Classic Audiobook Collection - Anne Blake by John Westland Marston ~ Full Audiobook [drama]

Episode Date: November 13, 2024

Anne Blake by John Westland Marston audiobook. Genre: drama Set in North Wales in the early Victorian era, Anne Blake follows a young orphan whose fierce pride is both her shield and her undoing. Living under the roof - and rules - of her wealthy relatives, Sir Joshua Toppington and the formidable Lady Toppington, Anne is expected to be grateful, obedient, and easily guided. Instead she is outspoken, sensitive to insult, and determined to choose her own future. When Thorold, a talented visiting artist, enters their circle, Anne finds in him a rare mix of admiration and understanding, and their growing attachment quickly becomes the household's scandal. The Toppingtons and their allies move to separate the pair, invoking rank, reputation, and the supposed dangers of romantic folly. But as pressures mount and rival interests close in, Anne uncovers unsettling facts that cast Thorold's past - and his intentions - in a new light. Caught between love and wounded pride, Anne must decide whether to trust her heart or protect herself from humiliation, even if that means sacrificing the one bond that has ever felt like freedom. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 1 (00:23:00) Chapter 2 (00:43:13) Chapter 3 (01:02:15) Chapter 4 (01:15:00) Chapter 5 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Act 1 of Anne Blake by John Westland Marston. Enter Lloyd and Davies. Stir, a young lady will be back at noon. The wind cuts this spring morning. Quick, a fire. For her indeed. Sir Joshua and my lady will not be home till six. And for Miss Blake, there's your own fire.

What serves the housekeeper? may do for her to warm by fire for her she goes out tossing her head disdainfully hard-hearted insolent enter jilliot dear mr jilliot the wines out and miss blake will need a glass after her long cold ride why mistress lloyd of your five senses is there one remains shall i sir joshua's butler Make a journey down to the cellar, open as I must an untouched cask, and bear the further labour of drawing and decanting, or for her? For Anne Blake, is that rational? I'd do it for any creature living, for a beggar, a sweep, a hottentot. Ah, there we differ.

But, sir, for Miss Anne Blake, remember this. She is your master's niece. Sir Joshua, I know has the misfortune to be. recalled her uncle. Lloyd incensed. Why misfortune? Mistress Lloyd, be rational. You know Sir Joshua's sister

who might have made a creditable match. A match Sir Joshua prayed for sunk herself by marrying some poor devil, scribbler, clerk, or, I forget the man. What followed? It not a coin or crust? She must have starved, but that Sir Joshua received her here, with her pulling baby.

I took child and mother, but not the husband. No, most properly. The door was closed on him. What happened next? His wife, Sir Joshua's sister, here a year, frets herself out of life and leaves my master. This squalling wench to... Shame, poor innocent. Poor vixen!

From a babe she couldn't bear, Sir Joshua nor my lady, Why she failed in common gratitude? For what? Harsh words and frowns from him, Neglect from her, For taunts, imprisonments, And blows of angry nurses to cure her temper Till she half became the sullenness they called her,

Yet a heart-opener to kindness beats not. Po, po, po, heart's a low things. I speak of a little things. I speak of manners, Lloyd. And hers distress me. Yes, you did good service, when, while Miss Blake was at your husband's farm, you sneered that strolling artist for a lodger, and gulled him into love, love for Anne Blake. I hope he'll take her, and so rid my taste, of what offends it. My poor lady's nerves of daily shocks, my master of disgrace. Disgrace, isn't she flesh and blood like them? And though she's poor, they're equal? Equal. I.

Equal? I'll hear no more. Such sentiments strike at the root of order. Oh, you're dangerous. A leveller, Lloyd, a leveller. I've no doubt you'd have the cowboy sit at table with us and pledge us his pewter. Nay, no more. He stalks out with great pomp. Why not they're equal? Our Sir Joshua's father, though London alderman and baronet, was yet a trader.

Nor in wealth forgot the means that raised him. There be two extremes of men that one can bear. Those bond a station who take it graciously, and those who earn it. But save me from those middle honourables that have no root in custom, yet despise their honest planter, labour. Had Sir Joshua been used to rank or won it by his wits, he'd not have shown his niece such spite because her mother married humbly.

Knock. A knock, not hers. There's too much flourish. Her knots sharp and bold, as if the door too were her enemy. All but poor Lloyd. Enter Lanniston, speaking to servant, who retires.

So, sir, I'm out of luck. Good day, good Lloyd. Good day, sir. And Sir Joshua. Returns to night at six, sir, with my lady. Lanniston, abstractedly. Hmm. Lloyd, aside.

Now, I told him they'd be gone a week, and thrice within the week, he comes to seek them. I've called, you know, on business. Will you wait? I've not a moment. goes undecidedly towards the door, then returns. Can I see Miss Blake? She's out, sir, for her ride.

Huh. She'll be back, though, in an hour or half an hour, or less. I'll wait. Throws himself into Porter's chair. Lloyd, aside. That's odd. He said just now, he'd not a moment. How can she help his business?

Lanniston, starting as from a reverie. So he's dead. Their father, Miss Blake's father. Sir, disliked. He crossed the seas as she could lisp his name. All trace of him is lost, and in the wave the furrow of his ship. Poor girl. Ah, sir.

Her lives had little sunshine, little soil, but she's a hardy nature. True. She has a spirit, sir I know it I've heard her talk Walks apart Spirit indeed Her very words are cuffs

And yet I like them They have a health that suits me Because well-born and rich Forsooth my life has been all tame and breezeless Gliding servants Have noises done my bidding Trade's people Forgetting man is a perpendicular

have crooked when I approached. Often even a woman Whose outside should be mirro to her heart As feigned the glance, The motion and the blush have them meant for instincts. Oh, all these have closed me in a dead sultry noon. But brave Anne Blake blows like a morning gust from our cragatills. I breast it and a man.

Hug! That's her. Bonnie. Anne heard without. I say you must, for the beast's sake, not mine. She's hot. Walk around gently. Sarah, do it. Enter Anne, in a plain riding dress. She rushes up to Lloyd and flings her arms round her neck. Is it not a shame now, Lloyd, that for my sake, dumb things should suffer? Though poor Jenny smokes, the groom won't walk around the yard. Of course not, she's mine. With great bitterness, Lloyd soothingly.

Hush, there's a gentleman to hear. What, then? Is my tongue to be jailed because he's ears? Rather because he hears. He'd have it free and speak unchecked. Nay, your tongue forces debts on me, which my body pays. See, sir? courtesys for compliments. Good day. Going. But.

Lloyd, who goes after her, apart. Stay. He speaks you softly. Softly. So your lady speaks to Sir Joshua, yet I've seen him writhe. Our courteous guests speak softly when they stoop to notice the dependent. Who has ever spoken softly to me but to mock, save you. You, you, Lloyd, and him. She doesn't deign a look. Well, has he come?

Still apart to Lloyd. Lloyd, Archley. Who, sweetheart? Lanniston, aside. This is civil on my life. He turns on his heel and walks to center downstage. Who? Is there any name I'd waste the breath it needs to sound, but...

Thorold's. Edward Thorold's, no, not yet come. Absent again for weeks, and still he hides the cause. Nay, I'll not murmur. I've no more claim to his dear love than has the heather to the sun. Yet how I dash down crag through wood or plain and hope to meet him, I'm in full time. Dependents should be patient.

Nay, nay, bet. Anne goes out dejectedly, Lloyd accompanying and caressing her. So she's gone. The porter's chair and I are left for company. Looking off. Here's one to make a third. Why, if I've iced, Tisthorold, my hero friend from India, my rare compound of grave and gay whom I perhaps more love that I have fear him. Enter Thorold. Once more here.

What? Lanniston. Away from London, leaving all Mayfair under eclipse? What matters to a world that lives by gaslight? What took you from London after your Indian triumph? Air Maid had asked your autograph for a fond mother secured you for a breakfast. Thorold, smiling. Business, business.

I, true, I recollect. But recollect most to forget, my name, my quality, and chief all points between us that affect Sir Joshua. I'm pledged. You but see an artist in quest of beauty. Good. I'm on a quest after the Grand. Folks call the Rugged Grand. I've found the Ruggett. Snowden?

No. The Peak of Cader Idris? The Pont Aberglastlin. No, it's a she, a girl. Do you know Anne Blake? Thorold, starting but quickly composing himself. Anne Blake? Sir Joshua's niece? The same. Don't laugh. I'm that girl's slave. I've seen her thrice. Does she encourage you?

Carelessly. Not she. She pelt my heart with such force from her. It comes back again in the rebound. I'll win her. You know not when women have well chased you all your life, the zest of giving chase to one yourself. I'll win her. Will you love her? Laying his hand on Lanniston's arm. By my life. I doubt that. Women who are but pursued for the pleasure of the chase are, like its victims, cast off when captured, and the huntsman lover turns to new game. Lanniston, taking off his hat.

I thank your reverence. A wife, my friend, should be a sweet bird one to one's breast by cherishing, not a wild quarry to be hawked down. My five-year senior, I bow to your reproof. in truth dear Thorold I owed justice But don't balk this passion Miss Blake will Were it otherwise You'd tire with your honeymoon

No older than a crescent A challenge I'll make ready for the lists Soon shall my constancy unhorse your scorn Will I cry victory, whales and sweet Saint Anne He goes out I could not tell him in this frolic mood

Her heart had chosen me Her friend, Perceptor met as she thinks by chance. Ah, now, dear orphan, not for thy father's memory art thou loved, but for thyself. She guesses not my station, nor that I knew her father, but her soul, which chill neglect had frozen, at one touch of kindness from me, thawed, and though the current foams at opposing wrong, its waves are clear and bright with glints of heaven. I'm now to see her. Turning, he looks accidentally through window at side and pauses.

Alas! My eyes that thirst so for that sight a while must wait. Sir Joshua returns, and I'd not meet her in his sight, whose taunts my prudence scarcely brooks. Brave Anne, bear on. The day is near I shall have right to shield thee. Exit. Reenter Lloyd and Gileet. Not six yet by two hours. And here's Sir Joshua and my lady back.

Enter Sir Joshua and Lady Toppington, followed by servant and ladies-maid. Servant, timidly approaching Sir Joshua. Your coat, Sir Joshua. Back, sir. Know your place. Yes, sir. Why does the fool stand gaping there?

Why don't you take my coat? Gileet, to servant who hesitatingly touches the coat. Not so, you country loon. So, there's your pattern. Takes the coat from Sir Joshua with a low bow and flings it at servant. Wait, sir, the cards. A chair, Lloyd. My poor nerves. The cards, Sir Joshua.

Are these all? All, sir. Sir Joshua, glancing over the cards. Dobbs, Evans, Jones, the curate, Andrew Ray, from Budrow City. Stretch of insolence because he knew my father. Roberts, Owen, there's not a name worth reading in the batch. Flings down the cards contemptuously. No callers.

else? Why, no, sir, none, except the Earl of Coniston. Except, the Earl of Coniston? Dare you drag in an Earl's name, a real Earl's name, at the tale of fifty nobodies, with an except... Well, well, Lord Coniston called... At the lodge gate, sir, to ask the nearest crossroad to Lemberis. Leave the room, sirrah. Gileet bows and goes out.

He forgot to say Squire Lanniston, who's home from London, called. Sir Joshua, troubled. Squire Lanniston. Lady Toppington, throwing back her bonnet with an air of indifference. Yes, she spoke plainly, and he called three times. Three times within a week. Who spoke with him? Myself, sir.

And Miss Blake. Sir Joshua, horrified. Miss Blake! Lady Topington, in a corroborating manner. Miss Blake. Send her here, no words. Lloyd, muttering. More spite at my poor pit.

Goes out. Well, madam. Well, Sir Joshua. You're calm upon the brink of ruin. Ruin. Still calmly. Madam, Do you know or not that my estate is mortgaged to Lanniston for thousands,

that last year he pressed for its redemption, that he called thrice in this week, doubtless to urge repayment, and that to meet his claim, I'm not his tithe. You would keep hounds give dinners bet with lords. Zounds. Mind my nerves. Nerves, ma'am. You've nerve enough to warm your feet by a volcano. Well, the money was my own. I'd none with you. No, but you'd family. What has it brought me? I'm shunned by the whole county.

Dear Sir Joshua, is that my fault? You married and gained entrance to the first circles. I accomplished that. They cut you. You accomplished that yourself. I'm spited every way. Here's Lanniston, calls thrice and sees Anne Blake. It's ten to one she's sent him back affronted. Oh, she's here. Anne enters with an air of stolid dejection. You sent for me? Yes. Well, sir.

That's your welcome after my absence, is it? A pause. Lady Toppington, sarcastically. Can't you say you're glad to see Sir Joshua? Must I say what I know false? You're too like your low father to be grateful. Would my house were quit of you? It will be soon. Yes, when yon's strolling sketcher makes you his wife.

Why leaves he still unfixed your marriage day? He had my full consent to take you hence. The adult most like repents his hasty bargain. Anne shudders and utters an ejaculation of sudden pain. Nay, you use her hardly. Let her not chafe me then. Speak, Anne. You've seen young Lanniston thrice.

The fault was his. What errand had he? A fool's. He wasted con. compliments on me. What was his business? I can't tell. I wouldn't hear it. Why? You never turned him out of the room. No, I got tired and left it. Sir Joshua enraged. She turned her back on him. He left insulted, enraged beyond a doubt, and for revenge he'll claim his mortgage promptly. To Anne. Tis your work. Yours who live by my sufferance, whose least crust is given. Earned, sir, not given. It's but the price you pay to taunt the helpless.

That safe luxury, like others, must be paid for. Minks. And, with a burst of uncontrollable passion. Be sure you shall not lose. There's one shall pay you back each crumb you dropped me, or, if not, I'd put my blood, brains, bones to hire, nay, coin you guineas, out of my life, rather than keep it bound to charity like yours. She rushes out.

I'll tame you. Who? Who would have nerves? Enter Gileet. Sir Joshua, a letter. I may say a dispatch. Squire Lanniston's groom brought it post haste. Out, blockhead!

Exit, Gileet. As I said, here's the warrant of our doom. He asks his loans, and I'm a beggar. You too. He laughs sarcastically, then opens the letter. Have I eyes? There's no hoax. Tis his hand.

Jove, how I hate her, yet she must save me. What's your news, Sir Joshua? Do you go to jail? Sir Joshua, jocularly. No, ma'am. Tis Laniston should be confined for life. For what crime?

Madness. But it makes well for us. He'll not press now to have his loans repaid. The fool's in love, in love, in downright love. With whom? Anne Blake. End of Act 1. Act 2 of Anne Blake, by John Westland Marston.

This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Act 2 Scene. in Toppington House, overlooking the grounds. Sir Joshua discovered on left hand. Yes, yes, I thank my stars.

But that I grudge the vixen so much luck, this chance falls bravely. Lanniston in love with her, a pedigree old as the hills, and as much gold as melted, would make a lake between them. Lanniston nephew-in-law to me. He can't press hardly upon his uncle.

He'll extend his mortgage. Perhaps forgive it. I can breathe. I'm saved. Lady Toppington, who has entered unobserved on the opposite side. You're in high spirits. Have you seen her yet? Have you told her this good news?

Does she keep her senses is it such an offer? Has she yet dismissed that rambling artist? Zounds. How dare he venture to woo my niece? She has not dismissed him. She knows not Lanniston's offer. Quick, then, tell her. Haste would mar all. She's a girl's love for Thorold. He showed her kindness. What accomplishments she knows, he taught her. Though she may be brought to be. banish him. Gold will not tempt her. Then what will? Her proud and jealous heart, which to say truth, has known so little love she almost doubts its presence when it comes. A word, a look, which happier beings would not mark in her wake quick distrust. She's stung by Thorold's absence, that he too

treats her as the poor dependent, she half suspects already. Will you urge her to his rejection? Yes, for love's a dream one-touch dispels, while wealth and good position last for a life. Also, because you're ruined, save we behold on Lanniston. Sir Joshua, advancing to her. Thanks. Lady Toppington withdrawing. No transports.

They try my nerves. Both sides being duly weighed, I'd rather live in ease and bear your presence than starve with you in jail. Sir Joshua angrily. How? Silence. Or I'll not aid you.

Motions him off. Sir Joshua depreciatingly. Nay, we part good friends. Best friends, sir, when we part. A pleasant morning. She curtsies, Sir Joshua bows and goes out. Gold is not everything. It's pleasant, too, to respect the man one marries.

Once, indeed, I was Love's dupe, like Anne, and half betrothed to a poor advocate. She'll have a lot brighter than mine. Rank, wealth, and—no, Sir Joshua! Exit. Enter, Anne, attired, in a farred in a farce. fashionable morning dress followed by Lloyd. What means this change? I know it's outside fair, but yet tis false.

I feel it. This fair garment worn at my uncle's cost hangs on my limbs heavier than chains. I'll cast it off. Child, child, child, be not so mad. Look in the glass and see how it becomes you. Beauty. Anne, apart.

Where is he should guide me here? Why, this protracted absence, the cause still hidden mystery. Thorold, have you too learned to stint the dews of love when a dependent claims them? Enter Lady Toppington. Go, Lloyd. Lloyd goes out, Lady Toppington, sinking indolently into a chair, while Anne paces the room excitedly. You're disturbed.

Anne, stopping short. Madam, explain this riddle. Why am I invited to your presence, whence these gifts lavished, unasked? If they displease you, choose some other pattern. You've decidedly a graceful figure. Anne, impatiently. Madam. Stay. Sit down. You know I'm nervous. That's a charming foot. Nay, then I'll go. She half rises, but is restrained by a gesture from Lady Toppington.

Would you indeed be bounteous, send back these toys? Her bracelets. And give the poor their price. Lloyd has a nephew, a brave fisher lad, who wants a boat. Lady Toppington, with musing admiration. So generous, I've oft thought we were mistaken in you. Not an hour since, I said, she has a heart. heart, a heart, Sir Joshua, whose love we might have won.

Perhaps you might. Your uncle and myself, I own, disliked you. Yet there are times when every woman's breast yearns to its neighbor. Yes, dear Anne, I saw what you had suffered. How? From Thorold's absence. Have I struck too roughly a string that jars? Don't speak. For once? Once only. I love him, and could scarce debate his truth with my own heart. How should I then with you? His truth? You run to extremes. He's pledged to wed you, and I don't doubt his honor. Do you mean that only honor binds him? There, you pain me. And that he repents his choice? Alas, some men are so impulsive. One brief moon-like fancy abstracts high tides of passion and sheds light on its full sea. But soon breaks prosy day. Romance, their moon dies out,

and their heart's ocean, last night too deep to sound, creeps back and leaves sand, weeds and froth behind. And to herself. And Rex. Rex. Love should be blind, no doubt, but friendship watchful. In proof of mine, take this. Some weeks ago, I found here the dropped fragment of a letter without direction. Deeming it my own, I read by chance its opening lines. They bore such words of of passionate tenderness as women breathe but to those they love. Well? Thorold entered and claimed it eagerly. Well.

It proves nothing. That he'd a friend who prized him, nothing more. Aside. And yet tis strange. Nay, we'll not doubt then that Thorold means you fairly. Fairly. I, he'll keep his bond, you think, but curse the whim that signed it. has no coin to pay that store of sumless love he vowed but oh he's honourable and ready with the forfeit i could blush at my own jest such love suits nay such law suits

the bachelor a bankrupt and the maid his creditor conscience the officer she fees to arrest her victim and her heart is jail With constrained laughter. I'd give the world to have your spirits. Ah, Thorold's returned. Have you seen him? No. He's written. Once. When did you say? Last week.

He named a day for his return. No. Or explained why he delayed? Anne curtly. He bade me not inquire. He bade you not inquire. I wronged his trust to say so. much. Confiding, girl. You were to wed in May. Is that so still? No, not in May. In June?

I know not yet. He leaves you ignorant on points like these. Her jealous soul has caught the spark. They'll soon be flame. Allowed. I'm silent. But when next he treats you as your aunt's dependent, tell him she bids him rank you as her friend. Enter, Gilead. The Honorable Mr. Lanniston of Lanniston, Through me entreats an audience of my lady. Goes out. Lady Toppington, aside.

I've paved his way. Himself must do the rest. She looks earnestly at Anne, who sits absorbed, then goes out. Anne, after a pause. When next he treats you as your aunt's dependent, Those were her careless words. Is it so?

Of late he has been often absent, and he checks my questions of the cause. He'll sometimes chide them as if I were but his pupil. I must learn restraint and patience, and he'll give me kindness. Allot me half his thoughts. Then comes a bar. Here your love's free.

to walk, that chambers private. Adutus wife's content, no doubt. For me, I'm not that wife. Rising. No. Were his heart world wide, I'd be it sun or nothing. Fill my world, or burst from it to ashes. What wild wrong is this to Thorold? He who taught me first man's nobleness, so we're good, so just. I, there, so just, does justice bind him to those vows? A moment's pity breathed, and his heart shrinks from?

Thorold, without. Anne, Anne! He enters. At last. Thorold! She rushes towards him, then suddenly checks herself. So, you're returned. What? For no warmer welcome?

Kissing her. Anne, turning away. Nay, you talk as you had been years away, not three short weeks. Did they seem short? To you. Why, Anne? Anne. Carelessly.

Because you're often absent. What one often does, tis plain one likes, and what one likes seems short. Excellent logic. Then because you've borne my absence often, It seemed short to you. "'Twas forced on me.' "'Twas forced on me!' "'Explain it.'

"'My absence? "'Thrice, you've asked me that before. "'Thrice,' I replied, "'I cannot.' "'Then my right, "'the right of one betrothed to know your thoughts, "'must crouch to your high will.' "'No, Anne.

"'Your love must trust my will. "'I grant, twixt, maid, and lover "'should be no secrets, "'save what reason claims "'and conscience war. If by these compelled to veil his thoughts, I, then, Then tis her part to credit the compulsion.

She will think, who led her steps in daylight, smoothed her way when rough or thorny, Was her shield in peril, in weariness her staff? And when the night sinks on her path, She'll cling to him, And feel no star above her head more clear and steadfast. After a short pause, she gives him her hand. I knew you'd give your hand.

Anne, aside. He knew I'd give it. He moulds me like wax, or calm, no passion. If he loved me, he'd be angry. Withdraws her hand. What, not pardoned? Pardoned by me, an outcast, a stray waif, on fortunes tied, without an owner's name,

or stamped with one eye scorn. Whose? Whose but his who, who. lured my mother from her home, made want that cankered life, her lot, dependence mine, who forced on me the life he left to insult my fathers. Thorold, with sudden energy. Hold, a stigma, though deserved, when a child brands it, makes the hearer weigh the censure with the sin. But if unjust, no, no, you could not mean it.

"'Say I did. What warrant cites me to your bar?' "'That instinct which makes the honored memory of the dead a trust with all the living. "'What has warped your heart so from its course?' "'The word of all men who knew my father. "'He lacked the strength to scale my mother's height, so drew her to abasement.' "'Did she so deem? "'True, he was of a band whom fortune frowns on, "'whom authority oft uses and forgets,

But still, their souls are the world's life-blood. Who? The men who think, whose weapon is the pen, whose realm is the mind. I mean not laureled bards, but daily workers, who, like the electric force, unseen, pervade the sphere they quicken. Nameless till they die, and leaving no memorial. But a world made better by their lives. You knew my father? We met abroad.

It was in his later years. I heard his story there. Your mother held his love above the world, and spite of menace, gave him her hand and heart. His thrifty earnings sufficed till fever seized him. Then on both fell that sharp want. His wife mourned for his sake, with which his child upbraids him. Anne, aside. Plain he hates me?

Never would love on one brief bitter mood pronounced so sternly. I've at least this grace, that heartless as I am, I free your sight of what must needs offend it. Rushes out by window in flat. Stay, Anne. Gone. My love for her lost father made me harsh. I should have thought how much that secrecy his dying wish enforced must try a nature ardent and galled by wrong. Today, when much I purposed to reveal

And had at hand the spells to soothe her Producing a miniature and locket Here her mother's face in its fresh youth I hear the locks that flung new grace On grace they hid Here too the words her father wrote And which when worn by time I then transcribed to save them

Looking at the endorsed paper envelope from which he has taken the locket. Enter Lady Toppington by window in flat. Seeing Thorold, she stops short. He takes the portrait. Angel sweetness, unlike thy child in feature, yet when love has lit her mean, I've seen that very look. Pressing his lips to miniature. I'll bring her back, and those mild eyes she never beheld till now,

shall win me her forgiveness. Anne. He leaves miniature, pocket, and envelope on table, and goes out by window in flat. Lady Toppington standing aside, unperceived. Lady Toppington, advancing.

I wonder how angels look. I heard that word. Besides, there's no mistaking kisses. Taking miniature. Ah, the face. Not Anne's. Who's then? Arrivals.

That indeed were opportune. Methinks I've seen a face which this recalls. Where? Where? Tis fancy. What's here? A locket and its envelope endorsed by Thorold? So.

Reads. token from one more dear than life. Indeed. Anne re-enters hastily by door. Forgive me, Thorold. I was unjust. I... You, madam? Don't decide you were unjust too soon. Do you know that face? Shows miniature.

No. Tis a fair one, though. Most fair. With eyes that melt the heart, with lips that woo such cute. kisses as Thorold pressed there. Thorold? Aye, but now entering by chance and unobserved, I saw it. Nay, caught his words of passion.

He has no sister. None. Who's the portrait, then? Aye, whose. Poor girl. Too plain his motive for reserve and absence. Do you now read the mystery of that letter he dropped by chance? Hers was the pen that signed it.

Pointing to miniature. Your rivals. Your triumphant rivals. I. No, you're his enemy. Lady Toppington, handing her the envelope. Whose is that hand? Florals.

Reeds. Token from one more dear. More dear. She falters. More dear than life. Anne. drops paper and stands motionless. The paper wrapped this locket.

See, the golden hair withens the same that waves across that pictured brow. Shows both. Room. My brain swims. Lady Toppington replaces locket, paper, and miniature, and supports Anne. I think you. I can walk.

It was his hand. She reels towards the door and falls. End of Act 2. Act 3 of Anne Blake by John Westland Marston. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Act 3.

Scene. A richly furnished drawing. room in the Toppington house. Anne discovered seated on a low stool, her arm supporting her head. He loves another, loves another. Why, I dwell upon the sounds as repetition could exercise their sense. My heart rebels against my eyes.

Have I not seen the face? The painted face, which glows neath warmer kisses, then pressed My living lips, have I not heard those words, token from one more dear than life? Tis true, dupe, true! As drowning men recall all dreams of shipwreck, and in Horace face gasp, this is sleep. I cling to hope till billows of proof overwhelm me. Yes, he loves another. Tis best to meet truth calmly.

This explains his frequent absence, mystery, proofs, and for his vows to me I stand a debtor, to jealous peak or pity. Am I then so base as to accept them, so weak, that he feels not richer for my love should see the loss of his has left me beggared. Springing to her feet. Pride's a good robe. I famish, but I wear no rags. Enter Lady Toppington and Lanniston. My will's imperious. So submit at once to be our guest. Linking her arm in Anne's. Join with me, love. He can't refuse two ladies.

Lanniston, who bows aside. Who's the second? Sure not Miss Blake. She met me at the door and deign me as much notice as the threshold. Silence consents. You'll stay. And to ensure some life in these dull quarters and reward your prompt obedience. Hear what I propose. We'll act a play. Charming. If we can call a company together, once we played the story of a duchess. Here's the book. I have at hand the dresses, parts, costumes, amuse each other till I bring them. A part to Anne, who turns away and fixes her eyes intently on a marble group. Anne, be kind to him. He loves you and has made you an honorable tender of his hand.

She goes to a cabinet. Lanniston, aside. She turns from me. Our hostess gentle lady bade me amuse you. She imposed upon you a hard employment. True. I'd choose another. Do so.

I'd woo you. Then, sir, you'd succeed in your first task. My amusement. She retires up the stage. Well, just on, let me but plead. Ballows her. Enter Thorold, the miniature in his hand. I've sought her everywhere.

Aside. What? Her aunt here? And Lanniston? I must choose a fitter time for this dear gift. The all that remains of her loved mother. Lady Toppington, coming to front with robes, a coronet, and manuscripts. She observes Thorold, lays them down, then speaks a scientist. hide. Thorold here. There's danger that must be met. For spite of all, I think he has not ceased to love her.

Ah, what spell rivets his eye? That portrait, Anne. Anne and Lanniston come forward. And kind and sudden interruption. Thorold advances. What? You know him? Lanston, hesitatingly. Yes, he calls himself an artist. Nay, is one. To Thorold. That's a portrait. May I look? Your pencil's latest, doubtless.

Thorold, reluctantly. Madam. Why? You seem reluctant, quite perplexed. Ah, talent so modest. I insist. She takes the portrait and, turning to Anne apart, opens the case. The very likeness. Look, a fair face, love.

Gives her the portrait, then aside. Saw you his confusion. Anne supports herself by table. They affect to examine portrait. Lanniston, too thoroughed. Juice, take me if I understand your mystery. At least respect it. Not a word, be sure, of aught between us that concern Sir Joshua.

Oh, he's your object. mine's his niece Remember you challenged me to win her Have you won her? Not yet She's flint But I'll strike fire from her The spark will scorch you

She'll remain a stone Lady Toppington Returning Portrait to Thorold A face that's full of interest We both thought so Apart to Anne Look how he turns And lays it next his heart

courage he'll see you tremble i don't tremble aloud come come the talk dies out once thoughts grow numb who'll stir them earth into a blaze will you gladly bringing thorold to lady toppington lady commander a recruit for your company not of dragoons but players i true our dear theatricals all's ready showing separate manuscripts here's each one one separate part. Group round and listen, while I explain. Aside. I'll turn this to account. All walk to places. Our heroines, a young girl whose mind and beauty raise her from life's low level to a dukedom. The duke who weds her is, of course, the hero. I'll be the duke. And forcing gaiety. Beware, sir, your stage lovers have oft sad endings. Yes, sometimes they die. It's worth the risk of dying for to woo you. Anne, with laughter. Ah, that's because you're vain, and don't believe I'd suffer you to die.

A sharp retort. Lanniston, apart to Thorold. Did you mark that? What think you of her now? Think? Or that she's in good spirit? Nay, she melts. Look on and see me win her. Lady Toppington, resuming. You're the Duke, then, and Anne your Duchess. Gives each of them a manuscript character.

I'll play my part to the life. I would twelve-four life. Life's a long time. Let's see you play the lover for half an hour first. Aside, glancing at Thorold. He's calm. Mike Preces disturb him little. Come begin, the Thorold.

Oh, I and Mr. Thorold take small shorth, share, the humble lover, he who, as he ought, resigns the maid, withdraws his flickering light when greatness breaks upon her path like day. I'm but his sister who advises him to that just course. Begin then. First let's try a scattered speech or two to test our powers. Say this for the Dukenters. He leads Anne forward. That's the page. Permit me. Lady Toppington. To Thorold. With what spirit they adopt this project. Thorold takes the book.

Ready? Reads from the manuscript. Scene. A rustic cottage. Enter the Duke. Alone, my Marguerite. You turn surprise there. Right.

Reads from manuscript. My lord again beneath this humble roof. Direct your feet to loftier homes for your high state more meat. "'Tis inner worth gives rank to outward place. "'The courts are court, if filled with human grace. "'The rudis niche is hallowed if it hold a saint within, "'and men who delve for gold in the mean earth rise princes. "'Let me be more rich than they to stoop and rise with thee.'

"'Thrice have you urge on me this suit before, "'and thrice have I refused.' "'I'll urge them more. Be rock, and my strong sea of love divide, It ebbs but to return a mightier tide, Repeld again more high the billows roll, And sweep at last resistless to their goal. Maiden, I claim this hand.

He kneels and kisses her hand. Lady Toppington applauds. Thorold, interposing between Lanniston and Anne. Stay, Lannister. That's not the stage direction. He doesn't kneel and kiss her in the book. Shows the page. I did it upon instinct.

Rises. Anne to Lady Toppington. Is he jealous? Jealous? With that cold eye? No, but he is proud. Nor Brooks and others homage to his bride. I'll sound him, though. Converse with Lanniston. Anne and Lanniston retire.

Too thoroughed. I see this pains you. What? Nay, if your eyes are closed, my lips are. Looking towards Anne and Lanniston. Yes, you're right. I'm pained for Lanniston, who may build delusive hopes on her gay humor.

I've no fears for her. You're so confiding. Birth and wealth like Lannistons are strong temptations. Not to Anne. Anne, who laughingly releases her hand from Lanniston and comes with him to front. Nay, nay, to your task. A cruel task to feign, only to feign I love you. You had driven the play duke to despair.

Anne recklessly. He was repulsed three times, you know. Tis you would have lost patience. Crosses the stage excitedly. That's a fair challenge. So I count it. Thorold, a part. to Anne.

Anne, a word. This frolic mood gives Lanniston warrant for hopes you little dream of. Are you sure that I don't guess them? I should grieve you did. I would not think you jest with him. Just with him? I jested once. But twas before I knew his high condition.

He's the nephew, sir, and the next heir of an earl. The man can give his wife a cornet. Just with him. GEST. Aside. He thought me heartless. Now he'll find me so. Come, friends, the play.

Thorold, apart. Have I heard right? What? Anne barter her childlike truth And plighted faith For rank? For gold? T'was wanton humor.

Yet this morning's freezing welcome Her aunt's warning. I'll end this doubt. Proceed. Tis Thorold's turn. to play the lover. Aye, the humbler one who yields her to the Duke. Not till he knows her heart is with the duke, though. Here's a passage strikes me. I know the words. He lays down the book and advances to Anne, who stands apart. Go, I release you. She cannot impart who giving all beside withholds

her heart. Did those eyes smile, I should recall, they smiled on loftier love, and deem my own beguiled. Discord to me, the tones, though soft and clear, that make like music in a rival's ear, I gave thee all my heart, as on a throne thou there hast reign, if reigning there alone, but she, whom from my breast capricious will or pride contempt, that throne shall never fill. Excellent. You quite make the part your own. He is about to come forward. Lady Toppington restrains him, exhibiting robes and coronet. Thorold, apart to Anne.

I felt as twere my own. Anne, I had acted even as that lover. A threat? No, a warning. If that ambition or caprice have swayed your heart to Lanniston, your fate were wretched to call me, husband. But if from vanity, with no intent to wed him, You would rouse a true heart's hope and love.

His fate were sadder, who called you wife. Anne, aside. Oh, prompt excuse to stab the chain that calls him. Hear me? No, I've chosen. Here, sir, our pathway's part. You're free forever. Turning to Lady Toppington.

What have you there? The Duchess's robe and crown. Thorold, apart. This change should be the work of years, not much. moments. She false. She heartless. Enter Sir Joshua with a sealed letter. It's absurd. It's too absurd. What now?

A messenger who swears that Colonel Thorod's in the house and claims admittance. Well. He brought this letter just reached from India. India, give it me. It is not for you nor yours. Though you're called Thorard, I judge your no relation to the Colonel. No, sir, I am the Colonel, Lanniston. It is true indeed, you speak with Colonel Thorold, the gallant hero of our last campaign.

Give me your pardon. Takes and opens letter. Is it possible? Aye, sir, a man of wealth and family that few can boast. A downright gentleman. I thought he lived by his talents. Thorold, reading apart. The Indian minds.

Tis news indeed. Friend, give me joy. Those mines in India, where I'd risks? Which you thought desperate. Prosper past hope. They've hit on a new vein. Brave tidings. Shakes Thorold by the hand.

Thorold resuming the letter. Ah, what's here? Wait your return. I return. Then I'll be prompt. I'll save her, snatch her from this corrupting air. Sir Joshua, one title you've allowed? I claim another. Your niece's guardian by her father's will. I'll bring full proofs with reasons that till now obliged concealment. Hold the lady henceforth at my disposal. Goes to door. Well, her guardian, p. Her god. Her god.

Stay, stay, stay. Follows Thorold out. Lady Toppington to Lanniston. Learn if this be true. She's much moved. Go. Laniston goes out. Anne, musing. So his fate were sad who called me wife.

He said it, Thorold. Lady Toppington, playfully laying her hand on Anne's shoulder. Mazed. Well, so you should be. A rich high-born guardian dropped from the clouds. I suppose now you'll wed him. For his wealth when I dismissed him poor? Dismissed him? Well, then twould look, I grant, should you relent, as if his fortunes bribed you.

I'd let despair gnaw through my heart first. Right. That's spirit, girl. I love those flashing eyes. stand so and humor of fancy that I have. There but the robes of the play duchess. Disposing them round her. Wait the coronet. Places it on the table at Anne's right. A perfect picture.

You were born to rule, to shine amidst the brilliant. Ah, there's one. Ere to an earldom-he, who sues to give no mock robes to my Anne, who'd bind her brows with their fit emblem rank, who'd not repent his vow to a dependent. Ah, whose pride would be to watch her triumphs. Anne, suddenly.

Midst those triumphs, should I gain meat? Thorold, yes. Anne, as to herself. He'd feel I'd lost him and could live. No sickly flower nipped by his frost, but the plume tree that shoots from the scarred rock and nods at desolation. She pauses with sudden calmness, then drops the robe at her feet. Off, off, mock shows, I grasp realities.

Heart that has never been loved, whose love was scorned, freeze till that weakness perish, freeze but shine. Who thinks when glaciers flash, tis only ice that glittered? in the beam. She stands, lost in thought. Lady Toppington, who has retired a few steps intently watching her now approaches. Anne. Ah, your hand. We should be friends. I'll marry Lanniston. End of Act 3. Act 4 of Anne Blake by John Westland Marston. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org.

Act 4 Scene, drawing room, as in Act 3. Enter Thorold and Lanniston. Nay, friend, a truce to jesting. You indeed propose to marry her? Asked like a guardian, do you indeed propose? To think, now, Thorold, you should turn out a guardian, yes we marry that is with your consent if she decides so then she yet doubt she bids me wait her answer soon in the library looking at his watch cupid and hymen tis near the hour

thoreled with indignant surprise you trifle don't object my poor cupid he's a comier god than this blake swears by plutus how you know your word so little she's a sparkling eye but but shrewder than tis bright. Sir, by her sex nature, I spoiled a lawyer. There be women who shine in drawing rooms. Some captivate on horseback. Some are irresistible in kitchens. But her spheres are pleaders' chambers. Some charmers lure by dress.

Some melt by music. Some with the imperious lightnings of their eyes. Effect a breach in hearts. Some all by learning. She is none of these. her forte's arithmetic. You should have heard my wooing in our back. Anne, behold me at your feet, I cried.

You'll give me hope. What was her answer? Straight to the point. She asked my yearly income. Net, after all deductions. If indeed I were a pier's next heir, would live in London, take her to court, mix with the world, and see she marsh its proudest.

for all which perhaps she'd give me a wife's duty as for love i must omit that trifle well i promised her frankman suits me i prefer a hand labelled for sale to one that quietly slides into your palm and tingles for your purse Thorold, energetically. It shall not be. It shall, if she consent. My truth's engaged it. Are you a rival that you would thwart me? No. For me, love spark glows not within her breast.

But, sir, I knew and loved her father. When in India, one high-end rule aspersed my soldier name, his honest, fearless pen disproved the lie, and won me back that amulet true souls must wear or perish honor we grew friends heart friends until he died most poor most noble i'd save his child from sin sin that black sin which vows what the heart shrinks from you have said she loves you not you're warm i find sir time cuts short this conference he bows to coldly and goes out. Nay, I follow then. Anne. Anne, whom I so loved,

my once betrothed, I bear thy loss, but could I bear thy shame? He follows Lanniston out. Enter Sir Joshua, Lady Toppington, and Anne. But hear me, my dear niece. Leave me, Sir Joshua. You may trust me, madam.

You'll give full consent to Lanniston's suit. I have said it. Quick, consent. Dear Anne, say quick. My maxim is, Secure the bird while the limes fresh. Twas so I won your aunt, ha.

You'll heed my maxim? If you'll leave me to ponder it. And further, niece, don't tell him you take him for his money. Men don't love him. it. Truth isn't told at all times, and in courtship one never tells it. Yet that very truth I'll tell unless you leave me. Lady Toppington, apart to Sir Joshua. You'll spoil all. I'm not at ease. She'll change her mind and Lanniston call in his mortgage.

One more word, and then I'll go indeed. you're sure you will not relent and marry thorold thorold who despised the poor dependent listen by each good men value by what goal or lord's smile is to your heart or pride to my own crushed one or prayers to gasping lips, that poor dependent vows never to wed thoroughed. Now withdraw. You may, and satisfied, that vow would bind her, though her life paid it. Come. Farewell, dear niece. You'll be discreet now.

Lady Toppington, forcing him off. Come! A quick consent. You'll give a quick consent. You'll heed my maxim while the limes fresh. Ha-ha. Goes out in glee with Lady Toppington. Anne, looking after them.

Were my mindless fixed, T'would swerve revolted from the path you travel, no matter now. One impulse like the glare of a volcano inward, my soul and it shows its own nature fire and stone my tears that burned like lava when they fell like that congeal to rock when hope would aim one pulse of life that i the poor abased deserted outcast by my will and brain rise to far heights of power of woman's power to dazzle and enslave, that he may feel I had the strength to rule. I might have had the strength to love and bless. Now to my fate. As she advances to door, Thorold re-enters and confronts her. Stay, Anne. Where would you go?

To the library. Upon what errand? Anne, with haughty coldness. Sir? You doubt my right to question. I'm your guardian. But not my jailer. Tis my will to pass. You block my way. And is it I alone that block your way? Are there no crowding shapes such as the soul sees, youth's sweet instincts gazing with sorrow-stricken faces, memory, conscience to warn you from the gulf? And, I've not the brain to solve a riddle nor the time. Then wait and hear me solve it. Your way leads to Lanniston, and you'll accept his suit?

After a pause. You're right. Such is my way and purpose. Shall I pass? Not yet. I must. Save force should bar me, quit my path. You fear to hear me speak, then. Fear? No, speak. She sits and coldly motions him to proceed. A pause. What's your theme? Guilt. You would marry. Yet deny the love makes wedlock sacred. Do you boast heaven's right to judge the heart?

No. Have I misjudged yours? Say that, and go. I'll pay the forfeiture of my own deed. Do you know that forfeit? Count it. And then see if I shrink. Count what she forfeits who wedes and gives no. heart. I'll try. The words which figure outward loss appraise not ruin in things immortal. First, she forfeits truth. She forfeits womanhood and love, its essence, cuts off Earth's blessed commerce with the skies, profanes all sacred forms, makes home a sound, the temple and

exchange, the shrine a counter, the grave a common sod, where never deals love that points upward. Anne aside. And this the thing he made me. The perils on my head. Half rising. And would you brave what freezes me to tell? Hear my last plea, then as you will. Alas, no parent's voice may warn, implore.

I'd speak of yours. I'd tell you why you ne'er knew a father. Speak. You know already how toil brought sickness. sickness, poverty. How bowed in mind and frame your father sat by his cold hearth. Yet from one faithful breast drew warmth and hope. Before him knelt his wife, your mother. Well? He loved her, as they only can love who suffer, loved her, soul and form. Her form was as the

crystal to the light, her soul, the light that filled it. Yet they parted. Those twin lives broke, and blent on earth no more. What parted them? Well, asked, what could? Not want. They had quaffed it to the dregs, and yet its cup pledged love anew. Not exile, where he stood was home to her. Not chains.

Her faithful tears had rusted them to free him. Not the seas. They had foundered on one plank. Not Iceland's snows. You had tracked her footfall there. All these men brave for gold, when love had mocked them. Tell me, then, what severed them? They had a child, an infant.

Famine was at their threshold. For their child, those true hearts quailed. They sought your uncle's aid. He offered shelter to the wife and babe, denied it to the husband. And my father? Strain your mother to his breast, till soon their eyes lit on the form that clung for her. life to hers. They saw its one pinched cheek. The blight of want creep on their blossom.

They could save it. He, with one long kiss, till their souls met again, embraced his wife, unwound his beggared arms, and said, wife, go. And for her child, she went. Anne, aside. I must quit or yield. She rises. Thoreau. She rises. Thorough. detaining her. You were that child. For you they wrenched the bent of life, slid from the raft that buoyed their fainting limbs, that you might ride the sorrows where they sunk.

Cease! Will you pay that mighty debt by sin? A sin that mocks the love they worshipped? See, your mother speaks. She pleads. Look in her face. Snatches the miniature from his breast and places it in her hand. Her face.

That portrait? My mother's face? Even so. My mother. Mother! Sinks on her knee, reverently pressing her lips to portrait. Thorold gazes on Anne with deep emotion and exits. End of Act 4. Act 5 of Anne Blake by John Westland Marston.

This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Act 5 Scene. Library in Toppington House as in Act 2. Enter Sir Joshua and Lady Toppington. Refused him and refused him.

calmly firmly i've seen the letter refuse lanniston twelve thousand pounds a year and a near earldom flung back like a gown in tatters why it's impious it's crossing providence and he'll claim his mortgage ungrateful minks to ruin me her friend and benefactor? Hush. She'll marry him. She'll not. To spite me. But she will, to escape you. And she's no choice, Mark.

I've persuaded Lanniston. Not her own will refused him, but her guardians. He'll wait a second answer. Thorold leaves at once for India. It seems some mines there have brought him sudden wealth. Sir Joshua, impatiently. There's luck.

To have said those minds would fail, shares went for nothing. Now their owners turn out princes and count thousands for their risked hundreds. There's luck. Paces the room, then composes himself.

He's no thoughts, though, to waste on Anne. And she would rather starve than be his debtor. In great poverty, her father died, Lanniston had that from Thorold. Her only choice, then, lies between her suitor and you, her benefactor. Oh, she'll marry! I, or repent it. Hush, she's here. Enter Anne, simply attired.

I came, madam, to tell you what is fit you learn. I've pondered your friend's suit and have refused it. Sir Joshua, ironically Can you deign your reason? Yes, he's generous and merits love. I felt none. Oh, we're meek. We're nice, it seems. We can so well afford the luxury of a conscience. We can't marry.

It wounds our principals. Let principal feed clothing and You. Stay unmanly tyrant. She'll hate you. Let her. She'll a sooner seek a husband's shelter. Lady Toppington, kindly to Anne. Tis your last resource. He'll grind you in the dust. Your pride forbids all thought of Thorold, nay, your vow. Anne emphatically. The sin of my rash, selfish heart, which his his recalls from forbids it too nay could he pardon still the poor dependent who forsook him humble will never share his greatness sir joshua aside exultingly then all safe she's in my power he moves to the door yield anne go madam lady toppington follows sir joshua out yield Plunge back into that guilt which Thorold snatched me. Never. He loved me.

Twas my mother's face, stung me to jealous madness. Gazing on the portrait which she wears. He may. He must despise me now. The tears of my remorse, he may not see nor trust. Within his hand, mine may not. mine may not anchor when storms lash me on and when i die upon my upraised eyes no love may float from his but once he loved me and i will keep my soul inviolate to his love's shadow lloyd who enters cautiously darling pet dear child the colonel's here and seeks an interview he set sail set sail

For India, why sure you've heard it? No, or heard it but as in a dream. Set sail for India. It's strange, all strange, that he should prove a hero, a great man the world talks of, one whose names in the newspapers. Why, all the tenants around are bent to honour him, and in procession to see him to his ship.

To his ship, heaven blessed them. They know his worth. Lloyd, observing her emotion. neighbor'd, he's little worth who'd wrong or slight thee. Lloyd. Don't thrust me off. I meant no ill. I'll call him kind to please you.

He may forsake you. All may. But not Lloyd. Anne, casting her arms around her neck. Dear Lloyd, he waits. Lloyd snatches her hand, kisses it, and goes out. Is it real to meet once more than part, most like forever. To think, tomorrow, even the white speck of his sail will vanish,

and a whole life slide from me in an hour. Is it real? I must be calm. He shall not catch one cry of this wild grief, from me who left his lot when it seemed lowly, love itself would seem like interest. He might think me sordid. I could. I could. I could. He could. I. He could. He could. He could. He could. He could not bear that pang enter thurled followed by a servant with casket and packet so friend the casket takes it and places it on table a packet just delivered sir hands it to thurled and goes out Thorold, opening it and taking out a deed. Ah, from Lanniston. Looking at Anne, who affects to occupy herself with books and prints. How all unmoved she looks.

She never loved me. Advances to her with casket. Anne, tis our farewell meeting. So I've heard your called hence suddenly. Points to a chair. And ere I leave, would end a guardian's, duties. It may chance I shall return no more. Anne, aside.

No more. You friends, I mean you friends in England who would grieve. That is, regret to think so. Thorold, turning aside with emotion. What we two seemed once to one another, and we part forever with regret. After a pause with forced calmness. Regrets the word. It suits our life. Hope sink, the dark abyss parts, closes,

and all sunshine. Aye, above. Aside, thoroughed, opening, casket. We trifle and waste time. First, take this token, your mother's hair. The words your father wrote, and I, when time effaced them,

wrote anew. Here are her letters. Some were in their courtship. Some traced the year she died. Giving them. You weep. Ah, where in your heart's depths their memory, though mine has no more place there? Yours no place. You think, no matter. And? Anne, as with sudden recollection. Ah, I can speak, Mark Thorold. I vowed, and...

here repeat my pledge. Hold, hold. Never to link my abject lot with yours, tis sworn, the choke tides free. I love you, love you. You can't misjudge me now. No. Hear me still. You'll rest tomorrow. You've seen me rash, willful, unjust, worse. Ah, you've seen me deemed so. basely ambitious, bartering for gold, And rank your priceless love. O Thorold, twas not a hireling's heart's indifference, T'was a proud, stung heart's delirium. Hi, say on.

From childhood, friendless, despised, A common mark for taunts that poisoned where they pierced. You met me, saved me. My mind grew happier, worthier, nearer yours, till, oh, deep shame, doubt sprung there. I was tempted by wiles that looked like truth to think you faithless. Mock-proof swarmed round me, ringing in my ear this nail. He, too, abandons. There my soul, lost light, chart compass, I but knew one star.

It vanished, and I struck. Casts herself before him. Thorold, attempting to raise her. Best loved. Rise, rise. Enter Sir Joshua, Lady Toppington and Lanniston. Sir Joshua to Anne. How?

Don't you hear the colonel? Rise, release him. She rises, apart to her. No, none of you. A marriage contract waits your signature. It must wait. Do my will, or quit my doors. Losing all self-control.

Silence, I sought a wife and not a slave. Remember, Anne, your vow. That poor dependent ne'er will wed with Thorold. Was that your vow? It was. Aye, word for word. Then I annul it. No dependents stands there.

Those Indian mines. Laying his hand on casket. I know to her. Her father died poor. Most poor. For in those mines he'd risked his all. Half a life's earnings to redeem his child. That darling hope seemed blighted.

The scantor scarce paid the miners' toil, and with vain throws for the far heart he might not clasped his. Her father died. Aye. He died. Not his act. Still delved the miners. Delved till earth revealed a vain.

A realm of wealth. Hers. In the outcast behold the heiress. In the made your fraud divorced from love, the... Turns to Anne. May I speak that word? You're no dependent now.

Yes. Speak. He opens his arms into which she rushes. The wife. The wife. Tis false. You fool me. Her father's dying breath bound me to silence on her faith

while doubtful, that, hoping nothing, failure might not wound her. Hence I concealed my guardianship and station. For her dear self, I wooed her. For myself, she chose me. Huh.

That's soothing, since I've lost, her. Thurled, gaily. Nay, she's more yours than ever. You most prized her when she was hard to win. You'll doubly prize her. Now that's impossible. Anne, smilingly, gives Lanniston her hand. Enter Gilead and Lloyd hastily. Sir Joshua, the tenants and a mob of the inferior classes.

Through the gates pour in by hundreds. With band and banners To pay respect to the colonel Drive them hence Send for a constable Respect to him Stir not an inch They're welcome

Sir, you're right Thorold Producing deed This forfeit mortgage of your lands Which Lanniston assigns to me And I to Anne for dowry You would have driven her from your roof And she

Will grant him won for shelter. So my father had said. And so your husband. Far from hence, though, an humble, like his fortunes. That's your sentence. Thorold, to Lady Toppington. You, madam. Have weak nerves, and he's my husband. True, she's exempt. Distant music. Hark, music. Sir Joshua and Lady Toppington, retire. Anne, clinging to Thorold. In thine honor. Let all make holiday. The ship shall sail this tide without us. To Anne. What's ambitions wreath to love regained? And what is love regain to thine,

which sorely tempted ne'er was lost? During the concluding lines the crowd gradually approach the window with banners, music, air. See the conquering hero comes as Thurled turns towards the window with Anne. Curtain. End of Act 5. End of Anne Blake by John Westland Marston.