CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that _Beyond the Horizon_, being fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America, the British Empire, including the Dominion of Canada, and all other countries of the copyright union, is subject to a royalty. All rights, including professional, amateur, motion picture, recitation, public reading, radio broadcasting, and the rights of translation into foreign languages, are strictly reserved. In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading public only. All inquiries regarding this play should be addressed to Richard J. Madden Play Company, at 1501 Broadway, New York, N. Y. The non-professional acting rights of _Beyond the Horizon_ are controlled exclusively by the Dramatists Play Service, Inc., 6 East 39th Street, New York, N. Y., without whose permission in writing no performance of it may be made. _Manufactured in the United States of America_ CHARACTERS JAMES MAYO, _a farmer_ KATE MAYO, _his wife_ CAPTAIN DICK SCOTT, _of the bark_ Sunda, _her brother_ ANDREW MAYO } ROBERT MAYO } _sons of_ JAMES MAYO RUTH ATKINS MRS. ATKINS, _her widowed mother_ MARY BEN, _a farm hand_ DOCTOR FAWCETT ACT I SCENE I: The Road. Sunset of a day in Spring. SCENE II: The Farm House. The same night. ACT II (_Three years later_) SCENE I: The Farm House. Noon of a Summer day. SCENE II: The top of a hill on the farm overlooking the sea. The following day. ACT III (_Five years later_) SCENE I: The Farm House. Dawn of a day in late Fall. SCENE II: The Road. Sunrise. BEYOND THE HORIZON ACT ONE SCENE ONE _A section of country highway. The road runs diagonally from the left, forward, to the right, rear, and can be seen in the distance winding toward the horizon like a pale ribbon between the low, rolling hills with their freshly plowed fields clearly divided from each other, checkerboard fashion, by the lines of stone walls and rough snake fences._ _The forward triangle cut off by the road is a section of a field from the dark earth of which myriad bright-green blades of fall-sown rye are sprouting. A straggling line of piled rocks, too low to be called a wall, separates this field from the road._ _To the rear of the road is a ditch with a sloping, grassy bank on the far side. From the center of this an old, gnarled apple tree, just budding into leaf, strains its twisted branches heavenwards, black against the pallor of distance. A snake-fence sidles from left to right along the top of the bank, passing beneath the apple tree._