[When he seeks to raise her face in order to kiss her, she tears herself violently from him.
[When he seeks to raise her face in order to kiss her, she tears herself violently from him.
Sylvia.
No, don’t! Don’t touch me! God give me strength! I’m so pitifully weak.
John.
Sylvia!
Sylvia.
Don’t come near me! For God’s sake! [She puts her hands before her face, trying to control and to collect herself, and there is a moment’s pause.] It never occurred to me that you didn’t care for me any more, and when you told me, for a moment I lost my head. Forgive me for that, dear, and forget it. I’m not going to marry you.
John.
Now, Sylvia, don’t be idiotic. It would be so unseemly if I had to drag you to the altar by the hair of your head.
Sylvia.
You’re very kind, John. I suppose it wouldn’t be very good form to back out of it now. I’m poor, and I’ve wasted my best years waiting for you. You needn’t worry about what is going to happen to me. I can earn my living as well as other women.
John.
Oh, Sylvia, you’re torturing yourself and me. Can’t you forget what I said in a moment of exasperation? You must know how deep my affection is for you.
Sylvia.
I don’t want to forget. It is the will of God. I lied. I did an abominable and evil thing. I don’t think you can imagine how terrible my sin has been. I risked my soul to save you, John, and God has inflicted on me a punishment infinitely less than I deserved. He has taken out of your heart the love you bore me.
John.
But you love me, Sylvia.
Sylvia.
Better than anyone in the world. I’ve loved you ever since I was a child of ten. That’s only the weakness of my flesh. My soul exults in the great mercy that God has shown me.
John.
Oh, my dear, you’re going to be so unhappy.
Sylvia.
No, don’t be sorry for me. You’ve given me a great opportunity.
John.
I?
Sylvia.
I’ve been mortified because I was able to do so little in the war. I knew it was my duty to stayhere and look after mother. But I wanted to go out to France and do my bit like all my friends.
John.
That was very natural.
Sylvia.
Now at last I have the chance to do something. No sacrifice is worthless in the eyes of God. A broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise. I sacrifice now all that was precious to me in the world, my love and my hope of happiness in this life, and I sacrifice it with a cheerful heart, and I pray that God may accept it. So shall I do my part to atone for the sins which have brought on this horrible war.
John.
It would have been better if I’d never come back. I’ve caused misery and suffering to all of you.
Sylvia.
John, you took away the ring you gave me when we became engaged. You threw it in the fire.
John.
I’m afraid that was very silly of me. I did it in a moment of bitterness.
Sylvia.
You went into Canterbury to buy a wedding ring. What have you done with it?
John.
I have it here. Why?
Sylvia.
Can I have it?
John.
Of course.
[He takes it out of his waistcoat pocket, and, wondering, gives it to her.
[He takes it out of his waistcoat pocket, and, wondering, gives it to her.
Sylvia.
[Slipping the ring on her finger.] I will put the love of man out of my life. I will turn from what is poor and transitory to what is everlasting. I will be the bride of One whose love is never denied to them that seek it. The love of God is steadfast and enduring. I can put all my trust in that and I shall never find it wanting.... Good-bye, John, God bless you now and always.
John.
Good-bye, dear child.
[She goes out quickly. In a minuteKatecomes in. She is carrying a square wooden box in which are papers, firewood, a hearth-brush, and a large soiled glove.
[She goes out quickly. In a minuteKatecomes in. She is carrying a square wooden box in which are papers, firewood, a hearth-brush, and a large soiled glove.
Kate.
Please, sir, Mrs. Wharton says, will you go upstairs now?
John.
Yes.
[He goes out.Kategoes to the fire-place, kneels down, puts on the glove, and begins to rake out the ashes. TheCookenters. She is a stout homely body of forty-five.
[He goes out.Kategoes to the fire-place, kneels down, puts on the glove, and begins to rake out the ashes. TheCookenters. She is a stout homely body of forty-five.
Cook.
The butcher’s come, Kate. I don’t exactly like to go up to Mrs. Wharton just now. I’ve got the cold beef for lunch, but they’ll be wanting something for dinner.
Kate.
Oh, well, they always like best end. You can’t go far wrong if you have that.
Cook.
I’ve got a fine lot of pease.
Kate.
Well, they’ll do nicely.
Cook.
I was thinking I’d make a fruit tart. I think p’raps I’d better order two and a half pounds of best end.
[She goes out.Katecontinues to lay the fire.
[She goes out.Katecontinues to lay the fire.
THE END.
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