night to-night. A call over the telephone will bring me back at any moment.

Sir Robert.
Good night, Sir Malcolm!

Sir Malcolm.
Good night, sir!

[Sir Malcolm Clark goes out, closing the door behind him. Sir Robert crosses to the desk. Margaret makes a few nervous steps forword.

Margaret.
[In a low tone.] Galloway says you wish to see me, sir.

Sir Robert.
[In a firm voice, facing her.] Margaret Schiller, come here! [The girl flinches, and comes down.] It cannot be necessary that I should remind you of what happened on the night you came here first. After what had become known you gave me your promise—your solemn promise—that if I spared your family and friends, and allowed you to remain in this house, you would never see or hear from them again. Isn't that so?

Margaret.
[In a scarcely audible voice.] Yes.

Sir Robert.
Have you kept your promise?

Margaret.
[Falteringly.] I—I——

Sir Robert.
[Severely.] The truth, girl, the truth—have you?

Margaret.
[Faintly.] No.

Sir Robert.
You have seen them to-night?

Margaret.
[More faintly.] Yes.

Sir Robert.
You have just left them?

Margaret.
[Still more faintly.] Yes.

Sir Robert.
Then you admit that you have broken faith with me? [The girl does not answer.] Answer—you admit that you have broken faith with me?

Margaret.
[Almost inaudibly.] Yes.

Sir Robert.
[After an effort to control his anger.] During the two months in which you have been living under my roof have I ever been unkind to you?

Margaret.
Indeed, no, sir.

Sir Robert.
Nor any of my household?

Margaret.
No.

Sir Robert.
Your secret has been kept, your safety has been secured, your family have thus far remained unmolested?

Margaret.
Yes.

Sir Robert.
Then where is your gratitude, your honesty, your honour? You have not only broken your pledge to me, but your oath before God. [The girl stands silent, with head bowed.] Why have you broken it? If you have anything to say, I ask you to say it. You are a woman—I have no wish to be hard on you. There may be circumstances which explain, if they do not excuse, your conduct. Are there? [Still the girl stands silent.] Has any constraint been put upon you—any compulsion?

Margaret.
No, sir.

Sir Robert.
You spoke of a brother—is he ill?

Margaret.
No.

Sir Robert.
You said he was hot and headstrong—is he in any kind of danger?

Margaret.
[Hesitating.] No.

Sir Robert.
Are you in any danger? [The girl catches her breath.] Your friends—the people who encouraged you to come here in that false name and character—are they intimidating you?

Margaret.
No.

Sir Robert.
Is there somebody else then? Have you some other attachment? Did you go to that house to- night in the hope of protecting the welfare, perhaps the life, of somebody you—you love?

Margaret.
[After an effort.] No.

Sir Robert.
Then in God's name, why did you go? Have you nothing to say for yourself? Speak!

Margaret.
If I could only do so—but I can't—I can't!

Sir Robert.
In that case you compel me to put the worst interpretation upon your silence. You returned to the house of your family and friends in fulfilment of the design — the base and treacherous design — which first brought you into mine.

Margaret.
[Eagerly.] No, no!

Sir Robert.
[Severely.] Don't add falsehood to falsehood, I warn you. It is known to the authorities that your uncle's house is a centre of conspiracy in the interests of the enemy country, and that when you got there to-night a number of persons were already assembled. They had sent for you, hadn't they? [The girl does not answer.] They wanted your assistance, didn't they? [Still the girl does not answer.] What fresh crimes were they concocting? [The girl continues to stand silent.] Did it concern anybody in this house? [The girl struggles to control her agitation.] Did it concern—me? [The girl gasps, but is still silent.] Or was it my young daughter?

Margaret.
[In a panic] No, no, no!

Sir Robert.
[Catching at her eagerness.] Ah! So that's it, is it? And now I remember that when you came here first, you confessed that chief among your objects was that of kidnapping my child in order to punish me? Is that what you are asked to do now?

Margaret.
Oh no, no! How can you believe it?

Sir Robert.
Believe it? Aren't your countrymen doing as much every day? Worse—far worse! And now you—while my little daughter who loves you lies asleep upstairs—on Christmas Eve, too . . . [He points to the Christmas tree. The girl covers her face and sobs.] I don't mind saying this is a blow to me. When I first permitted you to remain here perhaps I was thinking less of showing mercy and forgiveness than of safeguarding the country until the suspicions of the police could be substantiated or dispelled. But you were overcoming my distrust. I was allowing myself to believe in you. There were moments when you . . . you reminded me ... of my wife. "This is another of the women," I thought, "who would give their lives for the lives they love." But you are all alike. It is the mad, bad blood in such as you that is deluging the world in crime. God forgive you! I cannot! [The girl is still sobbing. There is a short pause. Sir Robert goes up and returns.] Well, you know what I might do. I might hand you over to the police. I don't propose to do that. I propose to—let you off. [The girl utters a cry of joy.] Ah, don't suppose I'm thinking of you. I'm thinking of myself now. I have no wish that all the world should know that I've harboured a woman like you in my house. You must leave it to-night.

Margaret.
[Catching her breath.] Let me stay until morning, sir.

Sir Robert.
To-night!

Margaret. [Pleadingly.] But if you knew—if I could only tell you why I wish——

Sir Robert.
To-night—now!

Margaret.
Let me stay until to-morrow morning, sir, and I promise you—on my sacred word of honour I promise you——

Sir Robert.
H'sh, for heaven's sake! Haven't we heard that before? [He opens a drawer of desk and takes out a key.] You must leave this house at once. But I have no desire to expose you, and myself, to the questions of the police patrolling in front of it. Therefore take this. [Giving her the key.] It is the key to the garden door. You can let yourself out by the Park. Your belongings shall be sent after you. [Going up.] Now go and make ready. [He opens the upper door, R., for her. The girl stands for a moment trembling, with the key in her hand. Then goes up to door, stops there, turns, makes an effort to speak, then totters out, choking with emotion. Sir Robert closes the door behind her, returns to desk and touches bell.] Pity! A great pity! Galloway enters with an overcoat, etc., helps Sir Robert to put them on.] Make up the fire and go to bed. I shall be back soon.

Galloway.
Yes, sir.

[Sir Robert goes out by lower door, R. A moment later an outer door is heard to clash. Galloway makes up the fire; brings from inner room on L. a tray containing decanter, glasses, and box of cigars; lays them on a small table by sofa; and then switches off the electric light and goes out by door on lower R.

[The room is now in darkness, except for the subdued light from the fire. The smaller bell of "Big Ben" is heard chiming a quarter to twelve—six beats.

[After a moment of silence the upper door on R. is opened and Margaret is seen to return. She is dressed entirely in black, and is carrying the key in her hand. She steps into the room noiselessly, cautiously, fearfully; listens, then goes to the window at back, and after drawing the curtains carefully, opens it. The Park can be seen outside. It is a clear winters night.

[The girl steps out of the window into the garden and disappears. After another moment she returns, closes the window without fastening it, and comes noiselessly down to the desk. There she switches on the electric lamp and sits to write. As she writes she catches her breath in an effort to suppress her sobs. Then she picks up her paper and reads, in a low, tremulous whisper.

[Reading.] "Forgive me! I was compelled to deceive you—to deceive everybody. By the time you read this note you will know what I was asked to do, and what I have done. There was no other way. It was either your life—or mine. You are so necessary. I am nothing at all. But I can give my life for the life I love."

[The window at the back is pushed open and somebody steps into the room. It is Otto. Margaret hears him, rises, switches off the light. The boy's eyes are wild with frenzy. The following scene is played in rapid whispers. Margaret.
Otto!

Otto.
Margaret! Is this the room?

Margaret.
Yes.

Otto.
He has gone out as usual?

Margaret.
Yes.

Otto.
When does he return?

Margaret.
A little before midnight—generally.

Otto.
You managed to get the key, then?

Margaret.
He gave it to me himself.

Otto.
Himself?

Margaret.
Yes, for another purpose. [Shuddering.] It is almost as if Fate had arranged everything.

Otto.
So it has. Fate has arranged everything.

Margaret.
Otto, is this necessary, inevitable ? Is there no escape from it?

Otto.
What escape should there be? It will be an act of justice and end the war.

Margaret.
The war will end as God wills it, Otto.

Otto.
Then there is father——

Margaret.
Father is dead. It will do him no good.

Otto.
There's you, too——

Margaret.
But you were wrong about that, Otto. And now that you are out of uncle's house, why not let me tell the Minister and cast ourselves on his mercy?

Otto.
[Bitterly.] His mercy!

Margaret.
He will forgive you—I'm sure he will. He will see that compulsion has been put upon you, and if you are in danger from the law—Oh, he is so wise, so generous——

Otto.
Don't begin pleading for him again, Margaret. It drives me mad. I hate him! I hate him! To kill him will be God's own vengeance.

Margaret.
Otto, when it's over you must get away quickly.

Otto.
I shall.

Margaret.
Uncle, aunt, everybody—you should leave London to-morrow.

Otto.
We are going to-night—at twelve-thirty.

Margaret.
Twelve-thirty?

Otto.
Yes. we sail for America in the morning.

Margaret.
But what about passports?

Otto.
We found some that father had hidden away.

Margaret.
Father? It's just as if it had to be—as if everything had been arranged beforehand.

Otto.
Everything!

Margaret.
Otto, I must stay here until all is over. That's necessary, you know.

Otto.
I know.

Margaret.
If you get away safely, you must never write or try to communicate with me.

Otto.
But you are to follow us, Margaret.

Margaret.
I cannot. The police are still suspecting me. I couldn't get out of the country.

Otto.
Are we never to see you again, Margaret?

Margaret.
[With an effort.] Yes, yes, we'll meet again—some day.

Otto.
But I can't leave you behind like this, and if it wasn't for Freda——

Margaret.
Yes, you must think of Freda now.

Otto.
[Louder.] But Margaret——

Margaret.
Hush! It's Christmas Eve. Somebody may be stirring.

Otto.
What time is it now?

Margaret.
[Looking across at clock on mantelpiece.] Ten minutes to twelve.

Otto.
Go to bed. I don't want to get you into trouble. Which door will he come in by?

Margaret.
[Pointing to lower door, R.] This one.

Otto.
I must have cover. [Indicating Christmas tree.] This will do. He must not see me too soon.

Margaret.
Otto, if it has to be done—let it be done quickly.

Otto.
It shall be.

Margaret.
When you hear the front door open and close you'll know he has come into the house. And as soon as this door opens—before he has time to switch on the light——

Otto.
I'll kill him like a dog—damn him!

Margaret.
[After a short pause, in a breaking voice.] We must say good night now. Otto.

Otto.
Yes, good night!

Margaret.
Kiss me, then.

Otto.
[Kissing her.] There!

Margaret.
[Clinging to him.] For the last time, brother.

Otto.
[Kissing her again, impatiently.] Now go. Lock yourself in your room.

Margaret.
Good-bye!

Otto.
Good-bye!

[She goes out of upper door, R. Otto steps to back of Christmas tree. There is a moment of silence. "Big Ben" strikes twelve. Boom—boom—boom. The fire has fallen low. Then comes the sound of the loud clashing of an outer door. At the next moment the lower door opens and a dark figure is seen to enter the room. There is the flash and report of a revolver. The figure is seen falling heavily on the floor.

[Stepping from behind Christmas tree, in a low growl of fanatical hatred.] " Sic semper tyrannis!"

[He is going up towards window, when the upper door opens, and Sir Robert Temple enters the room. The two men come face to face.

Sir Robert.
Who are you?

Otto.
[Dazed, appalled.] Where am I? What have I done?

Sir Robert.
[Seeing the figure on the floor, and going down to it.] Out of the way! What's this?

[He lifts the figure on to the sofa. It is Margaret. She is unconscious.

Otto.
[Awakening from his stupor and approaching.] Margaret!

Sir Robert.
Stand back! [Opening the overcoat the girl is wearing.] Through the lung—internal haemorrhage! [He rises, goes hurriedly to desk, calls on telephone.] Sir Malcolm—come back at once—fetch a doctor—quickly! [Putting back the receiver, he sees Margaret's letter. He takes it up and begins to read it.] "Forgive me! I was compelled to deceive you——"

[He stops. His face expresses amazement and deep emotion. He reads the rest of the letter to himself. Meantime Otto, in an agony of remorse, has flung himself on his knees by Margaret's side.

Otto.
Margaret! Margaret! What have I done? What have I done? [Examining her.] Sister! Sister! No, no, it's not fatal! She has only fainted. Speak to me! One word—only one! Say you forgive me!

Sir Robert.
[Stepping back to R. of couch.] Get up! Get up, I tell you! [Otto rises from his knees.] The police are coming. Your family and friends have already been arrested. But you are a boy, and for your sister's sake I let you go. Go back to your masters. Tell them this is what their hate of hates has come to—fallen back on your own head like a boomerang, as all such murderous passions must do. [Otto confronts the Minister defiantly, as if about to say, "Take me. Kill me. Why don't you? I shan't care," then checks himself, and drops his head.] Mad and miserable creature, go! No punishment the law could inflict would be equal to the hell you have created for yourself. Go—go!

[Otto goes staggering out at back—driven out by Sir Robert. Margaret is seen to be recovering consciousness.

Margaret.
[Faintly.] Otto! Otto!

Sir Robert.
[Returning to sofa.] Otto has gone. I have let him go.

Margaret.
[Opening her eyes, trying to raise herself.] You are very good.

Sir Robert.
It is you that are good, Margaret. I know now what you did — what you meant to do. But lie still. The doctor is on his way.

Margaret.
Poor boy! It was he who drew the lot. He couldn't help himself. It was his life or yours, sir.

Sir Robert.
And to save both you sacrificed your own? But you will get better of this. I am sure you will.

Margaret.
How sweet! How beautiful! There will be peace now — isn't that so, sir?

Sir Robert.
Yes, soon, very soon! To-morrow, please God!

Margaret.
Ah! To have helped to bring peace a little nearer—how splendid! How glorious!

Sir Robert.
[With great feeling, taking her hand.] We are all children of one Father, Margaret. The boundaries of the human heart are wider than the widest empire. When this cruel war is over, and the suffering world is born again——

[The church bells begin to ring.

Margaret.
[With bright eyes, listening.] Hark! I hear the peace bells ringing!

Sir Robert.
They are the Christmas bells, Margaret. And this is Peggy's Christmas tree, and those [Listening to soft voices overhead] are the Christmas carol-singers who were to sing outside her door.

Margaret.
[Raising herself.] Will you not give me—the Christmas kiss then?

[He leans over her, and puts his lips to her forehead.

[Sinking back, with a look of great happiness.] Ah! How joyful!

Sir Robert.
Yes, the world will soon be full of joy, Margaret.

Margaret.
[Assenting, rapturously.] Full of joy!

Sir Robert.
We have only to live and look upward — to the everlasting hope.

Margaret.
[Raising herself again, as if seeing a beautiful vision.] The everlasting hope!

Sir Robert.
The Kingdom of Peace must soon come.

Margaret.
[As before.] The Kingdom—the Power—and the Glory!

Sir Robert.
But lie dowm now. The doctor will be here presently. You will recover. It will be well with you soon.

Margaret.
[Sinking back with a rapturous smile, but holding to his hand.] Yes, yes, it will be well with me—soon.

[The soft voices of the carol-singers swell up overhead.

Voices Overhead.
"Hark, the herald angels sing,
Glory to the new-born King,
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled."

[Margaret listens, looking up, and then, still smiling, she closes her eyes.

[The voices die down. All the church bells of London seem to be ringing a joyful peal.

THE CURTAIN SLOWLY DESCENDS