_(Dormer crosses to table, takes up paper and puts it
in his pocket, and crosses back to L.)_

_(lightly again)_ Strange creatures, we women, aren't
we--and superstitious, a little. Remember, Parson
dear, we must keep our secret. Think of the scandal
and misery for poor Eric if this history became
known. For Eric's sake, remember.

{Dormer.} You bear the young gentleman no
grudge?

{Kate.} I--no.

{Dormer.} _(looking at her)_ Ah, you'll eat a breakfast
to-morrow--I shan't--and my wound is twenty
years old. Good-night to you.

_(He goes out. Kate listens to his receding steps L. D.)_

{Kate.} _(softly)_ Good-night! Good-night!
_(There is the sound of the closing of a door in the
distance)_ Gone! _(she looks round)_ Quite alone
_(She shuts the door softly, then with uncertain
steps walks to the settee L., upon which she sinks
with a low moan--starts up wildly)_ It's late! Let
me see! _(she takes her wedding ring from her pocket)_
My wedding ring--I'll hide that; it is such a lie to
carry about with me. _(She hurriedly opens a small
drawer in the bureau R., of it and brings it to table)_
It will rest there, and can never be laughed at. _(she
takes off her bracelets)_ These too--Eric's gifts, _(she
throws them into the open drawer, then takes the
locket from her neck)_ Eric's portrait, _(she opens the
locket and gazes at the portrait, earnestly)_ Another
woman's husband! _(she rises)_ Nobody sees me.
_(music--kisses locket--Eric covers his face with
his hands. Kate throws locket into the drawer. As
she does so, she catches sight of the papers lying
there. She seizes them)_ Papers! I had almost forgotten.
They would tell tales, if--if anything bad
happened to me. _(She examines them. Eric comes
from the recess as if about to speak. Kate opens a
letter. From Eric when his regiment was quartered
at--(reading)_--"My own Kate." Oh! _(Eric sinks
horror-stricken, upon the chair by the bureau--his
head drops upon his arm. Kate finds an old photograph)_
Ah! a photograph of the church where we
were married. I remember--we entered at that door
--not the one under the porch--and it brought us to
the chancel. Ah, here it is--_(reading)_ "The Parish
Church of St. Paul, at Blissworth, in Yorkshire