less proud than custom, and does not
refuse the blood, the heart, the right hand of the poor man.

Enter Widow.

Widow. My son, thou hast acted ill; but sin brings its own punishment.
In the hour of thy remorse, it is not for a mother to reproach thee.

Mel. What is past is past. There is a future left to all men, who have
the virtue to repent, and the energy to atone. Thou shalt be proud of
thy son yet. Meanwhile, remember this poor lady has been grievously
injured. For the sake of thy son's conscience, respect, honor, bear with
her. If she weep, console--if she chide, be silent. 'Tis but a little
while more--I shall send an express fast as horse can speed to her
father. Farewell! I shall return shortly.

Widow. It is the only course left to thee--thou wert led astray, but
thou art not hardened. Thy heart is right still, as ever it was when, in
thy most ambitious hopes thou wert never ashamed of thy poor mother.

Mel. Ashamed of thee; No, if I yet endure, yet live, yet hope,--it is
only because I would not die till I have redeemed the noble heritage I
have lost--the heritage I took unstained from thee and my dead father--a
proud conscience and an honest name. I shall win them back yet--heaven
bless you! [Exit.

Widow. My dear Claude! How my heart bleeds for him.

[PAULINE looks down from above, and after a pause descends

Pauline. Not here!--he spares me that pain at least: so far he is
considerate--yet the place seems still more desolate without him.
Oh, that I could hate him--the gardener's son!--and yet how nobly
he--no--no--no I will not be so mean a thing as to forgive him!

Widow. Good morning, madam; I would have waited on you if I had known
you were stirring.

Pauline. It is no matter, ma'am--your son's wife ought to wait on
herself.

Widow. My son's wife--let not that thought vex you, madam--he tells
me that you will have your divorce. And I hope I shall live to see him
smile again. There are maidens in this village, young and fair, madam,
who may yet console him.

Pauline. I dare say--they are very welcome--and when the divorce is
got--he will marry again. I am sure I hope so. [Weeps.

Widow. He could have married the richest girl in the province, if he
had pleased it; but his head was turned, poor child! he could think of
nothing but you. [Weeps.

Pauline. Don't weep, mother.

Widow. Ah, he has behaved very ill, I know, but love is so headstrong in
the young. Don't weep, madam.

Pauline.