ARETHUSA. Come, dear Kit, come!
KIT. Well, I'm here.
ARETHUSA. O Kit, you are not angry with me.
KIT. Have I reason to be pleased?
ARETHUSA. Kit, I was wrong. Forgive me.
KIT. O yes. I forgive you. I suppose you meant it kindly; but there are some kindnesses a man would rather die than take a gift of. When a man is accused, Arethusa, it is not that he fears the gallows-it's the shame that cuts him. At such a time as that, the way to help was to stand to your belief. You should have nailed my colours to the mast, not spoke of striking them. If I were to be hanged to-morrow, and your love there, and a free pardon and a dukedom on the other side-which would I choose?
ARETHUSA. Kit, you must judge me fairly. It was not my life that was at stake, it was yours. Had it been mine-mine, Kit-what had you done, then?
KIT. I am a downright fool; I saw it inside out. Why, give you up, by George!
ARETHUSA. Ah, you see! Now you understand. It was all pure love. When he said that word-O!-death and that disgrace! . . . But I know my father. He fears nothing so much as the goodness of his heart; and yet it conquers. He would pray, he said: and to-night, and by the kindness of his voice, I knew he was convinced already. All that is wanted, is that you should forgive me.
KIT. Arethusa, if you looked at me like that I'd forgive you piracy on the high seas. I was only sulky; I was boxed up there in the black dark, and couldn't see my hand. It made me pity that blind man, by George!
ARETHUSA. O, that blind man! The fiend! He came back, Kit: did you hear him? he thought we had killed you-you!
KIT. Well, well, it serves me right for keeping company with such a swab.
ARETHUSA. One thing puzzles me: how did you get in? I saw my father lock the door.
KIT. Ah, how? That's just it. I was a sheet in the wind, you see. How did we? He did it somehow. . . . By George, he had a key! He can get in again.
ARETHUSA. Again? that man!
KIT. Ay, can he! Again! When he likes!
ARETHUSA. Kit, I am afraid. O Kit, he will kill my father.
KIT. Afraid. I'm glad of that. Now, you'll see I'm worth my salt at something. Ten to one he's back to Mrs. Drake's. I'll after, and lay him aboard.
ARETHUSA. O Kit, he is too strong for you.
KIT. Arethusa, that's below the belt! Never you fear; I'll give a good account of him.
ARETHUSA (_taking cutlass from the wall_). You'll be none the worse for this, dear.
KIT. That's so (_making cuts_). All the same, I'm half ashamed to draw on a blind man; it's too much odds. (_He leaps suddenly against the table_.) Ah!
ARETHUSA. Kit! Are you ill?
KIT. My head's like a humming top; it serves me right for drinking.
ARETHUSA. O, and the blind man! (_She runs_, _L._, _to the corner cupboard_, _brings a bottle and glass_, _and fills and offers glass_.) Here, lad, drink that.
KIT. To you! That's better. (_Bottle and glass remain on Gaunt's table_.)
ARETHUSA. Suppose you miss him?
KIT. Miss him! The road is straight; and I can hear the tap-tapping of that stick a mile away.
ARETHUSA (_listening_). St! my father stirring in his room!
KIT. Let me get clear; tell him why when I'm gone. The door-?
ARETHUSA. Locked!
KIT. The window!
ARETHUSA. Quick, quick! (_She unfastens R. window_, _by which_ KIT _goes out_.)
SCENE II
ARETHUSA, GAUNT _entering L._
ARETHUSA. Father, Kit is gone . . . He is asleep.
GAUNT. Waiting, waiting and wearying. The years, they go so heavily, my Hester still waiting! (_He goes R. to chest_, _which he opens_.) That is your chain; it's of Guinea gold; I brought it you from Guinea.
(_Taking out chain_.) You liked it once; it pleased you long ago; O, why not now-why will you not be happy now? . . . I swear this is my last voyage; see, I lay my hand upon the Holy Book and swear it. One more venture-for the child's sake, Hester; you don't think upon your little maid.
ARETHUSA. Ah, for my sake, it was for my sake!
GAUNT. Ten days out from Lagos. That's a strange sunset, Mr. Yeo. All hands shorten sail! Lay aloft there, look smart! . . . What's that?
Only the negroes in the hold . . . Mr. Yeo, she can't live long at this; I have a wife and child in Barnstaple. . . . Christ, what a sea! Hold on, for God's sake-hold on fore and aft! Great God! (_as thought the sea were making a breach over the ship at the moment_).
ARETHUSA. O!
GAUNT. They seem quieter down below there . . . No water-no light-no air-seven days battened down, and the seas mountain high, and the ship labouring hell-deep! Two hundred and five, two hundred and five, two hundred and five-all to eternal torture!
ARETHUSA. O pity him, pity him! Let him sleep, let him forget! Let her prayers avail in heaven, and let him rest!
GAUNT. Hester, no, don't smile at me. Rather tears! I have seen you weep-often, often; two hundred and five times. Two hundred and five!
(_With ring_.) Hester, here is your ring (_he tries to put the ring on his finger_). How comes it in my hand? Not fallen off again? O no, impossible! it was made smaller, dear, it can't have fallen off! Ah, you waste away. You must live, you must, for the dear child's sake, for mine, Hester, for mine! Ah, the child. Yes. Who am I to judge? Poor Kit French! And she, your little maid, she's like you, Hester, and she will save him! How should a man be saved without a wife?
ARETHUSA. O father, if you could but hear me thank and bless you! (_The tapping of Pew's stick is heard approaching_. GAUNT _passes L. front and sits_.)
GAUNT (_beginning to count the taps_). One-two-two hundred and five
ARETHUSA (_listening_). God help me, the blind man! (_She runs to door_, _C._; _the key is put into the lock from without_, _and the door opens_.)
SCENE III