ACT VSCENE.—Reception room of the Monastery of San Salvatore at Majano, in Italy. A simply furnished room in an old Italian building. At back right an open door approached by a flight of steps, at back left a large window; a mass of masonry divides the window and door. A door down stage, left. The portrait ofMICHAEL’Smother hangs on the wall. Time, a summer evening. DiscoverFATHERHILARYreading. EnterSIRLYOLFup the steps and by door at back.FATHERH. Well?SIRLYOLF. I’ve been to see her again. I can’t get her out of my mind.FATHERH. How is she this evening?SIRLYOLF. In the very strangest state, laughing, crying, jesting, fainting, and chattering like a magpie. I believe she’s dying.FATHERH. Dying?SIRLYOLF. Yes. It seems she had a kind of malarial fever a month or two ago and wasn’t properly treated. I wish there was a good English doctor in the place. And I wish Michael was here.FATHERH. Be thankful that he is away.SIRLYOLF. But if he finds out that she has been here, that she has sent again and again for him, and that we have hidden it from him—and that she has died?FATHERH. He mustn’t know it until he can bear to hear it. We must consider him first. Think what he must have suffered all these months. Now that at last he is learning to forget her, now that he is finding peace, how wrong, how cruel it would be to reopen his wounds!SIRLYOLF. She said he promised to come to her if she sent for him. She begged so hard. She has come from England with the one hope of seeing him. I felt all the while that I was helping to crush the life out of her.FATHERH. What did you tell her?SIRLYOLF. That he had gone away alone for a few days in the mountains. That we didn’t exactly know where to find him, but that he might come back at any time, and that I would bring him to her the moment he returned.FATHERH. Well, what more can we do?SIRLYOLF. Nothing now, I suppose. I wish we had sent after him when she came last week. We could have found him before this. Besides, she doesn’t believe me.FATHERH. Doesn’t believe you?SIRLYOLF. She thinks that Michael is here withus, and that we are hiding it from him. I wish he’d come back.FATHERH. If she is passing away, better it should all be over before he returns.SIRLYOLF. I don’t like parting them at the last. She loves him, Ned, she loves him.FATHERH. Remember it’s a guilty love.SIRLYOLF. Yes, I know.FATHERH. Remember what it has already cost him.SIRLYOLF. Yes, I know. But love is love, and whether it comes from heaven, or whether it comes from the other place, there’s no escaping it. I believe it always comes from heaven!(FATHERHILARYshakes his head.)SIRLYOLF. I’m getting my morals mixed up in my old age, I suppose. But, by God, she loves him, Ned, she loves him—Who’s that?(FATHERHILARYlooks out of window, makes a motion of silence.)FATHERH. Hush! He’s come back.SIRLYOLF. I must tell him.FATHERH. Let us sound him first, and see what his feelings are. Then we can judge whether it will be wise to let him know.Enter up steps and by doorMICHAELin a travelling cloak. He enters very listlessly. He has an expression of settled pensiveness and resignation, almost despair. He comes up very affectionately to his father, shakes hands, does the same toFATHERHILARY.Then he sits down without speaking.SIRLYOLF. Have you come far to-day, Michael?MICH. No, only from Casalta. I stayed there last night.SIRLYOLF. You are back rather sooner than you expected?MICH. I had nothing to keep me away. One place is the same as another.FATHERH. And about the future? Have you made up your mind?MICH. Yes. I had really decided before I went away, but I wanted this week alone to be quite sure of myself, to be quite sure that I was right in taking this final step, and that I should never draw back. (ToFATHERHILARY.) You remember at Saint Decuman’s Isle, two years ago, you said you could give me a deeper peace than I could find within or around me?FATHERH. And I can. And I will.MICH. Give me that peace. I need it. When can I be received?FATHERH. When I have prepared you.MICH. Let it be soon. Let it be soon. (To his father.) This is a blow to you——SIRLYOLF. You know best. I wish you could have seen your way to stay in your own church.MICH. I was an unfaithful steward and a disobedient son to her. She is well rid of me. (ToFATHERHILARY.) You are sure you can give me that peace——FATHERH. If you’ll but give me your will entirely, and let me break it in pieces. On no other condition. Come and talk to me alone.(Trying to lead him off left.)SIRLYOLF. No—! (Goes toMICHAEL.) Michael, you are at peace now, aren’t you?(MICHAELlooks at him.)FATHERH. He will be soon. Leave him to me.SIRLYOLF. No. I must know the truth from him.FATHERH. You’re wrong to torture him.SIRLYOLF(toMICHAEL). You are at peace now—at least, you are gaining peace, you are forgetting the past?FATHERH. He will. He shall. Say no more. (ToMICHAEL.) Come with me,—I insist!SIRLYOLF. No. Michael, before you take this last step answer me one question—I have a reason for asking. Tell me this truly. If by any chance someone in England—someone who was dear to you——MICH. Oh, don’t speak of her— (Turns away, hides his head for a minute, turns round with a sudden outburst.) Yes, speak of her! Speak of her! I haven’t heard her name for so long! Let me hear it again—Audrie! Audrie!FATHERH. (sternly toSIRLYOLF). Do you hear? Let him alone. Don’t torment him by dragging up the past. He has buried it.MICH. No! No! No! Why should I deceive you? Why should I deceive myself? All this pretended peace is no peace! There is no peace for me without her, either in this world or the next!FATHERH. Hush! Hush! How dare you speak so!MICH. I must. The live agony of speech is better than the dead agony of silence, the eternal days and nights without her! Forget her? I can’t forget! Look!(Takes out a faded red rose.)SIRLYOLF. What is it?MICH. A flower she threw me in church the last time I saw her. And I wouldn’t take it! I sent her away! I sent her away! And her flower was trampled on. The next night I got up in the middle of the night and went over to the church and found it on the altar steps. I’ve kept it ever since. (To his father.) Talk to me about her. I want somebody to talk to me about her. Tell me something you remember of her—some little speech of hers.—Do talk to me about her.SIRLYOLF. My poor fellow!MICH. I can’t forget. The past is always with me! I live in it. It’s my life. You think I’m here in this place with you—I’ve never been here. I’m living with her two years ago. I have no present, no future. I’ve only the past when she was with me. Give methe past! Oh! give me back only one moment of that past, one look, one word from her—and then take all that remains of me and do what you like with it. Oh!(Goes back to bench, sits.)SIRLYOLF(toFATHERHILARY). You see! I must tell him——FATHERH. No, not while he’s in this mad state. Let’s quiet him first.SIRLYOLF. Then we’ll take him to her!FATHERH. When he is calmer.SIRLYOLF. Take care it isn’t too late.FATHERH. (goes toMICHAEL,puts his hand onMICHAEL’Sshoulder). This is weakness. Be more brave! Control yourself!MICH. Have I not controlled myself? Who trained and guided himself with more care than I? Who worked as I worked, prayed as I prayed, kept watch over himself, denied himself, sacrificed himself as I did? And to what end? Who had higher aims and resolves than I? They were as high as heaven, and they’ve tumbled all round me! Look at my life, the inconsequence, the inconsistency, the futility, the foolishness of it all. What a patchwork of glory and shame! Control myself? Why? Let me alone! Let me drift! What does it matter where I go? I’m lost in the dark! One way is as good as another!(The vesper bell heard off at some little distance.)FATHERH. You’ve wandered away from the road, and now you complain that the maps are wrong.Get back to the highway, and you’ll find that the maps are right.MICH. Forgive me, Uncle Ned—I’m ashamed of this. I shall get over it. I’ll talk with you by and by. I will submit myself. I will be ruled. Father, come to me. You nursed me yourself night after night when I was delirious with the fever. I was a child then. I’m a child now. Talk to me about her. Talk to me about Audrie!(AUDRIE’Sface, wasted and hectic, appears just over the doorstep, coming up the steps at back; during the following conversation she raises herself very slowly and with great difficulty up the steps, leaning on the wall.)MICH. I’ve heard nothing of her. Where do you think she is? In England? I think I could be patient, I think I could bear my life if I knew for certain that all was well with her. If I could know that she is happy—No, she isn’t happy—I know that.SIRLYOLF. Michael, I’ve had some news of her.MICH. News! Good? Bad? Quick! Tell me.SIRLYOLF. You can bear it?MICH. She’s dead? And I never went to her! I never went to her! She won’t forgive me!SIRLYOLF. She’s not dead.MICH. What then?SIRLYOLF. You promised you’d go to her if she sent for you.MICH. Yes.SIRLYOLF. She has sent for you. (Sees her entering.)MICH. She’s dying?(She has gained the door, just enters, leaning back against the post.MICHAEL’Sback is towards her.)AUDR. I’m afraid I am.(MICHAELlooks at her, utters a wild cry of joy, then looks at her more closely, realizes she is dying, goes to her, kisses her, bursts into sobs.)AUDR. (putting her hand on his head). Don’t cry. I’m past crying for. Help me there. (Points to seat.)(He seats her; looks at her with great anxiety.)AUDR. (laughing, a little weak feeble laugh, and speaking feebly with pause between each word). Don’t pull—that—long—face. You’ll—make me—laugh—if you—do. And I want to be—serious now.MICH. But you’re dying!AUDR. (with a sigh). Yes. Can’t help it. Sir Lyolf, pay—coachman—(taking out purse feebly) outside—No, perhaps—better—wait—or bring another sort—of—carriage. But no mutes—no feathers—no mummery.SIRLYOLF. I’ll send him away. You’ll stay with us now?AUDR. (nods). So sorry—to intrude. Won’t be very long about it.(ExitSIRLYOLFby door and steps;MICHAELis standing with hands over eyes.)FATHERH. (coming toAUDRIE). Can I be of any service, any comfort to you?AUDR. No, thanks. I’ve been dreadfully wicked—doesn’t much—matter, eh? Can’t help it now. Haven’t strength to feel sorry. So sorry I can’t feel sorry.FATHERH. There is forgiveness——AUDR. Yes, I know. Not now. Want to be with him.(IndicatingMICHAEL.)SIRLYOLFre-enters by steps.SIRLYOLF. Come, Ned——AUDR. (toFATHERHILARY). Come back again—in—few minutes. I shall want you. I’ve been dreadfully wicked. But I’ve built a church—and—(feverishly) I’ve loved him—with all my heart—and a little bit over.(ExeuntSIRLYOLFandFATHERHILARY,door left.)AUDR. (motioningMICHAEL). Why didn’t you come when I sent for you?MICH. I’ve only known this moment. Why didn’t you send before?AUDR. I sent you hundreds—of messages—from my heart of hearts. Didn’t you get them?MICH. Yes—every one.AUDR. I’ve crawled all over Europe after you. And you aren’t worth it—Yes, you are. You wouldn’t come——MICH. Yes—anywhere—anywhere—take me where you will.AUDR. You know—he’s dead. I’m free.MICH. Is it so? But it’s too late.AUDR. Yes. Pity! Not quite a well-arranged world, is it? Hold my hand. We’re not to be parted?MICH. No.AUDR. Sure?MICH. Quite sure. You’re suffering?AUDR. No—that’s past—(Shuts her eyes. He watches her.) Very comfortable—very happy—just like going into a delicious faint—(Sighs.) Do you remember—beautiful sunrise—diamonds on the sea——MICH. Yes, I remember—all—every moment! And the wind that blew us together when we stood on the cliff! Oh! we were happy then—I remember all! All! All!AUDR. So glad your memory’s good at last. (A vesper hymn heard off at some distance.) Pity to die on such a lovely evening—not quite well-arranged world? But we were happy—if the next world has anything as good it won’t be much amiss. I’m going. Fetch—priest—(MICHAELis going to door left; she calls him back.) No. No time to waste. Don’t leave me. We shan’t be parted?MICH. No! No! No! No!AUDR. (gives a deep sigh of content, then looks up at his mother’s picture). She’s there? (MICHAELnods.)She’ll forgive me! (Blows a little kiss to the picture.) But I’m your angel—I’m leading you——MICH. Yes. Where?AUDR. I don’t know. Don’t fuss about it. “Le bon Dieu nous pardonnera: c’est son métier”—(Closes her eyes.) Not parted?(Looks up at him.)MICH. No! No! No! No!AUDR. You won’t keep me waiting too long? (Looks up at him, a long deep sigh of content.) Hold my hand—Tight! tight! Oh! don’t look so solemn——(Begins to laugh, a ripple of bright, feeble laughter, growing louder and stronger, a little outburst, then a sudden stop, as she drops dead.MICHAELkisses her lips, her face, her hands, her dress.)EnterFATHERHILARY.MICH. Take me! I give my life, my will, my soul, to you! Do what you please with me! I’ll believe all, do all, suffer all—only—only persuade me that I shall meet her again!(Throws himself on her body.)CURTAIN.Printed in the United States of America.
SCENE.—Reception room of the Monastery of San Salvatore at Majano, in Italy. A simply furnished room in an old Italian building. At back right an open door approached by a flight of steps, at back left a large window; a mass of masonry divides the window and door. A door down stage, left. The portrait ofMICHAEL’Smother hangs on the wall. Time, a summer evening. DiscoverFATHERHILARYreading. EnterSIRLYOLFup the steps and by door at back.
FATHERH. Well?
SIRLYOLF. I’ve been to see her again. I can’t get her out of my mind.
FATHERH. How is she this evening?
SIRLYOLF. In the very strangest state, laughing, crying, jesting, fainting, and chattering like a magpie. I believe she’s dying.
FATHERH. Dying?
SIRLYOLF. Yes. It seems she had a kind of malarial fever a month or two ago and wasn’t properly treated. I wish there was a good English doctor in the place. And I wish Michael was here.
FATHERH. Be thankful that he is away.
SIRLYOLF. But if he finds out that she has been here, that she has sent again and again for him, and that we have hidden it from him—and that she has died?
FATHERH. He mustn’t know it until he can bear to hear it. We must consider him first. Think what he must have suffered all these months. Now that at last he is learning to forget her, now that he is finding peace, how wrong, how cruel it would be to reopen his wounds!
SIRLYOLF. She said he promised to come to her if she sent for him. She begged so hard. She has come from England with the one hope of seeing him. I felt all the while that I was helping to crush the life out of her.
FATHERH. What did you tell her?
SIRLYOLF. That he had gone away alone for a few days in the mountains. That we didn’t exactly know where to find him, but that he might come back at any time, and that I would bring him to her the moment he returned.
FATHERH. Well, what more can we do?
SIRLYOLF. Nothing now, I suppose. I wish we had sent after him when she came last week. We could have found him before this. Besides, she doesn’t believe me.
FATHERH. Doesn’t believe you?
SIRLYOLF. She thinks that Michael is here withus, and that we are hiding it from him. I wish he’d come back.
FATHERH. If she is passing away, better it should all be over before he returns.
SIRLYOLF. I don’t like parting them at the last. She loves him, Ned, she loves him.
FATHERH. Remember it’s a guilty love.
SIRLYOLF. Yes, I know.
FATHERH. Remember what it has already cost him.
SIRLYOLF. Yes, I know. But love is love, and whether it comes from heaven, or whether it comes from the other place, there’s no escaping it. I believe it always comes from heaven!
(FATHERHILARYshakes his head.)
SIRLYOLF. I’m getting my morals mixed up in my old age, I suppose. But, by God, she loves him, Ned, she loves him—Who’s that?
(FATHERHILARYlooks out of window, makes a motion of silence.)
FATHERH. Hush! He’s come back.
SIRLYOLF. I must tell him.
FATHERH. Let us sound him first, and see what his feelings are. Then we can judge whether it will be wise to let him know.
Enter up steps and by doorMICHAELin a travelling cloak. He enters very listlessly. He has an expression of settled pensiveness and resignation, almost despair. He comes up very affectionately to his father, shakes hands, does the same toFATHERHILARY.Then he sits down without speaking.
SIRLYOLF. Have you come far to-day, Michael?
MICH. No, only from Casalta. I stayed there last night.
SIRLYOLF. You are back rather sooner than you expected?
MICH. I had nothing to keep me away. One place is the same as another.
FATHERH. And about the future? Have you made up your mind?
MICH. Yes. I had really decided before I went away, but I wanted this week alone to be quite sure of myself, to be quite sure that I was right in taking this final step, and that I should never draw back. (ToFATHERHILARY.) You remember at Saint Decuman’s Isle, two years ago, you said you could give me a deeper peace than I could find within or around me?
FATHERH. And I can. And I will.
MICH. Give me that peace. I need it. When can I be received?
FATHERH. When I have prepared you.
MICH. Let it be soon. Let it be soon. (To his father.) This is a blow to you——
SIRLYOLF. You know best. I wish you could have seen your way to stay in your own church.
MICH. I was an unfaithful steward and a disobedient son to her. She is well rid of me. (ToFATHERHILARY.) You are sure you can give me that peace——
FATHERH. If you’ll but give me your will entirely, and let me break it in pieces. On no other condition. Come and talk to me alone.
(Trying to lead him off left.)
SIRLYOLF. No—! (Goes toMICHAEL.) Michael, you are at peace now, aren’t you?
(MICHAELlooks at him.)
FATHERH. He will be soon. Leave him to me.
SIRLYOLF. No. I must know the truth from him.
FATHERH. You’re wrong to torture him.
SIRLYOLF(toMICHAEL). You are at peace now—at least, you are gaining peace, you are forgetting the past?
FATHERH. He will. He shall. Say no more. (ToMICHAEL.) Come with me,—I insist!
SIRLYOLF. No. Michael, before you take this last step answer me one question—I have a reason for asking. Tell me this truly. If by any chance someone in England—someone who was dear to you——
MICH. Oh, don’t speak of her— (Turns away, hides his head for a minute, turns round with a sudden outburst.) Yes, speak of her! Speak of her! I haven’t heard her name for so long! Let me hear it again—Audrie! Audrie!
FATHERH. (sternly toSIRLYOLF). Do you hear? Let him alone. Don’t torment him by dragging up the past. He has buried it.
MICH. No! No! No! Why should I deceive you? Why should I deceive myself? All this pretended peace is no peace! There is no peace for me without her, either in this world or the next!
FATHERH. Hush! Hush! How dare you speak so!
MICH. I must. The live agony of speech is better than the dead agony of silence, the eternal days and nights without her! Forget her? I can’t forget! Look!
(Takes out a faded red rose.)
SIRLYOLF. What is it?
MICH. A flower she threw me in church the last time I saw her. And I wouldn’t take it! I sent her away! I sent her away! And her flower was trampled on. The next night I got up in the middle of the night and went over to the church and found it on the altar steps. I’ve kept it ever since. (To his father.) Talk to me about her. I want somebody to talk to me about her. Tell me something you remember of her—some little speech of hers.—Do talk to me about her.
SIRLYOLF. My poor fellow!
MICH. I can’t forget. The past is always with me! I live in it. It’s my life. You think I’m here in this place with you—I’ve never been here. I’m living with her two years ago. I have no present, no future. I’ve only the past when she was with me. Give methe past! Oh! give me back only one moment of that past, one look, one word from her—and then take all that remains of me and do what you like with it. Oh!
(Goes back to bench, sits.)
SIRLYOLF(toFATHERHILARY). You see! I must tell him——
FATHERH. No, not while he’s in this mad state. Let’s quiet him first.
SIRLYOLF. Then we’ll take him to her!
FATHERH. When he is calmer.
SIRLYOLF. Take care it isn’t too late.
FATHERH. (goes toMICHAEL,puts his hand onMICHAEL’Sshoulder). This is weakness. Be more brave! Control yourself!
MICH. Have I not controlled myself? Who trained and guided himself with more care than I? Who worked as I worked, prayed as I prayed, kept watch over himself, denied himself, sacrificed himself as I did? And to what end? Who had higher aims and resolves than I? They were as high as heaven, and they’ve tumbled all round me! Look at my life, the inconsequence, the inconsistency, the futility, the foolishness of it all. What a patchwork of glory and shame! Control myself? Why? Let me alone! Let me drift! What does it matter where I go? I’m lost in the dark! One way is as good as another!
(The vesper bell heard off at some little distance.)
FATHERH. You’ve wandered away from the road, and now you complain that the maps are wrong.Get back to the highway, and you’ll find that the maps are right.
MICH. Forgive me, Uncle Ned—I’m ashamed of this. I shall get over it. I’ll talk with you by and by. I will submit myself. I will be ruled. Father, come to me. You nursed me yourself night after night when I was delirious with the fever. I was a child then. I’m a child now. Talk to me about her. Talk to me about Audrie!
(AUDRIE’Sface, wasted and hectic, appears just over the doorstep, coming up the steps at back; during the following conversation she raises herself very slowly and with great difficulty up the steps, leaning on the wall.)
MICH. I’ve heard nothing of her. Where do you think she is? In England? I think I could be patient, I think I could bear my life if I knew for certain that all was well with her. If I could know that she is happy—No, she isn’t happy—I know that.
SIRLYOLF. Michael, I’ve had some news of her.
MICH. News! Good? Bad? Quick! Tell me.
SIRLYOLF. You can bear it?
MICH. She’s dead? And I never went to her! I never went to her! She won’t forgive me!
SIRLYOLF. She’s not dead.
MICH. What then?
SIRLYOLF. You promised you’d go to her if she sent for you.
MICH. Yes.
SIRLYOLF. She has sent for you. (Sees her entering.)
MICH. She’s dying?
(She has gained the door, just enters, leaning back against the post.MICHAEL’Sback is towards her.)
AUDR. I’m afraid I am.
(MICHAELlooks at her, utters a wild cry of joy, then looks at her more closely, realizes she is dying, goes to her, kisses her, bursts into sobs.)
AUDR. (putting her hand on his head). Don’t cry. I’m past crying for. Help me there. (Points to seat.)
(He seats her; looks at her with great anxiety.)
AUDR. (laughing, a little weak feeble laugh, and speaking feebly with pause between each word). Don’t pull—that—long—face. You’ll—make me—laugh—if you—do. And I want to be—serious now.
MICH. But you’re dying!
AUDR. (with a sigh). Yes. Can’t help it. Sir Lyolf, pay—coachman—(taking out purse feebly) outside—No, perhaps—better—wait—or bring another sort—of—carriage. But no mutes—no feathers—no mummery.
SIRLYOLF. I’ll send him away. You’ll stay with us now?
AUDR. (nods). So sorry—to intrude. Won’t be very long about it.
(ExitSIRLYOLFby door and steps;MICHAELis standing with hands over eyes.)
FATHERH. (coming toAUDRIE). Can I be of any service, any comfort to you?
AUDR. No, thanks. I’ve been dreadfully wicked—doesn’t much—matter, eh? Can’t help it now. Haven’t strength to feel sorry. So sorry I can’t feel sorry.
FATHERH. There is forgiveness——
AUDR. Yes, I know. Not now. Want to be with him.
(IndicatingMICHAEL.)
SIRLYOLFre-enters by steps.
SIRLYOLF. Come, Ned——
AUDR. (toFATHERHILARY). Come back again—in—few minutes. I shall want you. I’ve been dreadfully wicked. But I’ve built a church—and—(feverishly) I’ve loved him—with all my heart—and a little bit over.
(ExeuntSIRLYOLFandFATHERHILARY,door left.)
AUDR. (motioningMICHAEL). Why didn’t you come when I sent for you?
MICH. I’ve only known this moment. Why didn’t you send before?
AUDR. I sent you hundreds—of messages—from my heart of hearts. Didn’t you get them?
MICH. Yes—every one.
AUDR. I’ve crawled all over Europe after you. And you aren’t worth it—Yes, you are. You wouldn’t come——
MICH. Yes—anywhere—anywhere—take me where you will.
AUDR. You know—he’s dead. I’m free.
MICH. Is it so? But it’s too late.
AUDR. Yes. Pity! Not quite a well-arranged world, is it? Hold my hand. We’re not to be parted?
MICH. No.
AUDR. Sure?
MICH. Quite sure. You’re suffering?
AUDR. No—that’s past—(Shuts her eyes. He watches her.) Very comfortable—very happy—just like going into a delicious faint—(Sighs.) Do you remember—beautiful sunrise—diamonds on the sea——
MICH. Yes, I remember—all—every moment! And the wind that blew us together when we stood on the cliff! Oh! we were happy then—I remember all! All! All!
AUDR. So glad your memory’s good at last. (A vesper hymn heard off at some distance.) Pity to die on such a lovely evening—not quite well-arranged world? But we were happy—if the next world has anything as good it won’t be much amiss. I’m going. Fetch—priest—(MICHAELis going to door left; she calls him back.) No. No time to waste. Don’t leave me. We shan’t be parted?
MICH. No! No! No! No!
AUDR. (gives a deep sigh of content, then looks up at his mother’s picture). She’s there? (MICHAELnods.)She’ll forgive me! (Blows a little kiss to the picture.) But I’m your angel—I’m leading you——
MICH. Yes. Where?
AUDR. I don’t know. Don’t fuss about it. “Le bon Dieu nous pardonnera: c’est son métier”—(Closes her eyes.) Not parted?
(Looks up at him.)
MICH. No! No! No! No!
AUDR. You won’t keep me waiting too long? (Looks up at him, a long deep sigh of content.) Hold my hand—Tight! tight! Oh! don’t look so solemn——
(Begins to laugh, a ripple of bright, feeble laughter, growing louder and stronger, a little outburst, then a sudden stop, as she drops dead.MICHAELkisses her lips, her face, her hands, her dress.)
EnterFATHERHILARY.
MICH. Take me! I give my life, my will, my soul, to you! Do what you please with me! I’ll believe all, do all, suffer all—only—only persuade me that I shall meet her again!
(Throws himself on her body.)
CURTAIN.
Printed in the United States of America.