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You must not say such things to me.--You must not think of me so.--You must not!
_He follows her, his pa.s.sion mounting._
MICHAELIS.
All my life long I have known you, and fled from you, I have heard you singing on the hills of sleep and have fled from you into the waking day. I have seen you in the spring forest, dancing and throwing your webs of sunlight to snare me; on moonlit mountains, laughing and calling; in the streets of crowded cities, beckoning and disappearing in the crowd--and everywhere I have fled from you, holding above my head the sign of G.o.d's power in me, my gift and my mission.--What use?
What use? It has crumbled, and I do not care!
RHODA.
Oh, don't speak such words, I beseech you. Let me go. This must not, shall not be!
_She makes another attempt to escape. He presses upon her until she stands at bay._
MICHAELIS.
You are all that I have feared and shunned and missed on earth, and now I have you, the rest is as nothing.
_He takes her, feebly resisting, into his arms._
I know a place out there, high in the great mountains. Heaven-piercing walls of stone, a valley of trees and sweet water in the midst--gra.s.s and flowers, such flowers as you have never dreamed could grow.--There we will take our happiness. A year--a month--a day--what matter? We will make a lifetime of each hour!
RHODA.
_Yielding to his embrace, whispers._
Don't talk. Don't think. Only--love me. A little while. A little while.
_The deep hush of their embrace is broken by a cry from within. The young mother opens the hall door, in a distraction of terror and grief._
MOTHER.
Come here! Come quick!
_Michaelis and Rhoda draw apart. He stares at the woman, as if not remembering who she is._
I can't rouse him! My baby's gone. Oh, my G.o.d, he's dead!
_She disappears. Rhoda follows, drawing Michaelis, dazed and half resisting, with her. The room remains vacant for a short time, the stage held by distant singing. Beeler enters from the kitchen.
There is a knock at the outer door, which he opens. Littlefield, Culpepper, and Uncle Abe enter._
LITTLEFIELD.
Your man hasn't vamoosed, has he? Uncle Abe here says he saw the Indian boy slipping by in the fog.
BEELER.
_Turns to the negro inquiringly._
Alone?
UNCLE ABE.
_Mumbles half to himself._
'Lone. 'Spec' he was alone. Didn't even have his own flesh and bones wif 'im!
BEELER.
What's that?
UNCLE ABE.
_Holds up his right hand, which he eyes with superst.i.tious interest._
Put dis hyar han' right frough him!--Sh.o.r.e's you're bo'n. Right plum'
frough 'im whar he lives.
CULPEPPER.
Mediaeval! Absolutely mediaeval!
LITTLEFIELD.
Not a bit of it. It's up to date, and a little more, too.
CULPEPPER.
I'm astonished that you take this situation flippantly.
LITTLEFIELD.
Not for a minute. My bread and b.u.t.ter are at stake.
_Wickedly._
Yours too, you know.
_Mrs. Beeler enters, alone, from the hall. She is in a state of vague alarm. Her husband hastens to help her._
MRS. BEELER.
What is it? What is the matter? I thought I heard--
_She breaks off, as a murmur of voices rises outside. There is a sound of stumbling and crowding on the outer steps, and violent knocking. The outer door is forced open, and a crowd of excited people is about to pour into the room. Beeler, the Doctor, and the Preacher are able to force the crowd back only after several have made an entrance._
BEELER.
Keep back! You can't come in here.
