It must have been Jarius, on his nightly visit. Sally’s light is still
burning in the kitchen. I’ll just pick up my work, and off to bed. Can
it be possible that Will forged that check? I don’t believe it. Henry
Douglas must have invented that story to frighten me.
_Enter WILL, C., softly._
Poor boy, I wish he were safe home again!
_Will._ Mary--sister!
_Mary._ (_Rushing into his arms._) O, Will, dear Will, is it you at last?
_Will._ Hush! Don’t wake anybody. I wouldn’t be seen by any one but you
for the world. You see, I got awful homesick, wanted to have a look at
the old home, and, if possible, speak with you. But I don’t want to meet
father or mother.
_Mary._ Don’t want to meet them! O, Will, your city life--
_Will._ Is splendid! I’m rising in the world--I am. That’s the place for
me. Busy all day, and at night seeing the sights. O, it’s gay! I’m doing
well. But I shall never meet father until I am rich enough to say, “I
was right, and you were wrong. I should have been on the bench now had I
listened to you; but I asserted my rights, went into the world, and have
come back rich, powerful, influential.” Ahem. That’s the style in which I
shall meet him one of these days.
_Mary._ Will, are you still in the employ of Mr. Douglas?
_Will._ No. I’m on my own account.
_Mary._ O, Heavens! ’tis true, ’tis true!
_Will._ What’s true, Mary?
_Mary._ The forged check.
_Will._ Eh? What forged check?
_Mary._ Henry Douglas told me to-night that you had forged his name to a
check for two hundred dollars.
_Will._ ’Tis a lie! an infamous lie!
_Mary._ He said you denied it.
_Will._ We have never spoken concerning a check. I have had nothing to do
with his money matters.
_Mary._ But you have parted?
_Will._ Because he wished me to testify falsely in a case in which he was
concerned--to perjure myself. I refused; and for that reason, and that
alone, we parted. Mary, I may be wild and reckless, but, believe me, I
have never committed a crime--never.
_Mary._ I do believe you, Will. ’Tis but another proof of his perfidy.
_Will._ Never mind him, Mary. He’s not worthy of a thought. Tell me of
father and mother. Are they well?
_Mary._ Ah, Will, your conduct has made them ten years older. Father
will not allow your name to be mentioned, and mother, at his bidding, is
silent; but her face is careworn, her step feeble, and the nervous start
she gives when the door opens tells how anxiously she awaits your return.
You will see her, Will?
_Will._ Not to-night, Mary. In an hour I must be on my way back to the
city. Mary, I wish I had not come here. There’s a power in the old house
that makes my heart ache, it awakens such memories! And mother, dear
soul, how sadly her bright hopes of her boy have been shattered! Though I
have dashed into the city, and been swept along by its hurry and whirl, I
have often thought of this quiet house, and ached, fairly ached, to feel
mother’s arms around my neck, and her goodnight kiss upon my brow. O,
Mary, be tender, very tender with her. Don’t let her hear a word against
me. Sometimes I think that fierce temptation will overwhelm me, ruin me,
body and soul; and that would break her heart.
_Mary._ O, Will, stay with us. Here you are safe from all temptations.
_Will._ Here? Why, Mary, you forget the little brown jug, which first
tempted me to drink, which created a thirst, which, fight against as I
will, must be quenched.
_Mary._ Ah; but the little brown jug will not tempt you now. Since that
day there has been no more brewing of strong drink. Father has abandoned
it, and the old jug has been put to a better use.
_Will._ A better use?
_Mary._ Yes. ’Tis now placed in the cupboard in father’s room, and every
Saturday night he places in it the sum of money he would have expended
for liquor during the week. There’s quite a large sum there.
_Will._ That’s very queer. In father’s cupboard, you say?
_Mary._ Yes. But you do not inquire after Ned.
_Will._ Ned Hartshorn? Is he here still?
_Mary._ Will, are you ignorant of his severe illness? Did not Mr. Douglas
tell you?
_Will._ Nothing concerning Ned Hartshorn. I haven’t heard his name before
for a year.
_Mary._ Douglas’s deceit again! Will, for a year he has not left the
house. That blow with the jug, a year ago, nearly killed him.
_Will._ What! And I knew nothing of it? O, this is terrible! That man is
a fiend! He has tried to keep from me all knowledge of you and my family,
for what reason I cannot guess. But I will know. Ned Hartshorn nearly
killed, and by my hand! I am accursed! Let me fly from this place!
_Mary._ No, no, Will; not now, not now!
_Will._ I will! I must! What right have I to stand beneath this roof? I
have defied my father, chosen my own path in life, turned my back upon
you all, and have no right to claim kindred here. Let me go, Mary. ’Tis
better for all. There’s a curse upon me, a bitter curse. Let me go! let
me go!
_Mary._ No, no, brother. (_Clings about his neck._) I will not release
you. We love you dearly.
_Will._ Then pray for me, think of me kindly if you can; but part we
must. (_Kisses her._) Mary, sister, Heaven bless you! (_Rushes out, C._)
_Mary._ Gone. Poor boy! I tremble for him, swayed by every impulse of
his wayward nature, in the midst of temptation; his young life already
poisoned by the love of drink, what must be his fate! O, brother, may
Heaven send some good angel to reclaim you, and hear a mother’s and a
sister’s prayers in your behalf. (_Takes light from table, and exits, R._)
_Door opens, softly. Enter WILL, C._
_Will._ Homeless and friendless! She little knows it has come to that.
She little knows that my threat to acquaint my father with his wild
doings parted Douglas and I. He marry her! Not if I can prevent it. But
what power have I with my stubborn father? Douglas has trumped up his
charge of forgery to frighten me and intimidate her. How can I alarm her
and father? I came to tell her, and have not spoken a word against him.
But I will find a way. Just now I must care for myself. I haven’t had a
morsel to eat to-day, so my good mother’s cupboard must provide. If I
could only have one good pull at the little brown jug! I forgot. ’Tis now
put to better use. Better? There’s money in it; and money will provide
both food and shelter. Why not? Haven’t I a right to put my fingers in
it? Yes, you have put it to a better use, father, and, with your good
leave, I’ll have a pull at it, as in former days. Egad, it’s a capital
joke. There’s no crime about it, for it’s all in the family, and one
member mustn’t starve while others hoard wealth. I’ll creep into father’s
room, secure the jug, help myself, and nobody shall be the wiser. Softly,
my boy, softly. (_Creeps out, L._)
_JARIUS appears at window, or door, C._
_Jarius._ Consarn it! somebody’s been sneaking round this house for the
last half hour. Wonder if he’s arter Sally! (_Enters window, or door._)
Blamed if I ain’t going to know what it’s all about! If it’s a thief,
then all I’ve got to say, there’ll be some spry wrastling around here
afore he gits off with much plunder.
_Enter WILL, L., with jug of money._
_Will._ All right. I’ve got it. (_Runs into JARIUS’S arms._)
_Jarius._ (_Seizing him by collar._) Jes’ so. So have I.
_Will._ Ah! Discovered! Who are you, scoundrel?
_Jarius._ Who are you, thief? (_Drags him to moonlight._) Will Nutter!
_Will._ Jarius Jordan!
_Jarius._ Wal, I never! Will Nutter a thief!
_Will._ Thief? ’Tis false.
_Jarius._ (_Snatching jug from him._) Here is the proof. O, Will, young
feller, has it come to this?
_Will._ What right have you meddling here? This is my father’s house.
Haven’t I a right to pass in and out of it when I please?
_Jarius._ Jes’ so; but not to rob the old man. What right have I to
meddle? The right which every honest man should be proud to exercise--the
right to battle wrong wherever found. Young feller, you’ve made my heart
ache to-night. To see the boy we were all so proud of sneaking out of
his father’s house a thief! It’s too bad!
_Will._ Jarius Jordan, once more I tell you I’m no thief.
_Jarius._ Will you tell your father so, when I arouse him, as I mean to?
_Will._ No, no, Jarius; don’t do that. Let me go as I came. Keep the jug,
if you please; only let me go.
_Jarius._ Will Nutter, young feller, you’re going to destruction as
fast as your legs can carry you. Where’s your pride? Where’s your grand
expectations, that you raved so about, a year ago? Why, you’re the
meanest of all critters--a thief.
_Will._ That name again?
_Jarius._ Yes; again and again. I ain’t agoin’ to be mealy-mouthed on
this subject, anyhow. You see what yer fine friend has brought ye to; for
it’s all his work. I’ve watched ye in the city all through yer year of
service with him. I’ve seen the temptations spread by him like a spider,
and you, poor little fly, walk into them. It all came of his trickery.
And now here you are, crawling into the room where your poor mother is
sleeping--
_Will._ O, don’t, Jarius; don’t speak of my mother! What would she say to
know that her poor boy was a--a--
_Jarius._ Thief! Say it, Will, young feller. Git the bile all out of yer
system. Look at yerself as ye are; feel as mean as ye look. You are--
_Will._ A thief! Yes, Jarius, it’s the truth. O, why did I come here?
Why add this horror to a life already made wretched by my folly? I never
dreamed of this. It was a sudden impulse. I never gave a thought to it.
It came upon me unawares. But now I see its wickedness. O, Jarius, why
can’t I die? (_Sinks on floor, covers face with hands._) Why can’t I die?
I haven’t a friend in the world to care for me now.
_Jarius._ Yes, you have. Look up, Will. I never went back on a
feller-critter, good or bad, when in distress, and I ain’t a goin’ to do
it now. Look up, young feller. I’ll help you out;
_Will._ Help me? You! Then show me how to help myself. Show me some way
to wipe out this disgrace, and I will bless you.
_Jarius._ Listen to me. A year ago, of your own accord, you set out to
seek your fortune with Hen Douglas--
_Will._ Yesterday we parted, for his service was too mean for me to
perform.
_Jarius._ Jes’ so. You’ve had a year of his tuition; will you now take a
year of mine?
_Will._ Yours, Jarius?
_Jarius._ Yes, mine. I wanted you then, but, Douglas eucred me. I want
you now. Will you serve me?
_Will._ Willingly, and bless you for the chance.
_Jarius._ Jes’ so. Young feller, you’ve only seen the dark side of life.
You’ve been dipped into temptation; but hang on to me and I’ll pull you
out. There’s my hand.
_Will._ And there’s mine.
_Jarius._ Hold on a minute. Let’s understand things. There’s got to be a
rippin’ away of old associations--no billiards, no cards, no theatres.
_Will._ There’s my hand.
_Jarius._ Hold on a minute. You’re to stick to all I ask, although it
goes agin the grain.
_Will._ There’s my hand.
_Jarius._ Hold on a minute. Here’s the hardest. You must solemnly promise
that for one year you will never touch, taste, or handle liquor, plain
or embellished, raw or fancy. It’s hard, young feller, for you, but it’s
your only hope.
_Will._ It is, indeed, Jarius. Heaven bless you! You are a true friend.
As you speak, I feel the strength of your good, noble heart animating
mine. Yours is the first warning voice that has ever reached my ears, and
I will heed it. Do with me as you will. I promise.
_Jarius._ Jes’ so. Nuff sed; shake. (_They stand in centre of stage, with
clasped hands, as the curtain slowly descends._)
ACT THIRD.
_SCENE.--Same as Act 2. Table, L. Arm-chair L. of table, in which
is seated JOHN NUTTER. Lounge, R. Chair, R., back. Table, with
plants, L., back. Door, C., open. NED standing R. of table._
_John._ It’s no use argifying, Ned. It can’t be; it shan’t be. Mary gin
her promise to Henry Douglas more than a year ago, an’ she’s got to stick
tew it. I ain’t a goin’ to have no flirts about me.
_Ned._ But she does not love him, sir; she is truly attached to me. You
surely would not have her break her heart.
_John._ Better break it than break her promise, and break his heart.
_Ned._ There is no fear of breaking his; he has none. He is unworthy of
her.
_John._ Now, Ned, don’t be mean. Don’t speak ill of a man because he is
likely to win where you may lose.
_Ned._ I speak the truth. Mary has told him she did not love him, and
asked him to release her. He refused. He’s a mean, contemptible sneak,
unworthy any woman’s love. That one act stamps him so.
_John._ Now stop. That’s enough. I know Henry Douglas better than you.
He has been a good friend to me, and I won’t have him abused. When, a
year ago, I emptied the little brown jug of my savings, and found, to
my surprise, a handsome sum, he showed me a grand chance for a safe
investment. I took his advice, and doubled my money in a month. He helped
me to other investments.
_Ned._ I know. Some of them paid and some didn’t. The balance is on the
wrong side, for your money has vanished, and there’s a mortgage of a
thousand dollars on your property, which he holds. Pretty friend he!
_John._ Well, what of it? Them as win must expect to lose sometimes. It’s
no use your talkin’ agin him. He’s smart, and he’ll help me out, with a
handsome profit, when the time comes right.
_Ned._ And for his sake you refuse to let Mary marry the man of her
choice?
_John._ _He_ was the man of her choice. I’m only a givin’ him justice.
Now look a-here, Ned; let’s have no more of this. I think a heap of you.
You’re a smart workman; and I’d like to see you married. Mary’s already
engaged. (_Rises._) Think no more of her. If you want a smart wife,
_Enter JARIUS, C._
take Sally Peeslee. She’s a bouncer. (_Exit, L._)
_Jarius._ (_Aside._) Jes’ so. Guess I didn’t come back any tew soon.
(_Aloud._) Ned!
_Ned._ (_Turning, sees JARIUS._) Jarius Jordan!
_Jarius._ Jes’ so. Heow air yer, young feller? (_Shake hands._) And
heow’s everybody?
_Ned._ Glad to see you once more. It must be a year since you were here.
_Jarius._ Jes’ so; a year to-day. Folks all well?
_Ned._ Yes--no; Mother Nutter is poorly; the rest are hearty.
_Jarius._ Sally Peeslee smart--hey? By the by, didn’t I hear John Nutter
say somethin’ about your makin’ up to her?
_Ned._ _You_ need fear no rival in me, Mr. Jordan.
_Jarius._ Jes’ so. Expected you and Mary would have made a match. P’raps
you have.
_Ned._ No. We are warmly attached; but Mr. Nutter will not hear of our
marrying. He wants to give her to Henry Douglas.
_Jarius._ The old fool! Nothin’ personal in that remark. But he’s wus
than a nine-days’-old pup--hain’t got his eyes open. Wal, what air ye
goin’ to do ’bout it--give her up?
_Ned._ Never! I scarcely know what to do. Douglas has almost ruined the
old man with speculation. Everything is mortgaged to him; and if Mary
does not marry him, he will turn them out of their home.
_Jarius._ Sho! How much is the mortgage?
_Ned._ A thousand dollars.
_Jarius._ Wal, don’t yeou fret, young feller. I’ll see yeou through. I’ve
got a bone to pick with that air chap; and, keen as he thinks himself,
he’s got to git up airly if he gits ahead of Jarius Jordan. Hullo, here’s
Mary!
_Enter MARY, R._
_Mary._ Well, Ned, what does he say?--Why, Mr. Jordan!
_Jarius._ Jes’ so. Heow d’ye do? (_Shake hands._) Prettier than ever, I
declare!
_Mary._ This is an unexpected pleasure. We haven’t seen you for a long
time.
_Jarius._ Jes’ so. But Ned don’t say what he said.
_Ned._ He refused me, Mary. He says you must keep your promise to Douglas.
_Mary._ Never. I’ll die first.
_Jarius._ Jes’ so. Good grit. Neow, young folks, I always was famous for
meddlin’; and I’m goin’ to help you in this matter, if you’ll let me.
Douglas has a hold on the old gent with a mortgage. I understand that.
Anything else?
_Mary._ He holds a check, which he declares was forged, his name used,
and the money drawn from the bank by Will. This he has threatened to use
against my brother.
_Jarius._ Jes’ so. A forged check? That’s an old trick. You don’t happen
to know what bank it was drawn on--do you?
_Mary._ He told me. Let me think a moment. The Phœnix Bank.
_Jarius._ The Phœnix? Sho! I’ve got him! (_Goes, to table, takes a tablet
from his pocket, and writes with a pencil._) Neow, then, young feller, I
want to use yer. If yeou want Mary, jest put on your hat, and leg it to
the telegraph office. Here’s a message; put it through, and wait for an
answer. (_Tears out leaf, and gives it to NED._)
_Ned._ But what does this mean?
_Jarius._ Business. Don’t ask any questions; but go. If yeou git the
answer I expect, I’ll eucre Douglas in spite of thunder.
_Ned._ Will you? Then I’m off.--Will you go, Mary?
_Jarius._ No; Mary will stay here. Where’s your politeness? Ain’t I
company?
_Ned._ All right, Mr. Jordan. I’m off. (_Exit, C._)
_Jarius._ Well, Mary, heow’s yer marm?
_Mary._ She’s very sick, Mr. Jordan. She keeps her room most of the time.
My brother’s conduct, my father’s wild speculations, and the persistent
wooing of Henry Douglas,--whom she detests,--have made her very miserable.
_Jarius._ Jes’ so. Wal, we’ll see if we can’t doctor her up. Now, Mary,
the next time Douglas comes here don’t you be mealy-mouthed. Let him
have it right and left. Tell him jest what you think of him, and defy him
to do his worst.
_Mary._ I dare not. He is wicked enough to crush father with the mortgage
he holds, and mean enough to kill mother by disclosing Will’s connection
with the forged check.
_Jarius._ Let him do his worst, Mary. He’s a crafty chap, a-schemin to
snare the old man and get your hand; but there’s a weak p’int somewhere
in his net, and if I can find it I’ll holler.
_Mary._ I’ll obey you, Mr. Jordan. Only put an end to this terrible
persecution, and you will make me happy.
_Jarius._ Jes’ so. Hullo! there’s Sally. Now I’ve got something
particular to say to her, and if you don’t mind taking a hasty leave,
I’ll be obliged to ye.
_Mary._ O, certainly. Ahem! Mr. Jordan, you’re sure you have the courage
to speak now?
_Jarius._ Neow yeou git eout! Want to make a feller feel cheap--don’t
yeou?
_Mary._ Ha, ha! Mr. Jordan, you’ve a brave heart, but you dare not ask
her. See if I am not right. Good by. (_Exit, R._)
_Jarius._ Darsn’t ask Sally to be my wife? Don’t think I’m such a
blarsted fool neow. Arter staying away a year, guess I’ve about screwed
my courage up to do it, or bust.
_Sally._ (_Outside, L._) Mary, Mary! Where on airth is them mangoes?
(_Enter, L._)
_Jarius._ Dunno, Sally. Here’s a man _come_.
_Sally._ Jarius Jerden! Wal, I never! How d’ye do?
_Jarius._ Purty well, Sally. (_Shake hands._) Sally, you are a bouncer,
and no mistake!
_Sally._ Where yeou been this long while? Come back for good?
_Jarius._ Wal, that depends. Sally, yeou dew look jest about good enough
to eat.
_Sally._ Do I? (_Aside._) Law sakes; how his eyes blaze! I believe he’s
going to pop. (_Aloud._) I’m making pickles.
_Jarius._ Making pickles? (_Aside._) She’s pickled me, long ago.
_Sally._ Yes; and I want the mangoes. Somebody’s hid ’em. I must find
Mary. (_Crosses to R._)
_Jarius._ Don’t go, Sally; I want to speak to yeou. If you leave me neow,
I won’t answer for the consequences.
_Sally._ (_Aside._) O, dear; I’m afraid of him! (_Aloud._) What is it,
Mr. Jerden? (_Edging off, R._)
_Jarius._ (_Aside._) How skeery she is! Wonder what’s the matter!
(_Aloud._) Sally, I’m goin’ to do somethin’ desperate, for the sight of
yeou has set me on fire. I feel--I feel that the hour has come--
_Sally._ (_Aside._) I can’t bear it. (_Aloud._) Dear me; this place
hain’t been dusted to-day. (_Takes her apron, and runs about dusting
table, chair, and lounge._)
_Jarius._ (_Aside._) I swow, she’s skeered! All right, Jarius; now’s yer
chance. (_Runs after SALLY; brings her down, C._) Sally, it’s no use;
yeou must hear me. Sally, do yeou know what it is to be in--in--in--love?
_Sally._ (_Aside._) He’s going to pop! (_Aloud._) O, them plants! (_Runs
up, L. C._) They haven’t been watered to-day.
_Jarius._ (_Aside._) How she does carry on! (_Runs after her, and
brings her down, C._) Now look a-here, Sally; it’s no use. You’ll spile
everything.
_Sally._ O, my pickles! they’ll spile! Do let me go, Mr. Jerden.
_Jarius._ (_Putting his arm round her waist._) Let ’em spile! I’ve got
yeou fast, Sally, and I’m going to try and keep yeou for ever and ever.
_Sally._ (_Struggling to get away._) Mr. Jerden, I’m ashamed of you.
_Jarius._ I’m ashamed of myself, Sally. To think I’ve been so
mealy-mouthed! What bright eyes you’ve got! and rosy cheeks! and such a
mouth! I declare, I must have a kiss!
_Sally._ Don’t yeou dew it, Mr. Jerden.
_Jarius._ I can’t help it, Sally. I never saw a sugar bowl but what I
wanted to git my fingers into it, or a ’lasses barrel but what I wanted
to lick it. And a mouth like yours!--Jehu, don’t stop me! (_Kisses her._)
_Enter DOUGLAS, C._
_Douglas._ Aha! (_SALLY screams, and runs off, L._)
_Jarius._ Jes’ so. Aha, yerself, and see heow yeou like it.
_Douglas._ Jarius Jordan! You back again?
_Jarius._ Jes’ so, and likely to stop a spell.
_Douglas._ I should judge so from the warm welcome you have just
received. Is the day fixed--hey?
_Jarius._ Wal, not exactly. I’m kinder waitin’ for you and Mary. Is the
day fixed--hey?
_Douglas._ Ha! You are sarcastic. They tell me you have made a great deal
of money, Jordan.
_Jarius._ Wal, I ain’t as poor as a church mouse.
_Douglas._ That’s good. Our old friend Nutter has got into difficulties;
wants money. Now you are just the chap to help him.
_Jarius._ Guess not. I don’t throw my money away for nothin’. What I git
I keep.
_Douglas._ (_Aside._) Good. No fear of him. (_Aloud._) That’s right.
Don’t let him wheedle you out of it; for, between you and me, he’s a
ruined man.
_Jarius._ Jes’ so. He’s a good old chap; but I’ve heard he’s been
speculatin’, and is bound to end in the poorhouse. Wal, they’ve got a
purty good one here, and’ll make him comfortable. Here comes his darter.
I won’t spile your fun as you did mine. I’ve got a heap of business to
attend tew. Good day. (_Aside._) Darn your ugly picter, _your_ day _is_
fixed. (_Exit, C._)
_Douglas._ Rich and mean. All the better for me; he will not mar my
project; and to-day I will give Mary my ultimatum--her hand, or her
father’s ruin.
_Enter MARY, R._
Ah, Mary, you are looking finely to-day!
_Mary._ Thank you, Mr. Douglas. Father is at home. I will call him.
(_Crosses to L._)
_Douglas._ No. By your leave, I would have a word with you.
_Mary._ Certainly, if you wish it. (_Sits in chair L. of table._)
_Douglas._ (_Brings chair down C., and sits._) Mary, I have come to-day
to revive a topic upon which I have been silent a year.
_Mary._ You come again to ask me to marry you. I have been expecting this
visit.
_Douglas._ And you are prepared with an answer?
_Mary._ I am.
_Douglas._ Stop one moment, Mary. Before you give me that answer, hear
me. You must believe that I love you. This long year, during which I have
been almost a constant visitor, looking upon you with wistful eyes, yet
with a silent tongue, for fear of your displeasure, coming and going,
must be convincing proof that, spite of your coldness, your image is
enshrined within my heart.
_Mary._ Mr. Douglas, the man who truly loves a woman shows his devotion
by making her happy, even at the cost of his own happiness.
_Douglas._ You’re right, Mary. ’Tis your happiness I seek when I ask you
to become my wife. I would not see you throw yourself away upon a poor
man, when I have the power to surround you with every comfort, and a
heart overflowing with love, that cannot fail to make you happy.
_Mary._ Enough. You and I can never agree. My answer a year ago was final.
_Douglas._ Pray reconsider it. If not for my sake, for that of your
father.
_Mary._ Whom you have persistently wooed for the last year. What of him?
_Douglas._ He has met with reverse of fortune. He is now a poor man, so
poor that, but for my friendly aid, he would have no home to shelter him.
_Mary._ (_Rising._) Your friendly aid! ’Twas you who led him into
speculation; you who, by crafty advice, swept away his little store of
hard-earned savings; you, who now stand over his home ready to crush it
if I, his daughter, dare refuse you my hand!
_Douglas._ Nay, Mary, you are harsh. Calm yourself. Out of my deep love
for you I have endeavored to better his worldly condition. If I have
failed in my designs--
_Mary._ You have failed, Henry Douglas. My father is in your power, ’tis
true. You can at any moment drive him from his home. In that design you
have triumphed. But beyond that you have miserably failed. Though my
father should curse me, should drive me from my home for my disobedience,
I will never marry you--never!