 Act four of Galahad Jones by Arthur Adams. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act four. The scene is the same as Act two, except that now the garden wall is topped with broken bottles, and the gate has been made impregnable with iron spikes, and in the garden, near the summer house, there is a dog's kennel. It is moonlight the same evening. The lamp at the corner is lit, and a few windows of the house glow through the trees. Horace comes down the street, looks round, takes out his watch, looks impatiently up the street, and generally shows all the anxiety of the ardent lover waiting for his girl. It is evidently a sweltering night, judging from the way he wipes his forehead. During the following scene in the garden, he waits about, wanders up the street and back again, and gives evidence of his growing impatience at the non-arrival of Cassie. Mr. Beach and the Doctor appear in the garden. Doctor, I've just heard something that you should hear before you see Sybil. How is she on this hot night? He mops his face. Wonderful, but she knows. Knows that she's going to die? Knew all along. She was in this summer house when you told me. Over three weeks ago. Why, that was enough to kill her. No. There was something else that kept her alive. What? She's in love. That childish love affair? But you stopped it. I thought I had. But it has been going on ever since she heard. Not getting letters from him, surely. She's been meeting him here, at night, when we thought her in bed. But how did you find out? Sybil has just told me. She felt it was wrong to go on deceiving me. She said she could not die with that deceit on her soul. She is to meet her lover here, to-night, in a few minutes. Well, we can prevent that, anyhow. Why? The excitement. Doctor, she's been living on excitement for the last three weeks. That has buoyed her up. You gave her three weeks. At the utmost. I thought it would be sooner. Well, it's her love affair, I see now, that has kept her alive. Hmm, yes. I have known cases like that, but- Doctor, I want your permission to let Sybil see him to-night. I didn't know. I thought I was acting for the best. If only I had known at the beginning how I would have helped her. Doctor, you said there was one chance for her. Sybil has taken it. You said that the only chance was a miracle. Here it is. The miracle is love. Oh, that's outside my line. Still, to expose her to the excitement. To give her the shock of the disappointment? Why, she is only living on the chance of seeing him again. And all the time I was killing her. But thank God there was one man who stood by her. Her lover, of course. No, she hasn't even told him. Then who? A stranger to her. She threw over a letter to him, and he has helped her. Sacrificed himself, and all his prospects for her. He is a helpless sort of middle-aged clerk in my bank. And only this night I dismissed him. But I'll make it up to him. I'll give him promotion. He has saved my child's life. Not yet, Mr. Beach. Well, he has given her a few weeks of happiness. That's a debt I shall spend all my life repaying. I've done all I can. Let her meet him. If we don't, the disappointment may end it. There's just the bare possibility of the miracle. But we must be here, in case. We'll hide in the summer-house. But how does he get here? Over that wall, or over the gate. But those broken bottles, and the spikes on the gate? I put them there, not knowing. I even got a dog. Pointing to the kennel. But tonight the kennel is empty, and the gate unlocked. He'll be here any minute now. They enter the summer-house. Gullahad hurries down the street. Gullahad, seeing Horace. Mr. Lowe, Leon. Mr. Jones. You're waiting for Kathy. How did you know that? She's my daughter. Kathy? Your daughter? I knew her name was Jones, of course. But then it's such a common name. That's all right. I wouldn't let Kathy come tonight. I wanted to ask you some questions. Do you love her? Oh, yes. Honest I do. I've asked her to marry me. What about Sybil? Sybil? Oh, that was nothing. I've not seen her since that night in the garden. Really, Mr. Jones, there was nothing in that. She likes me, and I thought at first it was good fun. But then I met Kathy. But Sybil loved you. She thought she did. So did I, till the real thing came. I'm sorry if Sybil's taken it seriously, really. And I was to blame at first. But how could I know I was going to meet Kathy? When I met her, I decided not to see Sybil again. But she made me. But you'd needn't fear I'll ever see her again. You must, tonight. Why, when I love Kathy. No, I'm hanged if I do. Sybil is dying. Dying? Sybil, it's impossible. You're kidding me. For all I know, we may be too late. She must see you once before she dies, tonight. No, not even once. What have Kathy found out? She won't. You've got Kathy all your life. Sybil has only tonight. Give her this night. She loves you. She passionately believes you love her. That belief has kept her alive. Let her die happy in her illusion. And if you don't see her now, she'll guess the truth. And that will kill her. All I ask is that you keep up the pretence one night longer. After that, it will be too late. No, Mr. Jones. You have no right to ask me to pretend to love her. It will be easy. With her great belief in you, you could not be so cruel as to snatch her last illusion from her. Sybil, to die. Poor little kitty. If it had been Kathy. If it had been Kathy, could you under-see her just at the last? Wouldn't you, at whatever cost to yourself, have let her go to the end with her illusion? Perhaps it is too late now. Perhaps she will never come to the summer house again. Give up this one hour to her. Poor little kitty. I'll go. I knew you would. The wall, those broken bottles, will try the gate. He moves up to the gate, followed by Horace. Why? It's got iron spikes on it. We'll never get over. Oh, we must now. They try to climb the gate. The butcher appears in the street. He is carrying something wrapped up in a newspaper. What-o goes slow. There's a dog. A dog? Come on. I'm not afraid of a bite. I've brought a little present for the dog. Dog's meat. I always carry it. When I'm out love making at night, it sorta smooths the way. Wiping his face. Sure, it's hot. Hell with the lid off. Wish that southerly had come along. But how are we going to get over the gate? I suppose it's locked, all right. Never tried. Butcher. He tries the gate and opens it. It's not even locked. That's curious. I don't like it. It's a trap. There's a policeman inside. You leave the policeman and the dog to me. I'm accustomed to dealing with them. I was forgetting I've got nothing to lose now. Come on. All three into the gate. As they are doing so, M and Kathy appear in the street and come stealthily down. They went in there. Finding herself with the bag. My, but it's hot work chasing deceivers on a night like this. Mother, that was Horace with them. Horace? Who's Horace? My boy. Oh, and he asked me to marry him. And out on a loose with father? Oh, my Kathy, don't worry yet. There may be an explanation. If not, there'll be two hearts broken tonight. And one head. They enter the gate. The Butcher, Galahad and Horace, who have made their way slowly and cautiously through the trees, now come down the path. The Butcher leading. They stop at the kennel. The dog. You go. Righto. He takes his parcel of meat and approaches the kennel. Good doggy. Good doggy. He looks in the kennel. No body at home. Righto. Galahad and Horace come up and look in the kennel. While they are doing so, M and Kathy come quickly but quietly down the path and conceal themselves in the shrubs. That's funny. I don't like it. Is she in the summer house? No. She would have heard us and come out. The Butcher looks into the summer house and draws back with a start of surprise, but says nothing. Galahad. The Butcher. We'll hide over there. She mustn't see us. He leads the way down the steps. I'll wait here. He waits near the kennel. I say, boss, do you know there's two blokes sitting in that there's summer house? No. Two men. Ticks they look like. Did they see you? Must have, but they didn't say nothing. Policemen. I knew it was a trap. I'm going to find out. He pauses as he looks up the path from the bottom of the steps. Ah, Sibyl. A white figure drifts down the path. It is Sibyl, deathly white, clad in a wrap of lacy likeness. She comes slowly down almost two weeks to walk and pausing at the top of the steps sees Horace. Horace, at last. She goes quickly to him and embraces him. I knew you would come, dearest, and now it's all right. Kiss me. Horace unwillingly kisses her. Cassie, starting forward to Emma in a whisper. Horace. Mother. My heart's breaking. Breaking. Emma, her arms around Cassie. Hush, child. It was better that you should know. Hush, dear. I'll look after you. But why, that good-for-nothing father of yours doesn't stop it, I don't know. Wait. We'll see it out. She draws Cassie back to her arms. You did not come, and I have waited so many nights, but, ah, it was worthwhile waiting for tonight. Really, Sibyl, I couldn't come before. I couldn't get in. Three weeks. Three long weeks of waiting. I was afraid you would be too late. Oh, my love, my sweet. How I love you. Dearest, I am all yours. Take me. She lies in his arms. Gullah had to the butcher. How tired she looks. It must be very near now. Thank God we came in time. Say, boss, feel that breeze. It's the southerly coming at last. Ah, the southerly, thank God. The cornice will revive her. Sibyl, with a puzzled look, lifts her head, and gazes long into Horace's eyes. But you're different tonight, Horace. There's a coldness in your eyes. Horace attempting to draw her head down on his shoulder. No, no, you're imagining. You're wrought up tonight. It's just the heat. If only the southerly would come. Swear that you love me more, more. More, Sibyl, more than I ever dreamed of loving. Cuthi, to Emma, broken heartedly. Ah, mother, mother. Emma comforts her. Good boy, he's playing his part. Oh, how could I ever have doubted you? But the long, long waiting. My heart cried out so for you, my dearie. But now, with your strong arms about me, Horace, I know how foolish my heart was. I've—I've not been very well, dearest, and I seem to need you so much more. I thought that only your strong arms could hold me up. Only your strength could keep me from death. But now— Breathing deep and looking up. Did you feel that cool kiss on your cheek, Horace? It's the good southerly at last. A breath of coolness. A word from the great world outside has come over the wall into this stifling garden. Ah, it's good. It's like a breath of truth in a hot-house world of make-believe. Suddenly straightening up. I see the truth. With a sudden cold suspicion. You do not love me any more, Horace. I know. I see clear. Horace stiffens himself as if to speak, but with a despairing gesture, restrains himself and attempts to draw her closer. Sibyl with an agony of doubt in her voice. You don't say you love me. You cannot say it. You cannot. I cannot, Sibyl. Kathy incredulous to Emma. Ah, it's me he loves. Oh, forgive me, Kitty, but I cannot. I have tried not to let you know. Try to keep up the make-believe for your dear sake. Mr. Jones made me for your sake, but this southerly has cleared the air. I cannot go on deceiving you. You would not want me to go online, Sibyl. You could not. Beach appears at the door of the summer house followed by the doctor. Beach attempts to go to Sibyl, but the doctor restrains him. They stand there watching, as all the others are watching. You do not love me any more. Standing proudly erect. Thank you for letting me know in time. I might have gone on deceiving myself till. I think I must have known all the time, but your love was all I had, all that I wanted to take with me. You never came, but I would not let myself believe. My heart hurt me so, but now I know I can be brave like you. How it must have hurt you to tell me. What could I do, Sibyl? What could I do but go on? There is someone else. There is someone else. But how? When? Over a month ago. A whole month? And so all these three weeks it has been only make-believe. And your letters, I never got your letters. I never wrote. I couldn't, when I knew. You might have written. I did not guess you cared so much. Oh, Horace, and yet you pretended you let me go on living in my dreams. Mr. Jones made me. He made me promise not to under-see you tonight, but I had to. Sibyl, angrily. He thought me a child, as if I couldn't have borne the truth. See how bravely I am bearing it now. He thought only of your happiness. Yes, yes, I see it now. After all, my dreams were best. I see he loved me. With a bitter laugh. Ah, I see now he was the only one who loved me. But you, you love that other girl. You really love her. You're not deceiving her, too. Gullahad has moved across to the bottom of the steps. I love her. I'm going to marry her. Sibyl. With a wail she sways. Horace moves to support her, but she repulses him with an outstretched arm and recovers herself by a supreme effort. No, no. Not you, now. Not you. She sways again as if about to faint and looks round for help. Gullahad rushes up the steps to her. Ah, you, my knight, my true knight, take me, my sir Gullahad. Gullahad, taking her into his arms. Poor child. There, there, there. Sibyl. Looking up into his face happily, proudly. Ah, you love me, my sir Gullahad. She faints in his arms, dying. Gullahad, supporting her, is aware of other figures. Em and Cassie have come up the steps. The butcher is waiting near. The doctor and Beech are on the other side. Yes. It's over. No, no, doctor. She's only fainted. No, it's come. It was bound to come, anyhow. He takes Sibyl's body from Gullahad and with him lays it on the grass, examines her and rises. It was her only chance, and it failed. You are not to blame Mr. Beech. Nobody is to blame. Life has been drained out of her body long ago. It was wonderful that she was spared so long. I can do nothing further. I'll send the servants down from the house. He goes away. The butcher follows him up the path. Beech on his knees over Sibyl's body. Sibyl, Sibyl, my pretty, pretty child. Emma to Gullahad, putting her hand in his. I see now. Not all, but I see. I mistrusted you, Gally. It was for her poor thing, and because she was in love. I see now. Forgive me, dear. That's all right, Emma. If only I had told you at the first. Forgive me, Horace. I doubted you. She, she is very beautiful. Horace, aghast. Cathy, I murdered her. No, no, boy. Take Cathy away. Come, Horace. She leads him away. Beech looking up. Mr. Jones, I owe you all the little happiness she has had. Oh, child, child, little Siby. How often have I come to the nursery and seen you asleep like this. Rises, blankly. I prayed for a miracle. They said love was a miracle. There are no miracles. Emma, softly to Gullahad. Yes. A miracle has come to me. Ahem, come away. We must go back into the world. Her lessons are over. We have yet to learn our lessons. Into this pitiful world sometimes there comes a miracle. The miracle called love. We have learnt what love is, dear. They go out up the path, hand in hand, leaving Beech kneeling beside the body of Sibyl. Curtain. End of Act Four. End of the Comedy. Note. Should the theatrical manager demand his pound of flesh, the author has written, very much against his will, an alternative happy ending in which Sibyl recovers. But he declines to print it here. A-H-A. End of Gullahad Jones by Arthur Adams.